Note: I think Sassy would add something special to the holidays...

Usually, the Winchesters prepared for holidays ahead of time. They made sure that their hotel room had a fridge and microwave, and bought a bucket of fried chicken or something the day before. But the hunt had taken too long, and they wouldn't make it back to Bobby's for another day. They were tired and hungry, and every restaurant was closed. Expect one.

The Denny's sign glowed yellow and welcoming, a beacon to all who did not cook.

Besides, Dean had decided that they deserved a treat. A lot of bad had been coming their way lately. They deserved a proper meal. His mouth watered at the prospect. There was just one small task to complete, before they could leave the parking lot.

"We're gonna get you a real turkey dinner with all the fixin's. Gravy, mashed potatoes, you name it, they got it. And afterwards, we'll have pie." Dean's grin was huge, and he stretched out his arms, a red vest that read, "Working dog. Do not touch," poised to slip over Kansas' head. The dog barked happily and danced away from Dean. He tipped forward, barely catching himself before his nose hit the cement.

"Hey! Kansas!"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Sassy thinks that's the hunting vest, and she's done for the day." He rubbed Sassy's head affectionately. "You did a good job, girl."

Dean scowled. "I want my dinner."

Sam took the vest and knelt beside his dog. She looked up at him with big, tired eyes. "Hey, girl, I know. We're all tired and we're done for the day, I promise. See, this is the other vest." He held it up for her to inspect, then slowly slipped it over her head. "Good girl, Sassy. You ready to eat?"

Sassy barked happily. Sam grinned at Dean, who scowled, huffed, and walked toward the restaurant doors.

The waiter didn't even raise an eyebrow at the sight of the dog at Sam's side. The red vest usually stopped anyone from complaining.

Their waitress was a teenager wearing shiny earrings that dangled to her shoulders, and cotton-candy pink nails. She had an eager look in her eyes. She was probably working the crappy shift in hopes of holiday tips to fund more colorful additions to her wardrobe. Dean knew the type. Once, he would have tried to hit on her. Now, she just looked like a kid. He shivered at the thought.

Am I getting old?

"Ohhh!" The waitress squealed at the sight of the dog sitting quietly by the table. "Aren't you beautiful! Such as sweet doggie." She reached forward, intent on scratching Sassy's years.

"Hey." Dean's voice was sharp. "What are you doing?"

The waitress drew her hand back, pouting. "I was just going to pet her."

Sam raised a calming hand and explained, "She's a working dog. If you pet her, you distract her, and she can't do her job. Never touch or talk to a dog with a working harness on."

"Oh-but, you're not blind." The waitress frowned at Sam.

"There are other types of working dogs," Dean snapped. "We'll have three turkey dinners, all the trimmings."

"No!" Now it was Sam's turn to snap. "Dean, all that starch is bad for Sassy. You have to stop feeding her table food."

"Sam, it's the holiday! I'm not gonna feed her dry dog food while we feast!"

"We'll get her a can of something nice on the way to the motel."

"Everything is closed today, Sam."

Sam's brow furrowed, and he looked up at the waitress. "Can you bring us a few slices of turkey breast, without any gravy or spices on it?"

"Sure." The waitress nodded and went to give their order to the kitchen, casting a longing glance back at didn't take long for her to return with a tray full of steaming food. Both Winchesters sat up a little straighter.

"So, you're not blind. What's wrong with-I mean-what have you got that you need a service dog for?" The waitress asked, placing a full plate in front of Sam.

Behind her, Lucifer tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What's wrong with Sam? Where do I start?"

Sam swallowed hard, eyes wide. "Uh-" Sassy put a paw in his lap, and Lucifer vanished. Sam looked down at her with a sad smile.

"You aren't allowed to ask him that." Dean's voice broke the awkward silence.

"Oh. Sorry." The waitress dropped her eyes and scuttled away.

Sam lowered the plate full of turkey to the floor for Sassy and buried his hand in her fur. "Good girl. You didn't have to be rude to her, Dean. Most people are curious."

"Yeah, but there isn't anything wrong with you." Dean's voice was still heated, and now he glared at Sam. "You know that, right?"

Sam kept his eyes fixed on Sassy, who was distracted by her plate of turkey. "It's ok, Dean. I've always been different. I'm used to it. Besides, she is allowed to ask what Sassy does for me."

"Yeah, well, that's not what she asked." Dean took a deep breath before turning his attention down toward his gravy-drenched plate. There was no sense allowing a bad waitress to ruin good food. "Happy Thanksgiving, brother."

Sam finally looked up, and met Dean's eyes with a smile. "Happy Thanksgiving."

000

As soon as they got themselves into a motel room, Dean flipped the TV on to the nearest sports station. A football game was in progress. Thanksgiving, Christmas or New Years, it didn't mater. Football was America's holiday game, and Dean was always happy to uphold his national traditions. Sam didn't usually mind. He enjoyed a good game. But he found himself absently rubbing the scar on his hand.

There was something about the quiet moments that invited images, unbidden, into the corners of his vision. Today, he saw nothing, but he could hear them. Distant screams, the cackle of flames, the rattle of chains. He accepted a beer from Dean and tried to focus on the game.

Sassy stretched out on the floor between their beds, eyes drooping. She'd had a long day and deserved a rest. Sam didn't want to bother her. After all, the dog did deserve a break, now and then. It didn't matter that Lucifer never took a day off.

"Why is it called 'football,' anyway?" Lucifer put his head in front of the TV, staring at the tiny figures running across the green field.

"Whoo! Did you see that!" Dean raised his hands over his head, pumping his fists.

"Yeah, nice play," Sam said.

Dean turned to frown at his brother. "You ok?"

"Fine." Sam turned away from the TV and reached for his laptop. "I think I'll work on some research. We still need to find away to fight these Leviathan."

"It's a holiday, Sam. We've got the day off."

"Yeah." Sam rubbed his hand, then grimaced and deliberately let go. Too late, Dean had seen the twitch. He glanced at Sassy, but she was sound asleep. She twitched, and let out a sound between a whistle and a snore. Sam shook his head. "It's fine, let her sleep."

"Ok." Dean frowned at the TV, then switched it off. "You know, you always used to ask me questions about Mom at the holidays."

"Yeah, I remember that. You never wanted to talk about her, you or Dad."

"Yeah, well, maybe we should have. I mean, you should know about her."

Sam glanced at his brother, and saw that Dean was cradling and old photograph in his hands. "Do you really want to do this?"

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't want to say anything before because I didn't want you to be jealous. Mom made an awesome turkey. It didn't seem right to talk about it when you couldn't taste it."

Sam grinned, and the sounds of hell retreated. "That good, huh?"

Dean grinned. "That good. It took hours to cook. Mom had to put it in the oven right at breakfast time, and you could smell it through the whole house. I would be begging her for food all day, just because I could smell it. She made Dad take me out to the park in the morning. Wouldn't let us come back until the food was ready. Dad would usually try to sneak something early, anyway. He never got anything past her."

"It sounds nice."

"Yeah, it was." Dean paused, staring into the distance. "Mom hated football, though. Dad would turn on the game, and she would spend the entire afternoon arguing with him about how old I had to be before I could play."

Sam leaned back, listening, the borrowed memories draping over him like a shield. Dean kept talking, pausing every now and then when Sassy snored. Sam closed his eyes. He didn't even remember falling asleep. He dreamed of turkey, and two small boys watching their mother cook in the kitchen, a protective German Shepherd wagging her tail between them.