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tarotgal
Prompt: It's Dean's birthday. One year, while living in the bunker, Dean is off in the garage working on the Impala because he wants to relax. But then he notices that he hasn't seen Sam all morning, and Sam usually comes in at least once just to hang out. So he goes in search of his brother and eventually finds Sam in the kitchen, where Sam is trying, but completely failing, to make a birthday cake. Because we all know Dean is the real chef in the family.
Your task is to create a fill for this one prompt.
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cowboyguy sent it my way and, instantly, I was pulled in 4 different directions for how this could go. I'd love to see what other people do with it as well! Create art or write a short comment fic based on this prompt. Post your creation as a reply to this post on January 24. Be sure to comment and enjoy the other fills as well! Will a demon interrupt the festivities? Is Sam's mind on something other than the recipe? Will they just jump in the Impala and go out for pie instead? Let's see how many different, failed birthday cake attempts we can get for Dean. Bonus points for hurt/comfort and super bonus points for sneezing (though neither is required). Will there be angst? Fluff? Pr0n? You decide!
Note: Before the 24th, all comments to this post will be screened so that no fics/art accidentally slip through before Dean's birthday. I will unscreen and reply to whatever comments/questions get posted.
no subject
Date: 2015-01-22 02:31 pm (UTC)It got a little too long for a single comment, so my fic is here.
Happy birthday, Dean! :D
FILL: Utter Perfection (1/2)
Date: 2015-01-24 12:09 am (UTC)Rating: G
The morning of his birthday, Dean woke and stretched. His bed had never before felt so warm and comfortable. He would have liked to have stayed there all day, but his rumbling stomach already had something to say about that. So he got up and headed to the kitchen. Based on the lack of coffee, apparently Sammy was still asleep.
There was nothing Dean wanted to do on his birthday more than spend the whole day in the garage, working on the car. There was a certain simplicity in it, in reducing everything that needed to get done into oil and grease and lugnuts. Plus, this was like Baby’s birthday, too. He would give her a complete tune-up, a wash, and a wax. By the end, she would look just as good as if she’d come right off the lot.
He spent hours working, concentrating on the littlest details that he usually didn’t have time to work on when they were on the road. It wasn’t until his stomach started rumbling again that he realized he still hadn’t seen Sammy. Sam wasn’t too bad around the car, but he usually came over to lend a hand or throw some conversation his way. It was wonderful working on the car, but it would have been just that much better with Sam at his side. In fact, it was a little lonely without Sam.
Finally, when Sam didn’t turn up, Dean set down his wrench and wiped his hands off on a cloth. He checked Sam’s bedroom first, but the bed was empty. No doubt, that meant Sam was in the library, reading like usual. But he wasn’t there either. “Sam?” Dean called, his voice echoing through the empty bunker. Where was he? Dean checked everywhere, even the bathroom. But Sam wasn’t anywhere to be found.
Giving up, Dean headed to the kitchen for lunch. Thinking of the roast beef in the fridge that would make an excellent cold sandwich, Dean didn’t expect that this was when he would run into Sam. But, even if that thought had somehow been at the back of his mind, subconsciously rolling around and drawing him to the kitchen, he definitely didn’t expect to see Sam in the kitchen, a light blue apron over his front. There were blasts of flour across his cheek, chin, and forehead. A smear of something yellow followed the bridge of Sam’s nose. His hands were both green, and in them was a plate with a lumpy mound of something that only mildly resembled food.
Though the more he looked at it, the less certain of that he became. And Sam staring at him with those heartbreakingly soulful puppy dog eyes didn’t help matters. “Oh Dean… happy birthday?”
Dean dared to take a step forward—just one step. He grimaced at the… whatever Sam was holding. “Did you gank something in here, Sammy?”
“Just your birthday cake.”
Taken aback, Dean exclaimed, “my what?”
