Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.

John struggled to get out of bed. The headache pounded, and even the dim light in the room was blazing brightly. Every muscle in his body ached, and by the time he was focused enough to stand up and head to the kitchen, he knew that the pain he was feeling didn't have everything to do with drowning himself in Jack Daniels' the night before.

It was Thanksgiving. He'd come home from a hunt to find that Sam had used the grocery money he'd left to buy a small Thanksgiving meal. A turkey, some mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, peas, and corn. It was actually pretty amazing, a fifteen-year-old kid trying to put all that off by himself. But when John had seen the small feast on the table, he'd lost it.

"We don't have the money for this, Samuel!"

"I know we don't. That's the reason I was working at Mrs. Bailey's so much." Sam had answered.

"The money needs to last, Sam. And the time it's going to take you to prepare all this can be used for training."

And so had begun yet another vicious round of I want a normal life on Sam's end and training and saving lives are more important than normal on John's. As always, Dean had stayed out of it, much to Sam's immense frustration. The fight soon devolved into more serious, hurtful words. John had seriously considered throwing away the food to teach Sam a lesson, only stopping himself when he realized that wasting food was exactly what he was trying to stop Sam from doing.

The eternal John Winchester problem reared its head again. He wanted to say Sammy it's an amazing idea. I wish we could. But we just don't have the money. You need to train, not spend all day cooking. But the look on Sam's face was just too much to bear. He'd worked so hard on it, tried so hard to have his little slice of normal, and in came John, again, stamping all over it. It had been his little inner voice of way to stomp all over the kid's dreams AGAIN, father of the year that had caused the patience he wanted to have to evaporate instantly.

"Sam, put the food away. We'll cook the turkey tomorrow, and we'll be eating it a little at a time over the next few days. That's an order."

"I don't get it, Dad. I worked for this. I put it together. You didn't spend a thing, you don't have to do any of the work. So why can't we do this?" Sam shouted.

"Because I said so, Sam!" John shouted right back. He then went for the one barb he knew Sam couldn't stand. "Why can't you be more like your brother and just listen for once?"

"Because, for the fiftieth time, I am not Dean!"

"Well, it'd be a hell of a lot better if you were!" John had yelled.

The fight had immediately stopped. Any ounce of defiance or resistance had drained out of Sam, leaving only a defeated, hurt, disappointed boy in his place. John started to apologize, but he knew Sam too well. When Sam was hurt, he held grudges and was very unforgiving. But John knew at that point he had crossed a serious line. Dean had broken his precious neutrality rule when it came to Sam and John's arguments and was crossing the kitchen to comfort his little brother.

"I'll put it up, Dad." Sam had said quietly.

"Fine." John had said. He'd ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Look, if you want, we'll go out somewhere tomorrow. Wherever you want, anywhere that's open."

"Sure, sir."

"Dad, go ahead. I'll help Sam with the mess."

John had left, half reluctantly and half eagerly. He'd wanted this to be over and done with. He knew he was a bastard for taking this from Sam. But he was worried. Worried that if he let the boy have a taste of normal like that, that he'd be all the more stubborn and obstinate when it came to wanting more. John had believed he had to make Sam see it, even if it made the boy thoroughly miserable. Normal would only lead to pain. The sooner he would accept the life they were living, the less painful it would be.

John stood up and started towards the kitchen when he noticed something on top of his duffel bag. It was an envelope, written in Dean's customary messy scrawl. On the front was marked Dad. John opened it up quickly. The last time he'd found a note like this, Sam had run away from home.

Dad,

Look, I know you're not crazy about the whole Thanksgiving thing. And I know your arguments. That Sam needs to accept his life as it is. I get that, Dad, I really really do. But you haven't been here this last week. Sam's really picked up on his training. He's doing so much better, and he's making a much better effort. He actually trained three times this week without me having to remind him. He did all his chores too, worked for Mrs. Bailey, and came home from school on time every single day.

I know what you're thinking, Dad. I'm covering for him, trying to get you to change your mind. But I'm not. It surprised me too. I even asked Sam one day why he was working so hard to follow all your rules. He told me about the dinner, and said he was hoping that if he followed all the rules without complaining for a while, that maybe you'd be happy enough to let him have his moment of normalcy.

I talked to Sam, Dad. Told him all about why it wasn't a good idea to do normal stuff like Thanksgiving. But he said something that stopped me in my tracks. Think about this, Dad, and please don't think Sam or me is trying to make you mad. Just think about it for a second. You and me have all these memories of mom. We remember what 'normal' was, and why we're fighting so hard to keep it. Sam doesn't have those memories. He asked me to please try and convince you to show him why we fight so hard to preserve that for everyone else. He doesn't understand why we can both have years of normal, but he can't even have two hours.

Dad, please. I'm begging you. I know Sam argued with you last night. Please reconsider. If you won't do it for him, do it for me. Let him have this. Let him be happy for a little while. Show him, even if you don't believe it, that he does deserve that normalcy, even if he maybe can't ever have it. Why it's worth us giving it up so other people can have it. Whatever you decide, I'll stand by you, just like always. But please just think about it.

-D

"Damn it." John muttered to himself. He looked up towards the sky and said, "Mary, I'm sorry. I'm sorry he's hurting so badly. But I'll try and fix at least a little of it today."

John placed the letter inside his duffel and headed out towards the kitchen. He heard a pair of feet walking around. They were much too light to be Sam's. Sam tended to stomp around after they'd had a fight. John sighed; better to tell Dean first that he was going to do it, he supposed. He walked in to find Dean eating a bowl of cereal at the table. That was when he heard it. The sound of a toilet flushing. Sam was in the bathroom.

"Hey, Ace."

"Hey, Dad." Dean said. "Hey, I was wondering, you care if me and Sammy go out somewhere today?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I got your note…"

"Morning, Dad."

John instantaneously pulled his gun and aimed it at the kitchen doorway. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dad? What's going on?" Dean asked, standing up from the table and putting his arms in the air too. "What are you doing?"

"I said who the hell are you?" John shouted. "You got three seconds to answer me."

"Dad, what the hell are you doing?" Dean asked. "That's Sammy."

"Excuse me? That is not your brother, Dean. Can't you see that?" John said. Another thought occurred to him, and the question he shouted next drew has dad finally lost it? stares from both of them. "How do I know you're the real Dean?"

Because standing in the doorway to the kitchen was not Sammy. It was Dean's identical twin.