Sam looked up from his laptop as the door to the Bunker opened with a flurry of activity, snowflakes and a chill wind proceeding a string of curses from his brother and… feathers?

As he peered up at the catwalk, the younger Winchester frowned at seeing the front of his brother's jacket bulge around something that seemed just as irritated as Dean. A strangled chortling noise mixed with the older hunter's swearing.

"Stop squirming!" Dean huffed and kicked the Bunker's door closed, struggling to keep his hands on his jacket.

"Uh… Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked as his brother descended the staircase, his attention focused on whatever was nestled in his arms.

Sam's eyes widened with surprise when a naked, red head poked itself out from beneath his brother's jacket, beady black eyes staring into the young man's hazel one.

"What the hell is that?" Sam tore his gaze away from the animal to peer confusedly at his sibling.

"Don't tell me you've never seen a turkey before, Sammy," Dean asked, holding the bird out at arm's length; its scaly yellow legs kicking in the air.

"I know what a turkey looks like," Sam replied, "But when you said you were going to pick one up, I thought you were going to the supermarket."

Dean scowled as the bird flapped its wings, feathers flying, trying to escape his hold.

"I did go to the grocery store," he explained, "But the turkeys they had were so expensive."

"So?" Sam asked, closing his laptop as Dean released his hold on the bird and it flew onto the table, landed heavily and started pecking at the glowing map beneath it.

"So, this one was much cheaper," Dean finished, wiping his hands against one another.

"And it's also alive," Sam said needlessly as the bird waddled over to his laptop and started pecking at it. Sam slid the computer onto his lap, ignoring the turkey's reproachful look.

Dean shrugged, "Not for long. Thanksgiving's tomorrow."

Sam just nodded, "You're going to kill it for dinner?"

His brother grinned and put his hands into his jacket pockets, "Why not? Should be a piece of cake after ganking monsters for years; what's one little turkey?"

Sam leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised.

"Okay, well, let me know when it's all ready," standing, Sam made to leave the room.

"You don't want to help?" Dean asked and Sam smirked, shaking his head, "You said it yourself, should be easy to kill one little turkey."

Dean's gaze slid to the bird, walking calmly on the table, making contented chucking noises, and squared his shoulders.

"No sweat," he told Sam, smiling.

Sam returned the expression and left the room. Dean waited until his brother was out of sight before he took a seat in his abandoned chair and put his chin in his hand, watching the turkey squeeze out a turd onto the table.

"I can do this," Dean told himself, "I've killed all kind of nasty bastards, it's just one stupid turkey."

Standing, Dean reached out and grabbed the turkey, holding the bird under one arm like a football and headed into the kitchen. With his free hand, Dean closed the kitchen door and moved towards the sink, still holding the turkey tightly.

"Don't take this personally, buddy," Dean muttered as he rifled through the drawer for a sharp knife, "But a man's gotta eat and well, you just had the bad luck of being food."

Finding a large knife, the hunter hiked the turkey higher beneath his arm so that it's back was nestled right against his armpit. Standing at the sink, blade in hand, Dean paused.

The turkey stretched its neck out as though it knew what was happening and wanted to make it easier for the hunter and let out a resigned gobble.

Dean glanced at the knife, noticing the bird's reflection in the silver metal, the small black eyes, the wrinkled, red skin and yellow beak.

Dean closed his eyes for a long moment before letting out a long breath.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Dropping the knife into the sink, the hunter turned and went to the fridge instead, "You're probably hungry, huh?"

W

Sam slowly pushed open the closed kitchen door and peered inside.

Dean was leaning against the counter, beer in hand, watching the turkey pecking contentedly at breadcrumbs scattered on the linoleum.

"Hey," Dean said, "I was thinking those turkeys at the store, they're not that expensive after all."

Sam stepped into the kitchen and stood beside his brother, watching the turkey, smiling.

"I knew you couldn't do it," he said, elbowing Dean playfully.

"Sure I could," Dean argued, "It's just that I didn't have to."

Sam chuckled and shook his head.

"Of course," Sam replied, "Hey… is that the last beer?"

Author's Note:

A late Thanksgiving themed story I suddenly thought up.

Please review if you liked this!