#cssc

Oh, that’s another thing Sam should mention. When the smoke cleared, Jack was different. Like, really different. He was a toddler.

Naturally, the three of them had taken him in. They’d already been co-parenting him for nearly three years, why should they stop? Sure, Jack’s hyper now, careless in the way actual three-year-olds are, and he likes to run around the bunker and scream and break things and walk on Sam’s laptop keyboard while he’s getting a smoothie from the kitchen (that’s definitely not based on a real example that happened yesterday) but they love him just the same, and he deserves the chance to be a child.

So Eileen shows up on the eighth of November, 2020, and gives Sam a piece of her mind. You fucking asshole, she signs rapidly, just leaving me in the dust like that, as if I wouldn’t need you after discovering I got Thanos-snapped out of existence. You should be ashamed of yourself.

And Sam just sighs and lets her smack him in the face. When she’s done, he lets the corner of his mouth tilt up just slightly.

You done?

She rolls her eyes, pulls him down by his tie, and kisses him quickly, and he knows all is forgiven.

The months roll by, piling on top of each other in the mess that is their past, and Jack gets bigger, and Cas moves into Dean’s room, and Eileen and Sam get a house together, and Sam gets downgraded from Dad #3 to Cool Uncle Who Lets You Have Brownies Whenever You Want. He finds he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Dean and Cas are adorable as coparents.

May finally comes around, and with it, Sam’s thirty-eighth birthday. He doesn’t expect anything to come of it, maybe just a nice dinner out with his fiancée (yeah, he put a ring on it) but then around one, while he’s hanging out at the Bunker, Jack grabs his finger.

“Uncuh Thammy! Uncuh Thammy!” he says enthusiastically, pulling on Sam’s hand and falling on his diaper-clad butt. He pouts, then shakily stands on his pudgy little legs and bounces, pointing at the door. “Thammy!”

Sam laughs and lets Jack lead him wherever he wants to go. Into the kitchen they migrate, until Sam is greeted by the sight of his whole family surrounding a giant chocolate cake, two candles (a 3 and an 8) in the middle, and the words ‘Happy Birthday Sammy!’ in orange icing. He shakes his head in disbelief and hugs his stupid amazing brother, then his best friend, and finally the love of his life.

We love you, Eileen signs, and Sam’s eyes water a little bit.

“You are somewhat underappreciated,” Cas points out. “I’ve noticed Dean gets a large portion of the credit for defeating Chuck, but you were also instrumental. Here, we have gifts.”

Sam shakes his head more forcefully. “Guys, no, come on—”

“Uncah Thammy,” Jack pleads. “Pwesent!”

Sam laughs. He can’t seem to say no to this wonderful kiddo, so he bends down and grabs Jack under the armpits to lift him up, settling him on his hip. “Alright, presents it is,” he decides.

Dean got him a Zepp album – one of their running jokes. Sam bought Dean a duplicate record that he already owned for his fourteenth birthday and they’ve been gifting it back and forth to each other for their birthdays every year ever since – as well as a fascinating book on Christian mythologies and the ways it intersects with Jewish and Muslim beliefs that he’s been meaning to buy for months.

Cas got him a beautiful blown glass owl that he was eyeing at the Farmer’s Market last week. Eileen makes it clear that he’ll be getting his gift from her later, when there’s no one else around.

And then Jack hobbles into the room concealing something (badly) behind his back. He waves his little ravioli-sized baby fist around and shows Sam the paper. Sam takes it from him gently.

It’s a piece of artwork made with macaroni, hot glue, and markers. There’s a large circle made of macaroni atop a line at least as long as the diameter of the circle, with arms and legs hastily drawn onto it. According to this drawing, one of Sam’s shoulders is sprouting from the middle of his ribcage. A face has been scrawled into the middle of the macaroni circle, and bits of penne pop off the page at him. From the way Dean’s radiating pride from Sam’s side, it’s obvious that he helped Jack with his project – probably by administering the hot glue. Sam hopes.

Sam grins. “Thank you, Jack,” he murmurs, and hugs the kid tightly. “I love it,” he adds, and he means it with his whole heart. It’s going on the fridge.

Happy birthday, Sammy Winchester.