SPN: A Moment of Thanks {Sam+Dean}
A/N: Okay so, I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving cos I live in Ireland but I wrote this a while ago and the mental image was too cute to ignore. I hope everyone is enjoying their Thanksgiving and that you all enjoy this little piece! :)
~ * ~ * ~
A Moment of Thanks
~ * ~ * ~
Sam doesn’t have a soul. Well, not anymore.
It had been a while since they’d first made that discovery but the thought of it still shook Dean every time it crossed his mind.
Even after a year and a half, his little brother was still not with him, and the more he stared at this... thing and the more he willed it to be Sam, it just broke his heart a little bit more.
So, on that day in the middle of November, he ended up at a 7/11, his hand grasping the paper bag with the bottle of Jack Daniels stowed carefully in it as he quickly made his way back to his beloved Impala.
The clerk had said “Happy Thanksgiving” and Dean could’ve whacked the bottle at his head for that.
Happy Thanksgiving, eh?
Yeah, right...
He had nothing to be thankful for at that moment. His brother’s soul was still in Hell, the family he had been part of for a year had disappeared, he was working for the king demon and he was sitting alone in a car outside yet another motel and taking careful whips of a new bottle of whiskey. Only careful sips though, RoboSam was still waiting for him back at their motel room.
God, he didn’t want to go back in.
This time two years ago, even amongst all the commotion of the Apocalypse and Horsemen and Angels and Lucifer, they still managed to sit down to their own version of Thanksgiving; the only normal thing in the bunch being a homemade pie by Sam.
Dean had called him a housewife for that, his own regular little Betty Crocker - Just like he had the year before that and the year before that.
And Sam had whined and scrunched up his face and threatened to throw the damn thing in the garbage - Just like he had the year before that and the year before that.
It was their own little tradition.
Even last year when Lisa had made a pie for the occasion, Dean couldn’t enjoy it. He didn’t take a single slice, instead locking himself in their joint bedroom and pushing his tears behind wave after wave of whiskey in despair.
It seemed like it was so much worse with Sam’s body still here though.
Dean sighed and slid the cap back on the bottle, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve.
He steeled himself with a heavy breath before pushing out of the car and towards the door, opening it with a hitch and freezing in the doorway.
A heavy scent, so beautifully nostalgic, wafted its way towards him.
Baking baking baking.
Sam was standing in front of the crappy oven in the kitchenette with a little frown on his face.
“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. The pie’s still cooling.”
“You... made pie?”
Sam tilted his head but didn’t smile. “Of course I did. Its tradition isn’t it?”
Dean shook his head. The image of this soulless version of his brother standing in a kitchenette in a motel room making pie was just too strange.
“Yeah. It is tradition. Mine and Sam’s.”
Sam had the decency to look nonplussed at that. “I get that. It’s yours and your brother’s.”
“Right, so why bother with the pretence?” He said it harshly but he didn’t want the Sam-a-like to know just how much this “pretence” really hurt him. “Got some ulterior motive here? Poison, perhaps?”
“No but...”
“But what?”
Sam shook his head, trying to think of the words. “I just think that I- that Sam wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t. I mean, when I get my soul back I think I’d be upset if I didn’t... do this. You know?”
The words were said straight laced but underneath they were a little shaky. Or maybe that’s just what Dean wanted to think, he wasn’t really sure.
“I guess.”
“Good.” The larger male leaned over and patted him twice on the shoulder before moving back into the kitchenette.
There was silence for several moments while Dean thought over this bizarre situation and then there was a clinking noise and a freshly made pie was being cut into pieces and placed on separate plates.
He hadn’t realised he’d been thinking that long.
Dean took the proffered plate into his hand and gently thumbed the sleek curve of the tiny plate, staring at the dessert curiously.
Steam was still rising from it but the smell was heavenly.
“It made me happy.”
Dean looked up.
“Or at least... it made Sam happy.” The man with no soul continued. “I can remember that. Every time you took a bite and did that little twitchy eye roll thing that meant you liked it, I can remember being so happy about that. Even that time you were sick from hunting that ghoul in Pennsylvania and you could only eat one bite.”
“It was raining all night. Not my fault I got sick.”
“But you still ate it.”
“Threw it up straight afterwards.”
“But you still ate it. And I was so damn happy. Worried as hell, yeah, but I was definitely happy.” He said it slowly and Dean nodded after a moment.
Of course he still ate it. Sam had made it especially for him. And he was absolutely elated when he saw it sitting there waiting for him.
“So... I’ll remember to be happy, when we get my soul back. Okay?”
Dean closed his eyes and smiled carefully, opening his eyes only a little bit to pick up his fork. He scooped up a piece, blew the wafts of steam away and slid it into his mouth.
The taste encircled his senses and shot straight to his eyes and he had to close them again. God, how could one single piece of a piece of pie do this to him? It was a damn pie! Nothing to damn well cry over!
But he heard a laugh, a little forced but that was alright, and Sam was moving towards the kitchenette again.
So, it wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even “Winchester perfect”. Sam wasn’t really there with him at that time and if- when they got his soul back, there would be a whole bunch of problems to sort out first.
