A sad one shot about life after death. Dean's life after Mary's death.

Happy Birthday

A calendar hung on the wall. A count day to today was writing in sloppy writing, right down to today.

Two weeks. One week. Five days. Four. Three. Two. One.

Every day a scribble eliminated the day from existence. Today, today no one had crossed off the day.

A tiny boy shifted in his bed. His eyes flickering open. He lay for a moment, pondering the sunlight as it ran in long fingers down the length of the room.

Then, as the thought occurred to him, he shot up in bed, his eyes darting to the calendar hanging stubbornly on the wall.

Tiny eyes lit up with happiness. A grin that light up a room spread across the child's cute features.

He bounced out of bed, no longer sleepy. His tiny feet hit the floor and the wandered over to his brother.

Gently, he carried Sammy into his father's room.

The curtains were pulled closed, the strong smell of whiskey usually made Dean gag. Today he walked straight into it.

Nothing could squash the bubbling happiness in his heart. Not today.

"Daddy?" He asked. A stifled groan came from the lump in the sheets. "Daddy? Daddy! Guess what day it is?" He grinned, knowing daddy would reply.

"What is it Dean?" Came the annoyed reply. Dean frowned at this; the five year old's features morphing into disappointment.

"You know right?" He asked gently.

"Go away Dean, daddy has a hangover."

A few tears sprang into the green eyes as the child nodded, leaving the room. He settled Sam back into his cot and looked at the calendar, just to be sure.

He sat in the kitchen, picking at the milk soaked cereal before him. Why didn't daddy remember?

No, don't be silly. He scolded himself, of course daddy had remembered. Maybe he's planning something…like a surprise birthday party like mummy got.

Yes, he decided. That was it, Daddy had something planned. He smiled to his cereal, the tiny eyes lighting up with delight.

He wondered what he would get. A water gun? He had always wanted to have a water fight like the kids down the street. Or maybe a video? Yeah, mummy used to love watching old videos with Dean. Maybe the bike he had begged for? He saw all the big kids riding them. He squirmed with anticipation.

Daddy left Sammy and Dean at home after he got up. Dean sang to Sammy, he sang the lullaby mummy used to sing about the birds.

Dean wondered where Daddy was as he watched television. He didn't like sitting her for so long by himself, he wanted to have cake; he wanted to celebrate like he did last year.

That night, when the milky sky turned dark Daddy came back. He stumbled through the door. Dean perked up from the couch, waiting.

Daddy took one look at Dean's expectant face and scowled. "What?" He demanded, the shots he had just downed heightening all emotion.

Dean cringed, not the gift he had expected. "Nothing." He whispered. Daddy glared at him, then went to check on Sammy, who was sleeping in the cot.

Dean stood up, his legs carrying him outside. He sat on the gravel.

Daddy didn't remember.

Daddy didn't care.

Hot tears trickled down his face. He looked up at the stars, imagining their laughing voices.

Stupid child, he thought he mattered. That's what he hears, he can't understand how, but he does.

He traces in the dirt. An absent finger running through the tear splashed soil.

He looked again to the stars and begged, silently for daddy to remember, he begged for mummy to come back.

He begged to matter.

But when no answer returned from the mocking heavens he stood, and ran to the door of the motel, ran to free himself.

His cold fingers reached up to the door handle and tugged. The door remained closed, but the floodgates didn't. Tear after tear poured down a pale face.

Tiny fists hit the wood. No one answered, no one came.

He wiped away the tears a curled up on the doorstep, unnoticed by passer-by's. Locked out by his own father.

Cold and alone the sat by the door, seeking what warmth flowed from the crack at the bottom of the door.

He sat huddled to the floor, a hand in the dirt, drawing.

That morning, when he woke the words, "Happy Birthday" Lay at his hand. The only one to remember was hit absent hand.

He wiped the message away and waited. Waited for someone to remember that he was here.

Waited to be important.

Waited so long he missed his birthday.

THE END

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