Here you go y'all. The last chapter. Sammy's birthday. I hope you like it and remember, reviews are love.

Disclaimers:

The Giver really was published 1993 (though I don't know the exact date) but I don't it, Sherlock, the Furious movies or Supernatural.

A loud crash and a startled yelp of pain that was quickly cut off had Sam rocketing out of bed and rushing to find the source of the noise before he was even fully awake. He has the foresight to grab his gun from next to his bed, and makes his way quickly and quietly to his big brother's bedroom. The crash and yelp sounded like they came from farther away, but no one else was- or should be- in the bunker, and Dean had been out of commission for the past three days due to food poisoning from a shady taco truck in New Mexico and had just started keeping down liquids yesterday evening, so he shouldn't be out of bed. Sam pushed open the door of Dean's room slowly and silently; empty. Sam's heartbeat beat faster, anticipating the danger his sick, Mark-controlled brother may have gotten into. Moving faster, and only slightly less silently, Sam headed in the direction of the noise that had awoken him. Another clatter and muffled curse prompted him to walk faster in the direction of the kitchen. Sam paused just outside the door, caught his breathe, released the safety on his gun, and swung himself around the doorframe, gun up and trigger finger twitching.

What he saw surprised him.

Dean was on the floor, surrounded by the remains of what looked like omelets and pancakes, sitting among broken plates, pans and a puddle of coffee. Sam lowered the gun. "Dean?" he asked hesitantly, eyes taking in everything and assessing the situation. Dean was cradling a hand to his chest, muttering to himself as he tried to pick up the remains of two shattered plates. Sam could see the shadows and heavy bags underneath his dull green eyes, made all the darker by the pale pallor of his skin. His hands were shaking and his eyes were squinted like he had a headache, and he flinched when he heard Sam's voice.

"Hi, Sam," Dean said, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep."

Sam shook his head and put the gun on the table in favor of a towel. "Dude- what happened? Should you even be out of bed right now? Don't answer that because I know for a fact that the correct answer is no you definitely should not be up, considering you haven't had solid food in three days and just stopped throwing up with every movement. So why are you up, Dean?"

It came out much harsher than Sam meant, and he immediately regretted it when he saw the crushed look on his brother's face. Dean retreated in on himself, bringing his injured hand to his chest and tucking it in between his chest and his legs as he leaned against the cupboards. His dull green eyes were slightly teary and directed downward. "Dean…" Sam started to apologize, but Dean cut him off.

"Didn't mean to make a mess, Sammy," Dean said quietly. He didn't raise his gaze.

Sam sighed and sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "I know," he acknowledged. "I'm just surprised that you're up, honestly. I thought you'd be milking this a little longer, making me bring you breakfast in bed and stuff."

Dean shrugged and turned his head away. "Wanted t' make you breakfast for your birthday."

Sam frowned. "My birthday?" Sam suddenly turned to the calendar in the kitchen. "Crap! It is my birthday!"

Dean nodded, blinking fast. "Sorry. Screwed it up again."

Sam tried to comfort Dean. "No, you didn't, Dean. It's not like we had anything planned any way. You didn't ruin anything by getting sick. It's not your fault man."

Dean shook his head violently before stopping and turning green. Sam scrabbled to get the trash bin and brought it back just in time. He rubbed Dean's back as his brother retched. Finally, Dean coughed, spit and said something unintelligible. "What?" Sam asked, leaning in.

"I had plans for your birthday," Dean admitted. Sensing his little brother's look of confusion (Dean still wouldn't look at Sam), Dean explained quietly. "I wanted to make up for the past couple years, especially your last birthday, when I was AWOL as a demon. I've been a shitty brother, tricking you into saying yes to Gadreel, getting the Mark, running out on you, being angry and petty about Amelia… I just wanted to do something nice for this birthday, since… well, we see how this turned out. Can't even make frickin' breakfast right!" Dean smacked his hand on the ground in frustration, forgetting it was injured. He hissed in pain and Sam snatched his hand and inspected the burn.