But when Dean thought of that little promise, made by the man who had no viable reason not to keep it, then yeah... yeah, he could be thankful about that.
~ * ~ * ~
A Moment of Thanks
~ * ~ * ~
Sam doesn’t have a soul. Well, not anymore.
It had been a while since they’d first made that discovery but the thought of it still shook Dean every time it crossed his mind.
Even after a year and a half, his little brother was still not with him, and the more he stared at this... thing and the more he willed it to be Sam, it just broke his heart a little bit more.
So, on that day in the middle of November, he ended up at a 7/11, his hand grasping the paper bag with the bottle of Jack Daniels stowed carefully in it as he quickly made his way back to his beloved Impala.
The clerk had said “Happy Thanksgiving” and Dean could’ve whacked the bottle at his head for that.
Happy Thanksgiving, eh?
Yeah, right...
He had nothing to be thankful for at that moment. His brother’s soul was still in Hell, the family he had been part of for a year had disappeared, he was working for the king demon and he was sitting alone in a car outside yet another motel and taking careful whips of a new bottle of whiskey. Only careful sips though, RoboSam was still waiting for him back at their motel room.
God, he didn’t want to go back in.
This time two years ago, even amongst all the commotion of the Apocalypse and Horsemen and Angels and Lucifer, they still managed to sit down to their own version of Thanksgiving; the only normal thing in the bunch being a homemade pie by Sam.
Dean had called him a housewife for that, his own regular little Betty Crocker - Just like he had the year before that and the year before that.
And Sam had whined and scrunched up his face and threatened to throw the damn thing in the garbage - Just like he had the year before that and the year before that.
It was their own little tradition.
Even last year when Lisa had made a pie for the occasion, Dean couldn’t enjoy it. He didn’t take a single slice, instead locking himself in their joint bedroom and pushing his tears behind wave after wave of whiskey in despair.
It seemed like it was so much worse with Sam’s body still here though.
Dean sighed and slid the cap back on the bottle, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve.
He steeled himself with a heavy breath before pushing out of the car and towards the door, opening it with a hitch and freezing in the doorway.
A heavy scent, so beautifully nostalgic, wafted its way towards him.
Baking baking baking.
Sam was standing in front of the crappy oven in the kitchenette with a little frown on his face.
“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. The pie’s still cooling.”
“You... made pie?”
Sam tilted his head but didn’t smile. “Of course I did. Its tradition isn’t it?”
Dean shook his head. The image of this soulless version of his brother standing in a kitchenette in a motel room making pie was just too strange.
“Yeah. It is tradition. Mine and Sam’s.”
Sam had the decency to look nonplussed at that. “I get that. It’s yours and your brother’s.”
“Right, so why bother with the pretence?” He said it harshly but he didn’t want the Sam-a-like to know just how much this “pretence” really hurt him. “Got some ulterior motive here? Poison, perhaps?”
“No but...”
“But what?”
Sam shook his head, trying to think of the words. “I just think that I- that Sam wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t. I mean, when I get my soul back I think I’d be upset if I didn’t... do this. You know?”
The words were said straight laced but underneath they were a little shaky. Or maybe that’s just what Dean wanted to think, he wasn’t really sure.
“I guess.”
“Good.” The larger male leaned over and patted him twice on the shoulder before moving back into the kitchenette.
There was silence for several moments while Dean thought over this bizarre situation and then there was a clinking noise and a freshly made pie was being cut into pieces and placed on separate plates.
He hadn’t realised he’d been thinking that long.
Dean took the proffered plate into his hand and gently thumbed the sleek curve of the tiny plate, staring at the dessert curiously.
Steam was still rising from it but the smell was heavenly.
“It made me happy.”
Dean looked up.
“Or at least... it made Sam happy.” The man with no soul continued. “I can remember that. Every time you took a bite and did that little twitchy eye roll thing that meant you liked it, I can remember being so happy about that. Even that time you were sick from hunting that ghoul in Pennsylvania and you could only eat one bite.”
“It was raining all night. Not my fault I got sick.”
“But you still ate it.”
“Threw it up straight afterwards.”
“But you still ate it. And I was so damn happy. Worried as hell, yeah, but I was definitely happy.” He said it slowly and Dean nodded after a moment.
Of course he still ate it. Sam had made it especially for him. And he was absolutely elated when he saw it sitting there waiting for him.
“So... I’ll remember to be happy, when we get my soul back. Okay?”
Dean closed his eyes and smiled carefully, opening his eyes only a little bit to pick up his fork. He scooped up a piece, blew the wafts of steam away and slid it into his mouth.
The taste encircled his senses and shot straight to his eyes and he had to close them again. God, how could one single piece of a piece of pie do this to him? It was a damn pie! Nothing to damn well cry over!
But he heard a laugh, a little forced but that was alright, and Sam was moving towards the kitchenette again.
So, it wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even “Winchester perfect”. Sam wasn’t really there with him at that time and if- when they got his soul back, there would be a whole bunch of problems to sort out first.
But when Dean thought of that little promise, made by the man who had no viable reason not to keep it, then yeah... yeah, he could be thankful about that.