selene_13: (Dean)
[personal profile] selene_13
Title: Birthday Cake
Disclaimer: These boys are not belong to me.
Spoilers: Set in late season 4, but undefined
Category: h/c
Rating: PG
Words: 1,655
Characters: Dean, Sam
Summary: In a fever's delirium, Dean is sure it's Sam's birthday and goes looking for a gift.
Author's note: At home sick, filling the time. Just happy to be writing anything.




One minute he's dreaming, the next he's awake, knowing for sure he's screwing something up. Confused, he blinks into the pale light that shines through ratty motel curtains.

Then he remembers his dream, and he's pushing himself up off the bed. It's Sam's birthday, and he's completely forgotten. He hasn't gotten Sammy a thing. Shit.

It's not that birthdays haven't gone by in obscurity before. There was the one where they'd been tied up in a witch's basement for two days, for instance, and, oh yeah, can't forget the one when Sam was dead. But that doesn't mean that's an excuse to let it go by unnoticed. Things are different now.

When Dean looks over at Sam's bed it's empty. Considering this, he realizes that the soft pattern of rain he's been hearing is actually the shower. Aha, an opportunity.

He shuffles out of bed and straight into his jeans. He keeps on the T-shirt he slept in and shoves his feet into his boots, nearly losing his balance and having to grab onto the bed to keep upright. He wonders if he should be pulling a jacket on as he's shivering in the room's chill, but he knows it's a sauna outside, unreasonably hot for May even in New Mexico. Sam must have gotten overexcited with the airconditioner.

Hearing Sam drop something in the shower, he pushes off the bed and half falls towards the door, leaning his hands against it. He feels half asleep and shakes himself. He opens the door to walk out, as expected, into a wall of heat.

At first the warmth feels good on his cool skin and he stops shaking, but it doesn't take long for sweat to start dampening his shirt and hair. Damn, he hates New Mexico. Hot and dusty and chupacabras. No complaining about the tequila though.

That might be something to get Sam, a good bottle of hooch to put some hair on his chest. That, or maybe a teddy bear.

Dean's eye catches a bakery down the street. Oh yeah, score there. Turning on his heels, he trips over his own feet and to his suprise his knees actually buckle and hit the dirt. Dazed, Dean stays down a moment. The baking heat is getting to him, rivulets of sweat making their way down his back, sticking his T-shirt uncomfortably to his skin.

He notices the eyes of an old guy watching him from his porch. The geezer looks to be readying himself to get up, walking stick in hand. Dean dismissively waves a hand, and heaves himself up. He's tired, should've stayed in bed a bit longer maybe, but the bakery is a good idea. Who doesn't like cake? Sam sure does.

The doorbell jingles as he enters. There's only one other customer in there, but she's picking up a huge order. Dean half-listens at the women's babble while bag after bag of bread for the church fair barbeque is put into a cart. Free dinner is a given if he finds out the location, so he keeps an ear out. Meanwhile, he checks out the cakes. Most are pink or blue and have big numbers on them. Dean considers one with barbies. Eat that, Sammy.

Thinking he should bring a little breakfast back too and looking at the multi-colored donuts, he feels nauseous. It's too hot to eat breakfast, he decides. Even inside the shop the heat has not abated. You'd think with all this pastry, they'd put a little cooling on. Instead, the heat seems to wall him in completely, and he has to suddenly hold himself tight not to visibly sway against it. He sees stars.

"Sir? Sir, can I help you?" Dean blinks his eyes clear and finds himself alone in the bakery. Barbeque lady has left without him noticing. Damn, he has to focus, has to keep alert. Who knows what fuglies lurk even in a shop. Baker's ghost, pies of christmas past, oven gateways to hell...

"Sir?" The woman throws him a wary look.

"Cake," Dean says. His voice is hoarse and he scrapes his throat. "That one," he points. Sam always liked transformers.

The woman opens a box and bends to pick the transformer cake from the shelve. The stars are edging back into Dean's sight and he rubs his fingers into his eyes. That doesn't help at all; makes them multiply. As his vision narrows he realizes that he's been through this before, usually right before he passes out.

Shit. He vaguely realizes his cell phone is ringing as he tilts over. Then it's dark.


++++++


"Hey, you with me man?"