“I thought I’d make you one from scratch. It was the simplest recipe I could find online. But the baking soda might have gone bad… or I might have left some eggshell in there… and I don’t understand why it went all sideways. I tried to correct it while it was baking. I kept sticking my hand in the over and adjusting it. I wanted it ready before you stopped for lunch, so I turned the heat on the oven up a little higher than the directions said to. It came out… well… I thought I could hide the imperfections with the icing. The food coloring may have gotten a little out of hand, but the icing looked pretty good in the bowl—just not so good on the cake. He held it up a couple inches and forced a weak, pathetic smile. “Happy birthday?”
FILL: Not a Cook (1/2)
Date: 2015-01-24 12:12 am (UTC)Rating: G
“Sammy!” Dean thumped on the door. “Open up!”
“Nuh-uh!” Sam wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, leaving a smear of flour across it. “Not until I’m done in here. I promised you birthday cake!”
There was another thump against the door, bigger this time, presumably Dean’s whole body slumping against it. His voice was muffled through the thick kitchen door. “But, Sam, you’re not a cook.”
From the state of the kitchen, Sam had a sneaking suspicion that most of the Men of Letters hadn’t been good cooks either. But cake had seemed simple enough. Get the ingredients. Follow the recipe. It wasn’t much different from some of the demon-banishing rituals he’d done. Substitute sugar for salt and write Dean’s name on the cake instead of a sigil and baking a cake wasn’t all that different at all. There was even the same smoke.
Smoke! Sam ran to the stove and pulled the door open. A plume of gray smoke spilled from the opening. Coughing into the crook of his arm, Sam bent over to get a look at the cake inside… or what had once been a cake and was now a black square in a pan. Damn it! Just as Sam tried to think of what to do with the mess and how mad Dean would be if Sam were to start all over again and keep him out of the kitchen for even longer, the smoke reached the middle of the room and set off the smoke alarm.
The sound was so loud and blaring, Sam’s first reaction was to cup his hands over his ears. But that meant dropping the oven door and letting out even more smoke. Damn it! Kicking the door back closed, Sam grabbed the cookbook and used it to fan the smoke detector. The thing was far too sensitive, which made Sam sure that the Men of Letters had not been cooks.
The only thing Dean was sure of was that alarms are a bad sign. The thumping on the kitchen door increased, and a panicked “Sam!” came through from the hallway.
“It’s all right!” Sam called out, but not loudly enough.
“Sam? SAM!”
Sam moved closer to the door and raised his voice. “It’s all right! Just the smoke detector! Everything’s fine!” With a sigh, Sam turned to figure out what next to do and found himself face to face with Castiel. Gasping in surprise, Sam took a step back. “Cas? What are you doing here?”
He stood there, almost completely still apart from raising his hands slightly. In them was a large plate with a giant chocolate cake. On it, in a shade of green that seemed to be identical to Dean’s eyes, were the words “Happy Birthday, Dean!” amidst a sea of at least a dozen candles, all aflame. “It’s Dean’s birthday. I brought cake.”
Sam glanced over at the oven where the burnt wreck still sat. “I was baking him a cake—“
“Sam, you’re not a cook,” Castiel said, sounding, for a moment, just like Dean. He moved the cake an inch or two closer to Sam, gesturing to him to take it.
FILL: Utter Perfection (2/2)
Date: 2015-01-24 12:14 am (UTC)Sam shook his head and took a couple steps back, as if worried the thing might come to life and devour them both; Dean wasn’t entirely sure that it wouldn’t. “I’m sorry, Dean. You deserve better.”
Dean tried to smile reassuringly, but he knew Sam could see right through it.
Sam’s face broke briefly into an expression of distress as he turned away from Dean. He walked to the fridge, opened the door, and closed it again just as quickly. When he turned around, the most beautiful lemon meringue pie was in his hands—his green hands… though Dean wasn’t paying attention to that this time. The pie was exquisite; he was sorry to think it, but there was no way Sammy had made this. “Bought it from the store as a backup, just in case the cake didn’t turn out perfectly.”
Dean grinned, genuinely. He grabbed two pie forks from the drawer to his left and two small plates from the cupboard to the right of the sink.
“Do you want me to grab some candles at least, so you can make a wish?”
Wishing that Sam wouldn’t accidentally set the bunker on fire, Dean shook his head adamantly. “Better not with this meringue. Let’s just eat.” He grabbed the knife off the counter before Sam could get to it and cut two large slices out.
