January 24th - The Missing Year

*** Author's warning:  Following the show's timeline, this takes place somewhere between Season 5 & Season 6 and, due to the conclusion of Season 5, this is not a happy birthday.

Dean turns 32.

It was almost midnight when she slipped down the stairs, bare feet silent on the soft carpet. 

The house was dark.  Only the ticking of the clock on the shelf and the far off bark of the neighbor's dog down the street breaking the silence.  Shadows filled the rooms and darkness seemed to flow out of the corners.  It was cold outside but the forecasted snow had never materialized and the moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.  

Inside was a chill of a different sort.  

Stopping at the entrance to the living room, she took in the figure seated close to the window.  Silent, with head bowed, it looked as though he was asleep, if it wasn't for the bottle still dangling from his fingers as his arm hung down the side of the arm chair.  

Heart breaking, she quietly watched.

And waited.

And reflected on the day gone by.

Birthdays were always joyous occasions for her family.  When her son was born, she continued the tradition of parties and fun times.  As he got older, she let him "help" plan her birthday as well.  Sure, bumper cars might not have been what she would have selected to do to celebrate her birthday, but, her young son was only 7 years old and he thought it would be fun.  So, bumper cars and cake were the order of that day.  

For this birthday, the two of them had put their heads together and come up with a day filled with fun for just the three of them.  She thought it would be good.  She hoped it would be a distraction.  She wished it could have worked.

Oh, he went along with them, smiling in all the right places, laughing about their adventures, feasting on pizza and cake, and blowing out candles.  Anyone looking on would have thought the day was a success.  However, she wasn't just anyone.  She recognized that the smiles he smiled never reached up and crinkled his eyes in that way that had them sparkling with real joy.  She alone heard the force it took him to laugh and talk, keeping up the appearance for the young boy.  She watched as only one slice of pizza was played with more than actually eaten and how the piece of cake became a small pile of crumbles as the plastic fork twisted around and through it.  

She saw the hitch in his breath, the brief tight closing of his eyes, the fleeting moment of unbearable silent pain crossing his face as he took a breath, made a wish, and blew out the his candles on his cake.  

Yeah.  She knew what the wish was truly for and that it wouldn't be coming true any time soon.  

She knew the pain and heartache that was being closely guarded behind walls that continually tried to crumble under a heavy weight of sorrow over the last months.  She had been there to cradle and comfort.  She had watched and protected where she could, waited and prayed where she couldn't.  She counted the steps forward through the grief process and forgave the steps backwards.

She cared so much for this man.  Together, with her son, they had formed a family.  It wasn't always perfect, but it suited her just fine.  

So, moments like these, she understood.  

Tomorrow she would bully him into activity.  She would push and she would prod until he burst with exasperation, calling her a crazy woman and then grabbing her around the waist, pulling her tightly to him with a hungry look in his eyes that would have them sending her son on his bike to a friend's house so the two of them could race upstairs to exorcise his demons the old fashioned way.  

However, tonight ... tonight was for the grief.  Tonight was for comfort.

She watched. 

She waited.

The bottle dropped to the floor with a soft thud, rolling around behind the chair.  The fingers that had been holding it came up to press on eyes that were already tightly shut.  Shoulders began to move slightly, shaking in time to the silent, hitching sobs that had begun.

The time had finally come for her to move forward.

Swiftly she came in front of this man she loved, kneeling in front of him, sliding in between his legs.  Reaching one hand to clasp the back of his head, the other to pull forward on his shoulder, bringing him down till his forehead rested at the curve of her neck, she held him tightly as he allowed the pain to shudder its course through body and mind.  Murmuring age-old words of comfort, she caressed his short hair and rocked him with her while he gave into his consuming grief.

As the clock on the shelf chimed the midnight hour, his sobs grew quiet and she felt his awareness return.  Leaning back slightly, yet never loosing physical contact, she took in his pale face, green eyes awash with tears and redness, surrounded by shadows, stubble not quite covering the freckles she loved and he hated, and gently smiled at him.  

Rising gracefully back to her feet, she left one hand on his head and, with the other, reached down and captured his hand.  At moments like this, he was pliable and came easily as she pulled him up and close.  Tugging gently, she led him out of the room and up the stairs.  Together they looked in on her son and then crossed the threshold of their own room.  Closing the door behind them, she led him to the bed, pushing slightly till he simply sank down and under the covers.  Crossing to her side, she shifted over until she was nestled solidly at his side, head resting on his chest.  

She pressed a kiss to his chest, whispered a soft good night, and waited once again.

After a few moments, Dean Winchester tightened his arm around Lisa Braden, pulling her close, feeling her softness, breathing in the scent of her hair and giving thanks for this woman who had taken him in and whose strength held him together after Sam was gone.

She had understood.  

His brother was gone.  It wasn't a happy birthday.  Not this year. 

Maybe next year.  He'd just have to wait and see what the new year brought.