Trying to lighten the mood, Sam quipped, "Well, that makes two of us." Bringing up his own failed birthday breakfast attempt had the desired effect. Dean snorted weakly. Sam smiles. "Now, let me patch this up for you, okay?"

Wrong thing to say apparently. Dean slumps backwards again almost immediately.

"Worst big brother ever," he mutters to himself as Sam cleans his hand. The younger Winchester snaps his head up in shock and anger.

"No, you're not!"

The vehemence in his voice must have surprised Dean, who finally raised his eyes and blinked at his younger brother in confusion. Sam dialed back the volume of his voice, but not the conviction. "Dean, you are not the worst big brother ever. Not even close. Hell, you're not even close to being the worst brother period." Dean just snorted in disbelief and looked away again. Sam sighed and finished cleaning Dean's hand and moves slightly to sit beside him, trying to come up with a way to let Dean know that a botched breakfast doesn't mean he's a failure as a brother.

The Winchester brothers sit in silence for a long time.

"Do you remember the year I turned ten?" Dean blinked and nodded, unsure where this was going. Sam pressed forward. "I had just learned what Dad really did, and two weeks before my birthday, he went on a hunt a couple of counties over from where we were staying in Tennessee. It wasn't his first since I learned about hunting, but he promised to be back for my birthday." Dean snorted, clearly remembering the broken promise and Sam's resulting panic that he had died and left them orphans. Regardless, Sam reminded his brother. "He didn't call for three days, and it was May 1st, and I was convinced that he was dead or hurt and never coming back. You tried to tell me everything was going to be fine and that my birthday wasn't ruined, and Dad would come back, but I didn't listen and went to bed early and upset."

"What's the point of this, Sam?" Dean asked, voice still rough from his stomach's rebellion.

Sam ignored his brother's interjection. "When I woke up on my birthday, there was a brand-new comic book, Batman, laying on top of a new book, The Giver, and you had Lucky Charms and apple juice ready in the kitchen for me. After breakfast, you told me we were going out, and when I got to the door, there were new shoes waiting for me. And it was like that all day; you gave me lots of little presents and kept me from thinking about Dad and hunting and everything wrong with our childhood." Sam looked at his brother seriously, staying quiet until Dean finally met his eyes. "That's one of my favorite memories," he confessed quietly. "Know why?" Dean shook his head. "'Cause you were there. I'm hard pressed to find a birthday you weren't there for, Dean. You made all of them good birthdays, good days in general. So this-" Sam gestured to the mess in the kitchen "-this doesn't ruin any of that."

Dean smiled shakily, looking down at the tiled floor. Sam wrapped a hand around Dean's arm and continued. "And this past year, with the little gifts? That's one of the best things anyone, even you, has ever done for me. And I know you think maybe you need to make up for the mistakes you've made, Dean, but you don't. Not to me. You hurt me with some of them, but I forgive you. I do. You've forgiven me for so much worse. And I've never done half the stuff you do for me on a regular basis, so stop making me look like the worst brother ever." Dean chuckled at that. Sam grinned. "So," Sam paused to make sure Dean looked at him. "We good?"

Dean smiled at his brother, weary eyes and pale face notwithstanding. "Yeah, Sammy. We're good."

"Good." Sam looked around. "Let's get this cleaned up, then."

Dean groaned but slowly levered himself from the ground. "Dude, this blows. I had tons of great things planned for today too! I've planning this for months!"

"Really?" Sam asked, picking up the broken plates.

"Yeah- we were going to have so much fun doing stuff today. One last hoorah, you know?" Sam looked sharply at Dean, eyes narrowed. He hadn't missed the ominous 'since' in his brother's earlier confession, and this was dangerous thinking for both of them. He opened his mouth to call out his brother, but Dean continued, not noticing Sam's look. "Like, we were going to go get lunch at this super great place down town, and catch the new Fast and Furious movie that came out last month." Dean made to sweep the food up, but quickly changed directions to retch into the sink. Sam gave a wince of sympathy and went to his brother, rubbing his back and turning on the faucet. When Dean straightened and spit a final time, Sam presented him with more water. Dean took it and muttered dejectedly, "Stupid food poisoning ruining everything."