The first bite was beyond heavenly. They took their plates over to the small wooden table at the far end of the kitchen, and Dean quickly retrieved the pie a minute later so it could sit between them just in case either or both wanted seconds. With the last bite of his first piece, he sat back in his chair. This was, without a doubt, the perfect way to spend a birthday.
FILL: Not a Cook (2/2)
Date: 2015-01-24 12:15 am (UTC)Castiel’s eyes spoke volumes, though his expression did not change much. There was hurt, regret, confusion.
“I know he’d really like to see you, especially on his birthday.”
“SAM!” came another call through the door.
Sam turned his head, calling over his shoulder. “Just a second!” When he turned back to Cas, the angel was just vanishing, and calling after him wouldn’t help. But he had left the cake where it was. Sam grabbed for it, catching it before it crashed to the floor.
Another crash sounded as Dean broke down the kitchen door. Panting, he looked around the kitchen. “Smoke alarm?” he asked, concerned.
With another glance at the oven, Sam didn’t want to admit he had botched the cake so badly. So he thrust the cake in Dean’s direction. “Yeah. The candles set it off.”
Dean smiled at the cake, and, more than that, he looked impressed. “Great job on the cake, Sammy. I had no idea… I guess I should blow those out before the set the alarm off again?”
Sam nodded. Just as Dean took a deep breath, Sam jerked the cake away. “Wait! You have to make a wish. That’s the tradition.”
With a chuckle, Dean relaxed. He gestured toward the cake. “Okay. Bring it back.”
As Sam presented Dean with the cake, he saw Dean’s head lift and eyes turn upwards—not rolling his eyes at all, but thinking of his wish. And Sam thought he knew exactly what—or, rather, who—Dean was wishing for. Then Dean took another breath and let it out at the candles, extinguishing each one of them. “I think that means your wish will come true,” Sam told him.
Dean glanced around the kitchen, seeming to look for something—or someone—he couldn’t find. “Yeah… grab a couple plates?”
Sam set the cake down on the counter and retrieved the dishes, turning off the oven surreptitiously as he passed by it.
Re: FILL: Utter Perfection (2/2)
Date: 2015-01-24 03:59 am (UTC)And that lemon meringue sounds delicious. Good thinking, Sammy, having a backup plan!
FILL: Happy Birthday (1/2)
Date: 2015-01-24 05:21 am (UTC)Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Dean stared down at the cake, not exactly sure what to make of it. He didn’t want to hurt Sam’s feelings; Sam looked so proud. It was the first birthday cake Sam had ever made—the first birthday cake Dean had had since the one his mom made all those years ago. No… Lisa had made him one, and he’d let Ben blow out the candles for him because he’d been overwhelmed and a bit embarrassed. Dean wasn’t used to cakes or birthdays or celebrations of any kind. In fact, he’d tried to make Sam promise not to bake him one this year. But Sam had insisted. He wanted to see Dean happy on his birthday.
So happy was what Dean needed to be. But it was hard to do that when you were staring down at such a strange cake. It was bright white—coconut icing, Sam had said—with red writing on it. Instead of writing Dean’s name or age or some standard birthday wish, Sam had drawn some version of a Devil’s trap on the cake. Moreover, it looked like in some parts, he’d gone for one of the more detailed, intricate designs, whereas on other parts of the cake it was one of the more simple ones. Sam and Dean could both draw Devil’s traps in their sleep by now, so this was… close to an unappetizing monstrosity. The red looked like blood, and the flecks of coconut clearly interfered with the curves and angles Sam had intended, making the whole thing come out just plain wrong.
The thing was, it wouldn’t be all that bad without the designs on it. If you liked cake, that is. And Dean wasn’t sure yet that he did. It reminded him too much of a life he couldn’t have, a life he wasn’t sure he even wanted to have. What he wanted was this life. What he wanted was all right here in the bunker. Right here with Sam.
