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Without a doubt, today is the best day ever, or at least the very best birthday Dean Winchester has gotten to celebrate since the fire six years ago. Sammy woke him up singing loudly and totally off-key, his little brother had then tickled him breathless before showering him with presents. Dean get’s ten gifts in all or “a decade’s worth,” as Bobby puts it. And even though it's all, mostly cheap stuff like socks and underwear, Dean still feels his chest swell with joy as he unwraps every single one.
John is “out of town on business” again. So Bobby takes the boys to the Great Plains Zoo for the morning and then downtown to the Falls Overlook Cafe for a celebratory lunch. After one of the best cheeseburgers he’s ever eaten, Dean feels inexplicably drawn away to the falls themselves. While Bobby and Sam are settling the tab inside, Dean stares down into the mightiness of the cascading waterfalls. He is completely enamored by their raw power and the depth of the churning waters below. When Sammy comes up from behind and nudges him, the trance is broken and Dean startles so violently he nearly topples over.
“Here!” Sam giggles, handing his big brother a brand new 1989 penny.
As Dean contemplates his birthday wish, the small shiny coin feels heavy in his palm. His mind wavers over so many wants and needs that it is almost too much to put a name to them all.
“Whatcha gonna wish for, Dean?” Sam asks, impatiently, finding it hard to stay quiet amid his brother’s thoughtfully long silence.
“Well now, if I told you, then it wouldn’t come true, would it?”
When Dean finally chucks his penny into the falls, he thinks of his father, who he’s secretly been missing all day long. Even though John Winchester is hardly the type to celebrate anything with him anymore, least of all birthdays. Dean still holds onto a shred of hope that simply knowing where his father had gone would somehow be better than nothing at all.
And by some twist of fate or other mystical forces unknown, Dean’s birthday wish does come true after all. Though for many years to come, he will think back over the events that followed and wonder what might have been different had he wished for a dirt bike instead.
Midnight finds Dean snuggled under his covers with a flashlight, rereading his favorite superhero comics. Allowing his mind to wander at the late hour, he fantasizes about what it would be like to be a superhero for real. Just then, an animalistic scream rips through the otherwise peaceful South Dakota night. Jumping out of bed, Dean races to the window and is surprised to see the Impala parked outside. A scream echoes out again, only this time it sounds like it's coming from somewhere inside the house. With no concern for himself, Dean rushes downstairs to investigate.
Following the screams until they overlap with raised adult voices, Dean finds himself in the hallway outside of his Uncle Bobby’s study. Peeking through the slit of open door, Dean can see his father and uncle holding down some kid who looks to be about his own age. The boy writhes in pain as Bobby struggles to restrain him with his whole weight. Meanwhile, John chants strange sounding words as he reads from an old leather-bound book.
Suddenly the boy gains tremendous strength and frees himself in one quick movement before launching Bobby clear across the room. Without hesitation Dean runs inside, securing the room by blocking the door shut with his thin framed body. Moments later, Bobby is by his side as they both try to barricade themselves in, using whatever furnishings they can find. As John continues to chant, Bobby splashes the kid all over with clear liquid. The boy cries out in pain, as his body jolts backwards like he’s been zapped with some kind of invisible electricity. Taking full advantage of the kid's sudden vulnerability, Dean helps Bobby once again to secure the kid inside a circle of salt.
When at last John has finished the incantation, the boy remains motionless and Bobby gestures to Dean that it's okay to let him go. A tense hush of anticipation fills the room and stretches on for what feels like forever until suddenly the boy sits up. Despite him being too pale and still very out of it, Dean recognizes him as the bag boy from the little grocery store up the street.
“W-where am I?” the kid asks in an unhinged, still shaken voice.
Bobby is quick to gather him up in a blanket and convince him to be led away. He murmurs soft reassurances to the kid that sound strikingly similar to when Sammy wakes up in the night from a bad dream. Looking around, Dean seeks out his father’s gaze, and is unsurprised by the overall weariness that hides behind John’s eyes when he finds him. John motions for Dean to join him as he pours out two shots of whiskey. His hand shakes a little when he slides one tumbler full over to his son.
