Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Finn woke up to the scent of pie. It was amazing. He just lay in bed for a few minutes, eyes still closed, and breathed deeply.

He opened his eyes and looked sleepily at the clock. How can it be only nine? he thought. Seriously. Pie…at nine o'clock.

He dragged himself out of his warm, cozy bed and made his way upstairs. "Hey, where's the pie?" he mumbled.

"Pie isn't until after dinner," Kurt said. He switched on the oven light and leaned to the side to peer through the glass door. "We have pie for breakfast on the day after Thanksgiving, Finn. It's the only way I can fortify myself for Black Friday shopping."

Finn ran his hands through his sleep-mussed hair. "Pie," he whined.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder. "No," he said. "And put on pants."

"But-"

"No, seriously, put on pants."

"Fine," Finn huffed. He stomped downstairs and pulled on a pair of jeans- which, in retrospect, Kurt had been right about, because his boxers were kind of…old. And holey. Awkward.

He headed back up to the kitchen to find Kurt sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, several cookbooks spread out in front of him. "What's up with all of this?" Finn said. "I mean, nine o'clock is kind of early to cook stuff."

"We take Thanksgiving very seriously in the Hummel house," Kurt said. He sat up straight. "Is it seriously nine?"

"Yeah, it's-"

Kurt leaped off the table, almost tripping over the hem of his overly-long polka dot pajama pants, and bolted in the kitchen. "I can't miss the parade!" he said. "If I miss the parade, life will be over!"

He grabbed the remote as he plunked down on the couch and frantically pressed buttons. Finn sat down beside him, stretching his long legs across the couch. "There's a parade?" he yawned.

Kurt whirled around. "You've never seen the Macy's parade?" he gasped.

"We're usually in the car," Finn shrugged.

"Your life is so sad, Finn Hudson," Kurt said, shaking his head. "Here. Sit and watch. I have to check on my pies."

"Pies?" Finn repeated. He turned around as Kurt padded back into the kitchen. "As in…more than one pie?"

"Pumpkin and pecan," Kurt said airily. "And if you're very good, I might have enough time to make pumpkin chocolate chip bread."

"You're the greatest brother ever," Finn said.

"I know."

Finn settled back into the couch as Kurt busied himself with checking his pies. Honestly, he'd kind of forgotten it was Thanksgiving. He and his mom had never really made much of it before. Usually they left late on Wednesday night to drive down to Florida to visit his grandparents, where they watched football and ate one of those grocery store deli turkey dinners. And there'd been a couple of years where his mom couldn't get off work, so he watched football by himself and ate Chinese takeout when she got back home.

(There was also the year when he was seven and he went to Puck's house, but Puck had sworn him to secrecy over that after the incident with the turkey, the skateboard, and Puck's sister's impressive Barbie collection.)

Finn smiled to himself as he watched his younger brother bustle around the kitchen. He was finally going to have a real Thanksgiving, like the people in movies and holiday-themed sitcom episodes, with his mom and his dad and his brother, and turkey and mashed potatoes that didn't come from a box and pies that hadn't been prebaked in a grocery store.

Then again, the people in movies and sitcoms had their Thanksgiving meal made by mothers and grandmothers, and not by their gay stepbrother, but oh, well. Close enough.

"Has the parade started?" Burt asked as he walked down the stairs, holding Carole's hand.

"They're still doing the Broadway performances," Kurt called from the kitchen. "And you haven't missed much. They had a performance from American Idiot, and I was terrified. There's no good reason for an entire company of twenty to all have guitars. Why do they all have guitars?"

Burt looked at Finn and raised an eyebrow. Finn shrugged.

"Oh, honey, you finally get to watch the Macy's parade," Carole sighed. She stood behind the couch and kissed the top of Finn's head. "You got to see it once, I think. When you were four."

Finn leaned his head back. "Yeah, totally don't even remember that," he said. Carole pinched his nose lightly.

"It's not Thanksgiving without the parade," Kurt said, poking his head out of the kitchen. Somehow he had managed to smear flour in his hair, making a faded white streak.

"I know," Burt said, plunking down in his recliner. "Every year you have to have the parade and enough food for thirty people, or you pitch a fit."

Kurt smiled dreamily. "And then I get up at three on Friday morning, eat pie, and go Black Friday shopping," he said. "Then I come home and we get the Christmas decorations out. And we have to watch Muppet Christmas Carol, because it's the greatest Christmas movie ever."

Carole laughed. "You do take this seriously," she said. "It's much better than our tradition."

"Yeah, Christmas in Fort Lauderdale isn't all that great," Finn said.

"Well, now you get a real Thanksgiving," Kurt said. The oven dinged. "Oh my god! Pie!"

Finn stifled a laugh. "Is he really like this every year?" he whispered.

Burt shook his head. "You don't know the half of it," he said. "Kurt kicks it into high gear from Thanksgiving to New Year's. Sometimes I wonder if he stops to breathe at all, or if he just keeps running off candy canes."