"Why don't you just modify your plans to be inside with minimal moving?" Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head, slowly this time. "That's not fair to you. It's your birthday, and you'd just be doing lame things with me."

Sam shrugged. "I don't mind. Hanging out with you has always been my idea of a good time."

Dean glanced over at Sam skeptically. "Really?"

Sam widened his eyes earnestly. "Really."

Dean looked away, a light blush rising on his cheekbones. "Okay." Sam smiled and convinced his brother to sit down at the table. "Okay then- Birthday in the Bunker Step 1: Breakfast. Pancakes and omelets. Or cereal now, I guess," Dean amended, looking at Sam, clearly remembering who had to cook now.

"Nah uh, you can teach me how to make them," Sam protested. Dean raised an eyebrow but acquiesced. "Alright then, geek boy, if you're so smart. Here's what you do."

Under Dean's careful and teasing direction, Sam made pancakes and omelets. ("For one, Sammy. Just give me some juice this morning.") Sam laughed along with his brother as they told stories and ate in the kitchen. Dean suggested relocating to Sam's room for a movie or show and Sam happily agreed, knowing Dean would let him choose. Dean, feeling slightly better, helped Sam make some sandwiches for when they got hungry (nothing special, just peanut butter and banana) and they spent the next six hours on Sam's bed watching Sherlock. (Dean protests but Sam knows he enjoys the show, too; Dean leans over and whispers theories to Sam from time to time.)

They finally leave Sam's room around five that night to make a quick dinner, which they then eat on the couch, laughing and relaxing. Dean had managed to eat the sandwiches without throwing up, so Sam let him eat some of the loaded baked potato Dean had taught him to make. Sam took their plates to the kitchen, but left them soaking in the sink, anxious to get back to his brother in the living room area. He had just returned when Dean's voice stopped him. "Before you sit down, Sammy, can you go to my room and get the wrapped box under my bed and bring it back?"

Curiosity welled up in Sam and he practically ran to his brother's room to do as he asked. When he returned, Dean patted the seat next to him on the couch. When Sam is sitting next to him, Dean smiles at his eager look and tilts his head in silent permission to open the present.

Sam rips off the paper to see a plain brown box. Carefully opening the box, Sam looks inside and gasps.

Inside of the box are pictures; pictures of him and Amelia and Riot, of him and Jess and old Stanford friends, and, at the very end and most precious, pictures from Before- of a life that was short and fleeting and a bright, treasured secret in his brother's heart and memory.

Sam's eyes widened as he looked over the pictures of his old lives. "What- How-" he chokes over the questions burning through his heart and wrestling to be asked.

"I made some calls," Dean admitted, smiling. "Remember, this is a year in the making. I called Amelia and had her email the pictures to Charlie who got them to me. The Stanford pictures were harder. I spent 4 months trying to get a hold of your friend Rebecca- from St. Louis? She lives in Seattle now, by the way- and had her get a hold of anyone who had pictures of you and Jess from Stanford and then do the same."

Sam's fingers traced the outline of Jess's smiling face. With a shaky smile, he blinked tears out of his eyes as Dean continued. "Some of those pictures looked pretty interesting. I thought, you know, we never really talked about Jess or Stanford, but if you're willing to share, I'm willing to listen." Sam looked at his brother, shocked. "It's been 11 years since I dragged you away from Stanford and her and- REGARDLESS OF WHETHER IT'S MY FAULT OR NOT," Dean raised his voice to crush down Sam's protests. "I'm just saying that I've dragged you through heaven, hell and high water since then and, well, you've given up a lot for me since then. A lot of GOOD things. And I wanted to say... Thanks." Dean looked awkward, fingering a hole in his jeans as he waited for Sam's answer.

