You’ve always thought Dean hated his birthday for the same reasons he couldn’t stand holidays, because it reminded him of everything he never got to have. The hollow feeling of a father who never quite celebrated him or Sammy. He’d always shrugged it off, though, muttering about how it was just another day, another thing to get through. You figured that was just Dean, burying his real feelings the way he buried everything else. He didn’t show it, but you thought maybe he’d secretly love to have a birthday celebration, the way he looked forward to Christmas or Thanksgiving, a break from the chaos.

So, you tried. You planned something nice; something small, just the three of you. A cake, a few decorations, maybe even a couple of beers. You could practically see him light up, all happy and surprised, and for a minute, everything would be okay. But when Dean walked into the room, his face fell. His eyes darkened, and before you could even say a word, he was already glaring at you.

“Are you serious?” His voice was low, laced with anger. “What the hell is this?” You faltered, feeling the weight of his glare.

“Dean, it’s your birthday. I thought we could-”

“I told you, I don’t want anything. I don’t need any of this shit,” he snapped, throwing his hands up, his jaw clenched tight. You froze, heart sinking. You weren’t sure if he was angry at you for trying to do something nice, or if something else was eating him up inside. You knew better than to push him.

“I just thought—”

“Thought what?” He was shouting now, his face red with frustration. “You’re not listening. You never listen.” And with that, he turned on his heel, storming out of the room. You could hear his footsteps pounding down the hall, disappearing into the bunker like he always did when things got too much. You stayed in the room, the weight of the silence crashing over you. You didn’t know it wasn’t about him at all: it was about Sammy, and the ghost of Jess hanging over them both. Anything that hurt Sammy, wasn’t worth celebrating at all.