Characters: Sam, Dean, John (Gen, WeeChesters)
Summary: Dean's birthday is coming, and it can't get here fast enough.
Author's Notes: Happy birthday to kronette, who wanted some Dean birthday fic with wee!Sam giving him a present. I wrote a grown-up version of that years ago, here, but hadn't tackled the younger setting. It grew waaaay out of drabble length pretty quickly, too!
Also for writers_choice, this is "Birthday."
Dean wanted a gun for his birthday.
Lots of boys his age probably did too, but they meant BB guns, toy guns, and Dean was thinking more of Glocks and Rugers. Worlds apart—and he'd learned to keep quiet about it. He didn't need a reputation at school for being a psycho.
He'd dropped a couple of hints to Dad, though. One more day...
"What's it like, turning nine?" Sammy asked him.
"I can ride a bike, read books, use the stove. I know how money works. And I can reach stuff."
"Wow." Sam still needed a chair to wash his hands.
The next morning, Sam bounced Dean awake before seven. "Got your present."
Dean unfolded the towel Sam handed him. Inside was a smooth blue stone—"With shiny white parts, like it's magic"—and the world's smallest teddy bear. "So you can take it everywhere," Sam added, picking up his own toy rabbit and squeezing it reassuringly.
"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said warmly. He turned the rock over in his hands, rubbing its cool surface, and fingered the plush little ears on the bear. Those innocent presents made him think of being Sam's age, when life was simpler, happier, and safer—until the night it suddenly wasn't. What he wouldn't give to be able to go back...
"Happy Birthday, Dean." Their father's gruff voice by the doorway sounded so proud and pleased, and Dean thought about the gun he'd wanted so much, and was suddenly afraid he might actually get it.
How would that gun look to Sammy, who was still caught up in stuffed animals and pretty rocks? Sam had given him a toy to love—or to love him back, or maybe both—and guns were for killing and nothing else. Sam didn't even know what their father did while the boys were in bed, or those weekends where he left them with Pastor Jim or family friends. Dad and Dean had agreed not to tell him, not for awhile longer. He'd find out soon enough.
Dean raised his eyes to his father, wondering if all that was about to change.
"Here you go," Dad said, handing him a package wrapped in newspaper and string.
Dean untied the string and pulled back the paper carefully, his fingers nervous and slow as he wondered if—
"Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots!" Sammy shouted. "They're on TV!"
"Got some batteries too," Dad chuckled. "You can try them out."
Dean's smile nearly split his face, he was so relieved. He'd seen the TV commercials before, and even heard the kids at school talk about this toy, but he'd never realized he actually wanted it himself
Suddenly, it seemed absolutely perfect.
"Thanks Dad," he said. "These are great! Can Sammy and I play with them before breakfast?"
"Whatever you want." Dad ruffled Dean's hair, and put an arm around each of the boys, hugging them tight. "Happy Birthday."
"Yeah, Happy Birthday, Dean!" Sam patted the box enthusiastically. "Can I be red?"
"You bet, Sammy." Dean worked the box open, and started putting the batteries in the toy's base.
"And while we're playing, maybe you can help me think of a name for this bear. He's gonna need one."
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