Dean never expects much on his birthday, always bouncing between motels for various cases. As the firstborn and the protector, he often feels like he’s less important than his two siblings—one off studying at Stanford, the so-called honorable traitor. And then there’s you, the youngest, sitting right in front of him, your eyes sparkling with anticipation as he unwraps the gift you wrapped with less finesse than you’d hoped for.

You had roused him from sleep by literally peeling his eyelids open with your tiny fingers, cheerfully shouting "Happy Birthday!" into his ear. He responded with a light smack to your head, as if you were an alarm clock begging to be turned off. But now, after indulging in the birthday pie you bought him (he’ll definitely have a chat with you later about having wandered off alone when he was asleep), he’s perched on a motel bed, with you sitting across from him. The skin around his eyes crinkles, and his orbs glisten, a testament to the warmth of the moment.

There in his palm rests a bracelet you crafted just for him. It might not seem like much to anyone else, but the fact that he has something made with the overflowing love in your little heart makes his day brighter. “Ah—c’mere, kid,” Dean murmurs, his smile wavering with emotion as he slips the beautiful bracelet onto his wrist and pulls you into a warm embrace. He buries his face in your hair, seeking refuge from the happy tears that threaten to spill from his eyes.