“Shut up and help,” someone hissed.
Sam blinked, his eyes bleary, and rolled over in his bed. He didn’t know what the hell Dean was doing, but it was cutting into his precious four hours of sleep.
“You call me here to use my angelic powers for this—?” said someone else at a normal volume.
“Quiet, you’ll wake him up,” Dean whispered. “Anyway, what’s a bit of flying to you? Be sure to get Bobby before—”
“Sam’s awake, Dean,” Cas announced, and then disappeared.
Dean fell silent, and Sam could hear him edging towards the bed. He quickly shut his eyes and steadied his breathing. He could sense Dean looking at him.
“Bullshit, Sam’s sleeping like a— Dammit, Cas, stop disappearing like that, it gives me the creeps,” Dean sighed.
Sam smirked, his eyes still closed. There was a flutter of wings. “You coulda just told me where you were,” Bobby muttered, “I got a car. This fancy angel apparate nonsense puts my stomach in all sorts of knots.”
“Shh, Sam’s still sleeping,” Dean warned. “Can you put out these?”
“Do I look like Betty Crocker to you?” Bobby grumbled.
“You don’t look like a woman,” Cas replied.
Cas fell silent. “Hey Cas, could you get this up there?” Dean said suddenly.
“Sure,” Cas said. “Done,” he said a split second later.
“So how’s that hunt going?” Bobby asked absently.
“Could be worse. At least it’s a routine haunting, nothing too difficult. For once, salting and burning the bones the first time seems to have done the trick,” Dean said.
Bobby chuckled. “Just wait, there’s gonna be something wrong, some lock of hair that you missed,” he said.
“Hey, don’t jinx it!”
“I could undo a jinx if one was placed on you,” Cas interjected.
“It’s just an expression.”
“Oh. I still could.”
Sam smiled, and started to move around in the bed.
“Oh shit, he’s waking up, come here, come here. You got the food out?” Dean said excitedly.
“Where’d ya get this stuff, a convenience store?”
“It was the only thing open!”
Cas cleared his throat. “Sam’s been awake this entire time, you know.”
Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean said cheerfully.
Sam gave him a look. “What’s all this for?” he said sleepily.
“It’s your birthday! Happy birthday!” Dean said, throwing his arms in the air and grinning goofily.
Sam looked around. A cheap, thin banner with the words “Happy Birthday, Son!” had been hung from the ceiling with duct tape. A box’s worth of Hostess Cup Cakes and Ho Hos had been strewn out on the motel desk. And under the banner stood Dean, still smiling stupidly, Castiel, looking vaguely confused about who’s son’s birthday they were celebrating, and Bobby, shorter than everyone in his wheelchair and looking none too happy about being alive at five o’clock in the morning.
Sam smiled and laughed. “Thanks, guys,” he said, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed and stretching as he stood up. “Really, thanks.”
“And I got this!” Dean said, pulling out a jug of red Gatorade. “It’s like demon blood!”
Bobby stared at him. Castiel looked a bit disturbed. Dean shrugged. “It’s a joke,” he said.
Sam shook his head, but the smile was still there. “Yeah, that’s not insensitive,” he said sarcastically.
Dean shrugged. “It’s five o’clock in the morning. Everything’s insensitive at five o’clock in the morning.”
Sam grabbed the jug, opened it, and took a swig. Wiping off his mouth, he looked at his brother. “Twenty-nine years, man. Thought we'd never make it.”