Dean stuck a finger out and touched one of the symbols on the cake, one that looked like a too-squiggly lower-cased Q. It felt moist to the touch, and a dot of red stayed on his finger as he pulled it back. This gave him an idea. Carefully, he slid his finger across the edge of the cake, wiping off the symbol and leaving a faint red smear in its wake. Not knowing what else to do, he stuck his index finger in his mouth. Despite the shockingly red color, it tasted like normal, deliciously sweet icing.
When he pulled his finger out, he noticed Sam watching him unblinkingly. No, not unblinkingly exactly… more like hungrily. “You broke it,” Sam said, tilting his head in a gesture toward the cake.
Dean didn’t bother telling Sam that the design hadn’t been good enough to do anything, he simply replied with, “I don’t think we have to worry about demons escaping from this cake.” He paused, suddenly struck with the idea. “Wait, do we have to worry about demons escaping from this cake?”
FILL: Happy Birthday (2/2)
Date: 2015-01-24 05:22 am (UTC)With a shrug, “I’m older. And it’s my birthday. I get it first.” He rocked forward fluidly, moving closer to Sam until they were pressed against each other. They danced like this the way they danced on a hunt, with coordinated attacks, force, and skill. As Dean undid the buttons at the fronts of their jeans, Sam slid his hands up Dean’s chest, taking the end of the shirt with them. As Dean spread his legs a little, Sam fit his leg right in-between. As Dean tilted his head to the side and reached around Sam, sliding his hands into Sam’s back pockets, Sam attacked Dean’s neck with kisses and soft nips. “Cake,” Dean reminded Sam. “Tastes better than I do.”
“Nothing tastes better than you,” Sam replied.
Dean laughed, head tilting forward, his cheek rubbing against Sam’s. “That’s a terrible line.”
“Got you to laugh, didn’t it? Even the cake didn’t manage to do that.”
Dean withdrew his hands and pushed away at once. “Wait, you made that cake terrible on purpose?”
Sam pointed at it with one hand while his other hand stroked, rubbed, pinched, and tweezed under Dean’s shirt. “It’s got a badly-drawn devil’s trap on it. I even changed designs halfway through.” Sam leaned forward and kissed Dean, his lips lingering close so that his words touched Dean’s lips with each breathy syllable. “I just want to see you happy on your birthday.”
Dean reached over and dug his fingers down into the cake, coming up with a small handful. Both men considered it a moment. Then Dean smushed it into Sam’s face. As Dean laughed, Sam wiped icing from his eyelids. As Dean lapped at the cake stuck to Sam’s cheek and upper lip, Sam purred and slid a hand into Dean’s pants. As Dean thrust into Sam’s hand, Sam closed his eyes again and whispered a heartfelt, “Happy birthday.”
Re: FILL: Not a Cook (2/2)
Date: 2015-01-25 02:19 pm (UTC)And can I say I just love the last line, and that image of Sam is just so clear in my head.
Great job! I love that you had so many ideas out of this one prompt. :D
Re: FILL: Utter Perfection (1/2)
Date: 2015-02-01 06:29 am (UTC)I love the idea of Dean just doing what he wants on his birthday and taking the day to work on the Impala and wanting to eat a good sandwich; I know I want to do what I find relaxing on my birthday (which usually means being left alone) so I can relate.
And then there's Sam trying so hard to make a cake for his big brother. The part with Sam sticking his hand in the oven and trying to keep the cake straight...yeah, I think I may have tried doing that with some of my cooking before.
Oh! I just remembered! My Dad also likes pie better than cake but we didn't get him either for his birthday this year because we had a bunch of cookies left over from a function we had to provide refreshments for but I think we got him a lemon meringue last year. :-)
Okay, on to the next fill!
Re: FILL: Not a Cook (2/2)
Date: 2015-02-01 07:24 am (UTC)I also like that Dean was so concerned for Sam when the smoke alarm started to go off. But, yeah, Dean totally needs Cas to visit him on his birthday of all days.
Re: FILL: Happy Birthday (2/2)
Date: 2015-02-01 07:59 am (UTC)FIC: Out of Bed
Date: 2015-02-03 03:57 am (UTC)Sam whirled around, eyes widening to see Dean standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
Done dragging his sleeve beneath his nose, Dean looked bewildered. “I thought I lived here.”
