Rating: PG - Gen - Humor (language)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: It's Dean's birthday and he can do whatever he wants.
They always did the same thing while they waited for their food.
Sam flipped open another local rag while his coffee got cold beside him. Scanning the articles was a daily regime, like taking out the trash they didn't have or watering plants that didn't exist. He didn't actually mind it really. Research and reading had always been something of a comfort to him anyway. It made it something he almost looked forward to. You never knew what you'd find.
Local school bus driver charged with drunk driving.
District judge found deceased in highway truck stop.
Area pet cat water-skis at YMCA for charity.
Sam considered showing Dean the small picture of the fat tabby cat most likely duct taped to a boogie board because his brother was the kind of guy that appreciated things like that but he hesitated. Something among the mundane suburbia babble caught his eye. He blinked at the small print in the corner of the newspaper and made a small sound.
"Huh." Sam said. "That's weird."
Dean glanced up from his own paper. "Finally found my personal ad?"
"I just noticed the date." He said folding the paper back neatly into itself.
"Yeah, what about it."
"It's your birthday."
Dean looked up at him sharply.
Picking up his coffee, Sam watched Dean flipping a calender in his head. He waited with a level of fascination because Sam honestly had no idea, for change, what was going to come out of his brother's mouth next. Dean seemed to have quickly reached a conclusion with himself.
"I guess yer right." He conceded with a sigh as if Sam had challenged him to solve a math equation and won. Dean flipped his paper open again. "Another one down, too many to go..."
"So..." Sam began uncertainly.
"So what?" Dean asked from behind the newspaper.
"Do you, I don't know, want to do anything?"
His brother's paper lowered and he appraised Sam once again.
"You know, for your birthday." Sam felt some need to explain the question.
"Actually," Dean said in sheepish tone of voice. "There is something I'd like to do."
Sam felt his eyebrows raise. "Sure, okay, what?"
"I'd like to kick your ass."
"Don't even think about it Sam." Dean growled.
Sam stared back into his brother's eyes and kept his cool, hands shaking slightly on the cold metal.
"I mean it." Dean warned.
Sam felt his grimace settle into a terrible smile.
"I know you do." Sam told him. When pressed for what he wanted on this often looked-over occasion, Dean's answer hadn't been very surprising. And so here they were.
Sam braced himself in readiness.
"Oh wait, damn..."
Sam slumped. "What? What's wrong?"
"We need more quarters." Dean said sighing down at the air hockey table.
"I just gave you like, twenty dollars in quarters dude."
"Well, we've like used one hundred dollars in quarters dude."
"Hey leather weird guy?" Some white suburb kid in gangsta gear blew up his overlong blonde bangs. "You niggas ever leavin this table or what?"
Dean nodded in his direction absently while he dug into his jean pockets. "Go take an 8-Mile hike."
Sam held back his laugh just in case the little thug was packin.
Dean triumphantly produced three glorious quarters. "This is it." He promised slamming them home into the coin slot.
Sam leaned down with the air hockey puck in his hand and nodded solemnly while the hundreds of mini air vents flowed back to life.
The smooth thin plastic disc floated at the speed of light and zipped right into Sam's goal, right under his hand.
"I WASN'T READY."
"READY ENOUGH TO GET YOUR ASS HANDED TO YOU--"
They both paused to look at a wearied attendant of the arcade. Most likely the manager even though he was five years junior than the youngest of them both.
"Hi, yeah, you guys have been on the air hockey table since yesterday and we were wondering if um, well, you'd remove yourselves."
"But the score is almost-"
"But the last one hundred and thirty-three goals were totally fouls-"
The attendant cleared his throat loudly enough to silence them both.
"Fine." Dean tossed down his puck and straightened his jacket.
"No problem." Sam agreed doing the same.
"Pretty decent birthday." Dean mumbled.
"Yeah?" Sam smiled sideways at him.
"Yeah." Dean smiled back.
Sam nodded down to the pavement as they walked, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets.
"Holy shit." Dean's hands went to his head. "Shit. Shit. SHIT."
Sam looked around at the empty spot that the Impala had been parked in. "Guess we should have used some of those quarters for the parking meter."
Dean sighed and sagged down to sit on the curb.
Sam suddenly paused and swung around with a clenched fist. "SHIT."
"What??" Dean asked in alarm.
"I left a Cookie Puss in the back seat."
"Aw man, a Cookie Puss?" Dean half smiled before the total ramifications of a day old unattended ice cream cake on the upholstery hit home. "SHIT."
"You said one game Dean." Sam reasoned.
"I can't properly destroy you in just one game."
Sam supposed he was right.
"Wanna go back in and hot wire Pole Position?" Sam shrugged.