Thanksgivings: A Narrative Fiction

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For the past few Thanksgivings Sam and Dean had kept it simple. Y’know, kick their feet up and enjoy a few beers, reminiscent of old friends. If Dean was lucky Sam would even go and buy a pie. He liked it that way. Sure it was simple and low key but he liked simple.

Things had changed since last year though. After Cas had gotten possessed Dean confessed his feelings as a last ditch effort to get him to expel Lucifer. It had worked, thank god. They were together now and things had taken on a much more chick flick rom com feel than Dean thought he would’ve liked. But as much as he denies it when Sam teases him, he loves it. That wasn’t even the most odd thing about the scenario, there mom was back now. He only vaguely remembered Thanksgiving
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“What now?” Cas asks as Dean slides down onto the floor in front of the stove. Cas sits beside him and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. “We wait.”

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Sam finds them an hour later asleep in front of the stove. Hands interlocked, they’re breathing slow and heads rested against one another. Sam stealthily takes a picture before opening the oven to find a burnt pecan pie practically boiling in the oven.

“Always loved burnt diabetes,” Sam says to himself. He grabs the oven mits and takes it out. Pecan pie goo syrup stuff has dripped onto the base of the oven and now burns like overcooked caramel. Sam scrunches his nose at the smell and closes the oven. He’ll clean it later.

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Dean and Cas wakeup the next morning spirits high and backs sore from resting against the cabinet. Dean looks at Cas groggily smiles. Then he remembers the pie…

“Oh, god the pie. How has this place not burnt down? Why don’t I smell smoke?” He launches upwards only to see the oven off, the bunker unburnt (with a lingering smell of smoke though), and a burnt pecan pie resting on the counter. The crust is charred just a little to brown and the pecans have separated and the goo has overflown making the side of the pan
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