The silence stretched on.

Finally, Sam said softly, "What about the Lawrence pictures?" Dean cleared his throat. "Do you remember working the case back in Lawrence with the family that moved into our old house?"

Sam thought hard. "The one I had a vision about?" Dean nodded. "Yeah. Wait- are these- are these those pictures she found in the basement?!" At Dean's nod, Sam continued. "I thought we lost them."

Dean averted his eyes. "No," he said quietly. "I hid them in the trunk of the Impala. I knew you would want to talk about them, know about the stories, know about HER, but I just wasn't ready after going back there. So I hid them and I swear, Sam, I was going to pull them out and talk to you but I just... forgot, after everything. I found them a few years ago, when I was with Lisa, then made sure I knew where it was so when I found you again, I could show them to you." Dean met Sam's wet eyes with determination. "That's your real present today, Sam. Me telling you all the stories. It wasn't fair for me to keep Mom to myself, and I know it hurt you. But I'd like to share her with you, if you want. What I remember, at least."

Sam coughed to clear his throat of the sudden thickness that resided there, glancing between the pictures in his hands and his wonderful, awesome big brother, who looked uncertain and uncomfortable, but willing. And if that hadn't been what he'd always wanted since he knew what a mother was and why he didn't have one, just ready for him to take. "If, if you don't mind," Sam said, almost shyly. "Can you?" Dean smiled at his precious little brother and simply patted the seat next to him on the couch. Eagerly- feeling all of 5 years old and as if his cool older brother had just agreed to read him a story- Sam sat on the couch next to his brother, pulling his legs up underneath his body, offering up the pictures.

Dean said, "How about you choose a picture to start with?" The elder Winchester smirked at the serious look on the younger man's face as he studied each photograph intensely. Sam looked over each picture critically, determined to find the one that looked as if it came with the best story. There were about 30 pictures, and 25 pictures in, he found it. The perfect picture. The old photograph was of his brother, blond and young, covered in mud, with tear tracks on his cheeks and clutching the very pregnant curve of his smiling mother's stomach. Sam smiled brightly and held it out for his brother to see. Dean took it and laughed. "This is a good choice, Sammy. I remember this one." The pair shifted on the couch to become comfortable. Somehow, they ended up with Dean laying reclined along the couch's length, back against the arm, with Sam nestled along his side in between the cushions and Dean with his head on big brother's collarbone. It was a position they had often taken when they were younger and Dean was reading to little Sammy. It was less comfortable now, but Sam seemed happy and Dean was content just to let it be.

"Alright," he started slowly. "This was the day of your baby shower. It was late March, so Mom was big with you- maybe 6 or 7 months, I forget which-"

"7 months."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, geek boy, 7 months. Anyway, Mom was 7 months pregnant with little baby Sammy and one of her friends decided to throw her a baby shower. Mom made this big deal out of it; she spent days, Sam, literal DAYS, teaching me the proper way to behave in front of her friends. She stressed it, over and over again, that this was an important day for Mommy and baby Sammy so I must do no wrong that day. It was my very important, big brother duty to be a good boy and not to let my baby brother down."

"They were telling you that before you carried me out of the house?" Sam asked, curiously.

Dean nodded. "Oh yeah, from the second Mom and Dad sat me down and explained what a baby brother was, the way they could get me to do anything was by bribing me with you. 'Clean your room before you can talk to baby Sammy', 'Eat your veggies or you won't be able to hold Sammy'- shut up, Sam, I eat veggies," Dean lightly slapped the back of his brother's head at his snort of laughter. Sam stifled his giggles and brought his hand up to rest on his brother's chest, where the amulet lay once again. He gripped it in his fist and his brother continued. "Anyway, the day of said baby shower, Mom got me up early, made a special breakfast, a bath and put me in my nicest clothes." Dean pointed at himself in the picture, and Sam could see the muddy remains of a white button-down shirt and khakis. "But there was still an hour until people would start coming and she had to get ready herself. And when I asked if I could play outside while waiting, she said no. Because, you see, it was the first sunny day in about a week and while I just wanted to go outside for the first time in a week, all Mom could see was the pure expanses of mud that a week of rain had left behind." Sam laughed loudly at that. "Oh, sure, laugh it up Sammy," Dean said, wryly. "It was the end of the world."

