Summary: Bobby's Thanksgiving turkey fiasco of '89, which didn't turn out to be so much of a disaster as a conventionally unconventional Winchester holiday dinner. Wee!chesters, Bobby, John.

I know, I know, I haven't written SPN fic in like forever, but I found this in my files the other day, so I finished it. Hope you all like it, and Happy Thanksgiving!


Kiss the Cook

"Dear God, thank you for my brother and my daddy and Uncle Bobby and Dean. And Uncle Bobby's dog Nixie and the 'pala and Dean. Amen." Sammy opened his eyes and beamed at the other two people sitting at Bobby's tiny table.

"You said me three times, you doofus," Dean said from his slumped seat at Sammy's right.

Sammy blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "That's 'cause I'm three thank-you-fuls for you, Dean."

Dean blinked away the sudden brightness in his eyes. "Dork," he mumbled.

"Nu-uh, Dean," Sammy pouted. "It's your turn. What are you thank-you-ful for, Dean?"

Dean groaned. "This is stupid, Sammy."

"Deeaan."

"Fine," Dean said with a dramatic sigh, "I'm thankful that Bobby didn't burn the kitchen down."

"Dean."

"I'm thankful—" He was interrupted by a knocking on the door. "Oh thank God."

Bobby got up to answer the hammering.

"Dean, come on. What are you thank-you-ful for?" Sammy prompted, his lower lip pushing out into a pout.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he did not want that pout to lead to tears. Not on Thanksgiving. Not that he's thankful for the holiday or anything. "I'm thankful for my annoying little brother. Okay? Happy?"

"Ecstatic," came a deep-voiced answer from the door. "Hey, boys. What's all this? Why does it smell like smoke in here?"

"Daddy!" Sammy jumped out of his seat and launched himself into his father's arms. "We're cele-ber-ating Thanksgiving. Uncle Bobby made a turkey but it burned-ed up."

Dean slid out of his chair and endured a hair-ruffle from John. "Sammy learned about it at school and wanted to celebrate it."

John glanced over at his friend, who was rubbing at his beard and looking a bit embarrassed. "How in the world did you get Bobby to go all out and cook Thanksgiving dinner for you?"

Dean snorted. "Three words, Dad. Nonstop puppy eyes."

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"You're the bestest, Uncle Bobby." Little arms wrapped around the hunter's neck and a warm, sticky kiss was smacked onto the scruffy cheek.

Bobby looked down at the smirking ten-year-old by his side. 'Not a word,' he cautioned with his eyebrows.

"Yeah, Uncle Bobby. You're the best," Dean chirruped impertinently.

"Of course he is," rumbled John with a smirk. "The very best."

"Shut it, Winchester," Bobby grumbled. "Now sit yer ass down and tell us what you're thankful for."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


AN: I am thankful for Supernatural for starting me on my mad journey as a fanfiction writer…and fan!