Dean has never had more than a couple sips of beer in his whole life. It tasted gross and not at all the way root beer does. He doesn't yet fully understand why anyone would ever consider drinking the stuff. But he does worry about how sad it seems to make his dad and Bobby act sometimes.
“Drink up, son.” John says encouragingly.
Hastily his dad downs his own drink in one big gulp, before reaching for the bottle again.
“Yes, sir.” Dean answers on instinct as he perfectly mirrors his father’s actions and tips the full shot back into his mouth.
The whiskey burns its way down through Dean’s insides and he wills himself not to gag. When he looks back up at John for approval, the room spins a little and he has to sit down. Dean almost misses the hint of a smile as it flickers across John’s lips and is overcome that such a reaction could ever be directed at him.
“The thing is Dean-” John pauses, huffing out a breath as he studies the willowy thin frame of his oldest son.
“Monsters are real and your uncle Bobby and I, we uh, well we fight them.”
As if on cue, Bobby enters the room and reports to John that the kid has been successfully dropped off at the ER without any trouble. Nodding to the older man, John pours everyone another shot. Accepting the drink without question, Dean finds that the dark amber liquid is much easier going down when he knows what to expect from it. Bobby looks over at Dean and chuckles at the sight of the very tipsy ten-year-old who's still holding his own alongside two salty hunters.
“You did good tonight, son!” the older man says, his voice thick with notes of love and respect.
But then John wants to talk shop about monsters and Dean can’t figure out why his eyelids are so damn hard to keep open.
Dean awakes to an unpleasantly bright bedroom and the sound of Sammy’s very loud cartoons playing somewhere nearby. He glances over at the nightstand and is greeted by a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin and an unevenly thick bundle wrapped in yellowing paper. Naively skipping the much needed hangover cures, Dean instead reaches for the mystery package and is unprepared when a small blue envelope falls to the floor. With the utmost of care, Dean picks it up and removes the cheesy store bought birthday card inside. Gently he flips the flimsy paper over in his hands. He takes an additional moment or two before he dares to even read the inscription:
Dean,
Sorry we didn’t get to talk more before I had to ship out, but Werewolves in Pennsylvania won’t take care of themselves. You handled yourself like a real man last night, so I know I can trust you with this until I get back. Read up and before too long you’ll know everything that I do.
-Dad
PS: It's probably best to keep this between you, me, and Bobby for right now. Your little brother is still just a kid and likely wouldn’t understand, anyway.
Trying to wrap his head around the cryptic orders he’s been given, Dean picks up the bundle and unwraps it to reveal his dad’s old leather journal. The thing is bigger than it looks and feels unbearably heavy in his small hands. Unsnapping the clasp, Dean breathes in the smell of leather and whiskey that reminds him of John, then gets to work diligently memorizing every page of his father’s messily written script. Hours later when there’s a familiar knock on his door, Dean is still immersed in his reading and doesn't bother with looking up.
Not waiting for a response, Bobby pushes his way through the door, eager to ask Dean about dinner. Scanning the room, he notices the water and pain meds are still untouched. It almost surprises the older man, considering the night they’d just had. Dean may look like a scrawny lightweight, but somehow he’d managed to match his dad shot for shot until Bobby had to cut everybody off.
The whole mess of it all was a damn shame, no two ways about it. There was never any question about what kind of future Dean would have some day, John had seen to that. Whether some evil son of a bitch ganked their old man or some monster decided to come after the boys- eventually they’d have to grow up real quick and get to learning all about the family business.
But to have it happening right now was far too soon for Bobby’s liking. Dean was only just starting to get settled in and trusting him enough to talk some. Bobby knew he lacked any kind of fancy schooling, but he still wanted to help the boy process some of his bone deep traumas before they went and ate him alive. No part of Dean's life would ever get close to being fair or easy. He had a dead mom, an obsessed dad and more self-imposed responsibilities than any kid his age ought to. If it were up to Bobby, which he knew it wasn't, he'd have given up damn near anything for Dean to just have a sliver more of a normal life.
Sam and Dean Winchester were not his Children. Yet Bobby Singer would have gladly sold his soul, found some spell or gone up against all the powers of heaven and hell combined- if he’d thought that any of it would’ve made some kind of difference at all.