Sam's laughter doubled at the mental picture of 4-year-old Dean, blond hair slicked back and clothes tidy, throwing a tantrum. "So what'd you do?"

"I did what any self-respecting 4 year-olds would do," Dean said smugly. "I cried and screamed and got put in time-out on the couch. AND THEN," Dean raised his voice to be heard over Sam's delighted laughter, "And then when Mom's friends began arriving in bulk, I snuck out the back door." Dean let Sam's guffaws die out before he carried on with his story telling. "I think I was out there an hour or two playing in the mud before Mom figured out where I was. Apparently, she thought I'd run away or gotten lost or something because she called Dad to come help look for me, and he's the one who found me making mud pies in the back corner of the yard." Sam eyes were trained on his brother's face, taking in the soft, wistful look in Dean's normally hard green eyes. "Mom was crying. She sent all her friends home after they found me, and after she recovered from her panic, man, was she PISSED. She sat me down on the kitchen counter with Dad in the doorway, and began scrubbing at my clothes, shoes and face, yelling about how I had scared her, disobeyed her and embarrassed her in front of her friends. Then she abandoned the rag and laid into me how she was so disappointed in how I acted today, how I had treated my baby brother." Sam's fist tightened unconsciously on the amulet. The smile had disappeared from his face as he focused all of his attention on this rare display of emotion from his brother. "And I had never seen Mom so angry before. And when she just started looking at me with this disappointed look in her eyes, telling me how I let her and my baby brother down, I just lost it. I started crying and hugging Mom, apologizing over and over. And when she caved and forgave me- cause I'm just that cute and adorable- I asked if I could apologize to baby Sammy. I think that's when Dad took this picture, when I was sobbing my cute, little heart out in apology to you." The pair fell silent at the close of the story. Sam pressed himself closer to his brother. Dean absent-mindedly stroked Sam's hair as he gazed at the picture, lost in thought. "I used to do that a lot," Dean mused, as if just realizing it. "Mom would fall asleep on the couch or something, and I'd come right up to her stomach and just tell you anything I was thinking about that day. I would do that for hours..." Dean trailed off.

Sam smiled as a warm flush of pleasure coursed through him at this blatant display of his big brother's adoration for him. "I love you, too, Dean. Thanks."

"Shut up, bitch." Dean pushed Sam's hair into his face.

"Jerk." Sam shook out his hair. They were quiet for a while, looking at the picture of their mother, lost in their own thoughts. "Dean?" Sam asked finally.

"Yeah, little brother?" came the soft voice above him.

There was so much Sam wanted to say. He wanted to reassure Dean that everything would be fine, they could fix the Mark and save his soul. He wanted to scream at the world that they could not have his brother, dead or a demon. He wanted to curl up like he was three and scared of thunder and sob into his big brother's strong shoulder that he was scared. He wanted to tell Dean how much he loved and appreciated him- for real, not as a teasing joke. But he didn't say any of those things. He just said, "Best present ever, Dean. Thanks."

Sam peered up and caught Dean's affectionate smile. "You're welcome, Sammy."

Sam coughed and declared, "Okay. Next one." He shuffled through the pictures. "Dean... What are you wearing?"

Dean peered at the photograph. "Dude, I don't even know."

So... what did you guys think? R&R and I'm working on another SPN fic rn, so check out that when it's up. It will be up in one go, it's a one shot. But in the mean time, send a review my way! Love y'all!