Sam cracked a smile. “When we’re not out hunting things. I meant: what are you doing here in the kitchen?”
Dean still looked confused. “It’s lunchtibe.”
With a sigh, “I meant: what are you doing out of bed? I thought we’d agreed you’d stay in bed until you got over that cold.”
Dean sniffed again and waved his hand. “It’s albost gode. Add I got hudgry after workig od the car all bordig.”
Another sigh, this one with a rub of the face. “Dean…”
“It’s by birthday. I did’t wadt to sbed it… it… id… hahhhhh-id-Ihhhh-HIHShhooo!” Dean doubled over, almost in half. But when he straightened up, he headed toward the island in the center of the kitchen.
Sam moved swiftly, sliding in-between Dean and the counter and, more importantly, the thing Sam had on the counter. Sam stood up straighter, trying to make himself look as large as possible to block Dean’s sight. It wasn’t hard, especially with Dean hunched over a little and sniffling.
But that didn’t mean Dean wasn’t suspicious. “Sabby… what are you hidig?”
“Nothing.” That was the least convincing ‘nothing’ Sam had given him since he was a kid and had taken Dad’s journal to read under the covers one night when Dad was out on a bender and Dean had come home early with a girl.
“Sab?” Dean coughed into a fist and then rubbed his knuckles at his nose. “Sab, are you all right? Are you gettig… did you catch by cold?”
Sam relaxed slightly with a chuckle. “No. At least, not yet. I just thought I’d make you something special for your birthday.”
Dean did not look pleased. “You can’t cook.”
Though he didn’t like being told what he couldn’t do, Sam had to admit that was the truth. “I didn’t cook.”
“You can’t bake either.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then what?”
“Well, I wanted it to be a surprise.” He rocked forward on his toes. “And you were supposed to be in bed until you stopped doing what you’re about to do—“
Dean waved a hand in front of his face, his breath hitching with the need to sneeze. “ih-hih-heh-heh-ehh-hehh-Hurchhhhh!”
Sam winced. Dean’s cold was far from ‘almost gone.’ And it was rare for one of them to be sick without getting the other sick as well. Sam had done his best not to catch it, but it wasn’t going to be easy with Dean sneezing all over the kitchen.
Dean turned toward him, sniffling. His nostrils flared. His breath caught. And Dean stepped closer, heading right at Sam.
Without much of a choice, Sam stepped aside at the last possible second.
“Ehhh-HSchuhhhhh!”
When Dean straightened up and opened his eyes, his eyes rested upon the tray Sam had prepared. Sam sighed and swept his hand at its direction. “Happy birthday.”
The tray held a square tissue box in one corner. In another corner was a tiny plastic cup with bright orange liquid in it and a saucer with several pills. In the center of the tray was a plate that held a single, triangular slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Sticking up from the top, in place of a candle, was an old fashioned mercury thermometer.
“You sneezed on it. It’s yours now.”
Dean just stared at it. “You got be cake?”
“That’s what you’re supposed to have on your birth—“
Dean shook his head. “With all you’re goig through right dow, you actually wedt out add bought be cake?”
“Yeah, it’s just one slice. And I know it isn’t pie, but—“
“I deed a fork.”
Sam blinked. “What?”
“Throw a fork od the tray before brigig it to be id bed.” He rubbed at his nose again and smiled as though with some brilliant thought he was proud of. “I’ll breted I did’t see adythig.” Eagerly, Dean jogged from the kitchen, heading in the direction of his room.
Re: FIC: Out of Bed
Date: 2015-02-03 03:24 pm (UTC)breakfast in bedbirthday in bed tray.How do you manage to cram so much cute into so small a fic?
And three of my favorite things are in there: the stuffy talk, and Dean sneezing so hard he doubles over, and the breathless, hitchy sneeze. Yaaay!
That was all kinds of adorable. Love Dean being all surprised, and then totally into it right away.
no subject
Date: 2016-07-14 06:27 am (UTC)http://gingerdean.livejournal.com/#/post-gingerdean-7156