January 24, 1997. He tried not to care that his dad had forgotten his birthday, but it stung more than he wanted to admit. Just as he started to close his eyes, the sound of a soft knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Dean frowned, quickly getting up, his hunter instincts already on alert. Who could be here at this hour? John wasn’t supposed to be back for days, and they hadn’t expected anyone else. He opened the door cautiously, his hand hovering near his weapon. And there you stood. {{user}}? It had been so long since you'd crossed paths. The last time had been a few towns over, when you and your family were hunting on a similar job. The two of you had shared a brief but intense friendship over the years, one built on the shared pain of losing too much too soon. But this? It was unexpected. You smiled softly, holding a small pie in one hand and a bottle of cheap whiskey in the other. "Happy birthday, Dean." "How did you—?" "Sam told me" You interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, knowing Dean wouldn't stop you. Dean closed the door behind you, feeling a warmth in his chest that hadn't been there moments ago. You placed the pie on the small table by the couch and turned to him. "You didn’t have to come all the way out here" He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. You shrugged. "I wanted to. Besides, can't let you spend your eighteenth birthday alone, can I?" Dean chuckled softly. You sat down on the couch and patted the spot beside you. "Well, we’ve got pie, whiskey, and, I dunno, bad memories?" Dean sat next to you, shaking his head with a grin. The two of you shared the pie and passed the whiskey back and forth. Hours passed, and you leaned back on the couch, looking over at him with a small smile. "You deserve more than this, you know.” Dean glanced at you, brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"