Dean peers up at the blob in front of his face. As he blinks, it shapes itself into Sam's head. Sam has his giant paw on Dean's chin, turning his face up.

Deans slaps Sam's hand away. "Leggo," he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his face with his own. He's slick with sweat, his hand is shaking, and he's on a hard floor surrounded by colored pastry. "What?"

"You passed out," Sam says, offering his hand. Dean takes it and lets himself be hauled up to rubbery legs. Sam keeps a steady hand on his shoulder, and though Dean wants to shake it off, he doesn't and acts like he doesn't notice it. Secretly, he thinks he'd faceplant right back into the floor without the support.

Feeling confused, Dean glances around. A woman is standing beside them with a shocked look on her face, her hands wringing her blouse. "You fainted during your order," she says, noticing his look. "I took your brother's call." She turns harassed eyes on Sam. "Sure you don't want me to call an ambulance?"

Sam shakes his head, if it's a little nervous only Dean would see. "He's just sick. I'll take him back home and he'll be fine." He starts pulling on Dean's arm to get him to the door.

Sick? Dean frowns. That's not what he came here to do. There was something else.

"Cake!" he blurts out, hanging against Sam's grip. Sam looks back, surprised. "Need to bring the cake," Dean says stubbornly.

Sam makes a face that's a cross between annoyance and amusement. "You wander around delusional with fever," he says slowly, "and you decide you want pie. Well, that figures."

"No," Dean shakes his head. "The cake. Sammy's birthday cake."

"Birthday cake?" Sam echoes. He seems stunned but Dean doesn't care. He looks imploringly at the woman.

The bakery lady picks up the cake box and puts it on the counter. "Can't leave behind his kid's cake," she says, offering it to Sam. "If he took that much effort to go and get it."

Sam looks from her, to the cake, and back to Dean.

"Yeah okay," he says slowly. "What do I owe you?" Dean belatedly realizes he hadn't brought any money with him. He didn't think this one through maybe.

"On the house," the woman says. She seems eager to hand it over. Oh yeah, he's still got it.

Sam nods his thanks and manages to balance both cake and Dean - who try as he might cannot get his legs to walk in a straight line by himself - and hauls them out into the street. A glance back shows the intensely relieved face of the woman as the door jingles shut behind them.

Now that he's out in the street, Dean has to admit that maybe it hadn't been so hot inside after all, because going out it feels like the heat presses against him from every angle, making it hard to move. His head angles downwards under the pressure of it.

"Dean, hey." Sam pushes at his arm. "You gonna stay awake until we get back?"

"Didn't faint," Dean grumbles, suddenly aggravated. He watches his feet take one step after another. New stars blink at the edges of his vision, but the continuous motion is soothing and grounds him.

"I know," Sam says. He sounds way too amused. "You took a manly fall. It's just not the same."

"Tha's right," Dean says, ignoring Sam's tone. He hears the slur in his own voice. "It's goddamn hot out here." His head bobs once.

Sam's grip tightens. "Almost there."

Dean leans against the wall as Sam struggles to hold the cake and open the door. He tosses the box on the table and hurries back to grab Dean, who'd been busy making a downward slide down the wall, and hauls him into the room and on the bed.

He disappears a moment and, despite himself, Dean lets out a moan. He feels awful suddenly, sick to his stomach, hot as hell and his head spinning. A moment later a cool, wet washcloth is put on his forehead, and it somewhat eases the feeling of burning from within.

"Why the cake, Dean?" Sam murmurs beside him, as he pops pills from their packages for Dean to take. "It's not my birthday for another three weeks. You don't usually make a big deal out of it."

Dean's confused. It's not Sam's birthday? He'd been so sure.

"Was dreaming," he says, feeling as if he's in another dream already. "Shit, it's hot."

"You're burning up. Should've told me you were sick." Sam says, and looks away. There was a time when Dean wouldn't have had to tell Sam for him to know.

"You don't have to be so worried about me," Sam continues. He offers the pills to Dean, who takes them silently, chokes a bit on the water. "I can take care of myself. I don't care about my birthday. You don't have to think about it."

Dean looks at his little brother, at his shadowed eyes, his shoulders which are continuously tense these days.

Dean feels it's important. "It's really hot in hell," he explains. "There's no birthdays."

He doesn't hear what Sam says in reply. He sleeps.


END
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selene_13

January 2012

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