Sam had been out all morning, running if Dean had to guess. Sam spent most mornings in this fashion. It was new, well at least new to Dean, when Sam was a teenager, right before Stanford, he hadn't been much for running, walking, hunting, anything that involved too much cardio, but a lot had changed since then, and Dean was learning to roll with the new version of his brother; the adult, the sad, and the revenge driven brother. On one hand he had never felt closer to his brother, they both had lost someone they loved very much, but on the other hand he had never felt quite so distant because Dean had no idea what it felt like to love someone like Sam had loved Jessica—and probably never would.

Sam returned to the latest in the string of disgusting motels that he and Dean had been staying in ever since Jessica's death, and did his best not to look as frustrated and pissed as he felt. His first dorm room was more private and cleaner than any of these places. He was used to clean sheets, clean bathrooms, and not having to deal with his brother's oddities.

Sam's attempt to keep the frustration at bay shattered when he saw the spread before him. And there stood his brother, arms spread wide and smile spread even wider. The frustration bubbled into his throat and he barely heard his brother say, "Happy Thanksgiving Sam!" All Sam could focus on was the spread of food along the counters and on the small wobbly table in the kitchenette. Absolutely none of the food that was spread out was anywhere near what one should have for thanksgiving and that made the boiling frustration begin its transformation into anger.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked. Dean's smile dimmed by a watt or three.

"Today is thanksgiving." Dean said as if Sam were stupid.

"What the hell does that matter?" The smile dimmed more and a crinkle developed in between Dean's wide eyes.

Dean shrugged. "I thought, that we should celebrate. You know, do that whole what we're thankful for thing."

"Celebrate what?! Be thankful for what?!" The anger roiled in his stomach, and came out through his mouth, came out in the form of a booming angry voice aiming squarely for his brother. "Should we be thankful we can't find dad?! Because, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that's not something we can be thankful for. Or maybe I should be thankful that Jessica is dead! Yeah. Let me sit down and eat and drink to that. Or maybe I should be thankful that I'm fucking stuck in this run down motel with you!"

"Sammy…" Dean started.

Sam's long arms swept across the table of food and dishes that Dean had painstakingly put together, and it all went crashing down all over the floor. "My name is SAM! Can you say that big brother? Can you pronounce that? S. A. M. My name is not Sammy. That is a child's name. I am NOT a child."

"I'm sorry. I was just trying…" he gestured to the food on the floor.

"With food that doesn't even make sense on thanksgiving? I mean come on Dean…you don't have cold cuts," he threw the cold cuts on the floor. "And you most certainly don't need a knife a fork if you going to eat cold cuts and white bread." Sam pulled at his hair. "My God Dean! Are you really this stupid? What in the world has possibly gone right in your world that you could be thankful for? Mom's dead. You've never done anything that has mattered. You're 26 years old and all you have to your name is a damn car and some cassette tapes! You have nothing, you are nothing to anyone and you want to be thankful for that?!"

The last hit Dean where it hurt. That was the fear that Dean always had had, he wasn't important, he was nothing, to anyone. That was one thing about family, they knew right where to stab to make you bleed. "You're right." Dean said gruffly. "I got nothing to be thankful for. Nothing. I think I'll just go get some air." He said and grabbed his coat and the door slammed behind him.

Sam's chest heaved like he had just run a marathon, and wordlessly screamed. He stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

He took a hot shower for as long as the water lasted and the hot water tempered his anger, allowed him to see through the cloud of anger that had gripped him so tightly.

He stepped out of the bathroom and he was confronted with the mess that was everywhere. Cold cuts on the floor, beans streaming down the cabinets, mashed potatoes turned upside down on the floor. Sam knelt to pick up the container when he saw the canned cranberry sauce. Dean had been trying to get it right. It wasn't Dean he was mad at. He was mad because he should be in California with Jessica's family enjoying the fine home cooked meal that her mother always prepared. He missed Jessica so much. He missed normal, he missed his friends, he missed the life he had built these last four years. He was mad because he had been dragged down this particular rabbit hole when he had finally freed himself of it.

And here was his big brother, trying to show Sam that he was thankful for him, and all Sam could do was rage at him, say mean and hurtful things. How could he be thankful to have me in his life? Sam wondered as he cleaned up the mess, the mess that he had made in his childish fit.

SNSNSNSNSN

Dean had needed time to recover his devil may care mask, Sam had cut pretty deep, and he didn't need Sam to see that his words had cut him into little bits. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Sam was sitting at the kitchenette table, laptop screen covering his face.

Dean took off his jacket and laid it across his bed and headed towards the bathroom when he heard something slide across the kitchen table. Dean looked and saw a pie, apple from the looks of it, now in the center of the table.

"Thought you might be hungry." Sam said and briefly looked up.

"Yeah, little." Dean answered tentatively.

"Bakery down the street apparently has some good stuff." Dean slowly came towards the table, afraid that his brother might attack him again.

"Yeah. We stayed here once when we were kids, and the owner, she used to give me some of the left over pies because I would help her out. They were always good."

"I remember. I was thankful she was open."

Dean took a seat and pulled the pie towards himself and began cutting himself a slice. "I'm thankful she was open too."

Dean took a bite and relished the simple pleasure. They sat there in silence, one eating, one trying to pretend to be working, and finally Sam broke the silence.

"I'm sorry Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Grief is a bitch."

Sam's eyes threatened to spill over, Dean understood. Dean forgave him. That was truly something to be thankful for.