Kurt ran out of the kitchen. "Dad, Dad, do we have candy canes?" he said, flinging himself over the back of the recliner. "I mean, I don't have any plans to go to Target tomorrow, but I can stop by and grab some if we don't have any."

Burt tugged on the hem of his son's tee shirt. "Kiddo, have I ever forgotten them before?" he said.

"Yes," Kurt said. "I was nine. And I was devastated."

Burt sighed. "Just let it go," he said.

"Kurt, sit down and watch the parade with us," Carole said.

"I have to keep cooking if we're going to eat by two o'clock," Kurt said.

Finn scratched the back of his neck. "How much food are you making, dude?" he asked.

Kurt stood up and started ticking items off on his fingers. "Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes," he said.

"That's awes-"

"Sweet potato casserole, corn casserole, rolls, and steamed asparagus, because I can't stand green beans," Kurt continued.

"Seriously-"

"Plus pecan pie and pumpkin pie. With whipped cream."

Finn stared at him, mouth agape. "Am I getting punked?" he asked.

"Why? Do you not like it?" Kurt said. "Because I've been making the same menu since I was ten, and I don't feel like changing it."

"No, this is just awesome," Finn said. "Seriously. Greatest Thanksgiving ever."

Kurt beamed. "Thank you," he said, flouncing off to the kitchen.

"Does he really do this every year?" Carole asked.

"Yup," Burt said. "After his mom died, we used to make the drive to Iowa to see my brother and his family, but it just stressed the kid out." He leaned forward. "Besides, he gets carsick on long trips."

"Poor baby," Carole smiled.

"So, when Kurt was ten, he announced that we were staying home for Thanksgiving," Burt continued. "He picked out everything and made me help him on the hard stuff. It wasn't bad, but he gets better at it every year."

"How can he cook like that?" Finn wondered aloud.

"Well, he's smart enough to not put a wet shoe in a George Foreman grill, for one," Carole teased.

"That was just one time," Finn grumbled.

Burt leaned back against his armchair, crossing his arms across his chest. "Mollie- Kurt's mom- she used to put him in his carrier when he was a baby and put him on the counter when she cooked," he said. "When he got older, he'd sit there and hand her stuff when she asked. And then…he just started doing it on his own." He cleared his throat. "Just don't ask him about the birthday cake he made for me when he was eleven. He's still kind of touchy about it."

"You're seriously not telling them about the San Andreas fault line cake?" Kurt complained.

"Aw, c'mon, kiddo, it wasn't that bad," Burt said.

Kurt stomped out of the kitchen with a spatula in his hand. The flour in his hair was now accompanied by an orange smear of sweet potato across his plain yellow tee shirt. "It was awful," he told Carole. "I still don't know what went wrong, but somehow when I put the second layer on the cake it split apart and started sliding away. And of course, I was eleven, and I didn't know how to fix it, so I tried to fill up the gap with blue icing. Needless to say, it didn't work."

Carole put her arm around his waist. "I'm sure you did your best," she said. "And I bet your dad was just happy that you remembered his birthday."

Burt beckoned to Finn and leaned forward. "My teeth turned bright blue," he whispered.

"I heard that," Kurt pouted. "Be nice to me, or I won't give you any pie."

"We love you, Kurt," Finn said sweetly.

Kurt bopped him on the head with his spatula. "You just said that get pie," he said, storming away.

Burt grinned. "Word of warning, Finn- stay on his good side until you get the pie," he said. "It's good."

Carole sat down on the couch beside Finn and put her hand on his knee. "I've never really been one for baking," she said. "So you'd better sweet-talk your brother."

He leaned his head against her shoulder; she stroked his short hair. It was weird to be like this, hanging out with his mother and his stepdad and his stepbrother. He didn't have to scrounge up lunch out of the refrigerator while he waited for his mom to come home from work, or half-listen to his grandparents bicker during the football game.

I guess this is what normal families are like, he thought.

The parade came to a close and they switched over to a game. His mom wasn't a huge fan of any football game that didn't involve him, but she endured it patiently, listening to him and Burt debate the merits of certain players and shout at the television during bad calls. Kurt popped in and out periodically, asking their opinions on certain things and letting them know as he made progress.

The game was nearly over when Kurt planted himself in front of the television. "Don't worry, this'll only take a moment, and you're on a commercial break anyway," he said. "The feast will be ready in twenty minutes, when the rolls are done. I'm going to take a shower, and I expect everyone to be ready."

Burt saluted. "We will, but get out of the way, son, the game's back on," he said, leaning over to see around Kurt, who just rolled his eyes and headed downstairs.

Carole squeezed Finn's knee. "Come help me set the table," she said.

"But, Mom, the game," Finn whined.

"You'll live," she said. "If Kurt could make all this food on his own, then you can help me set the table."

He frowned and followed her unhappily into the kitchen, then stopped dead in his tracks as he surveyed the spread of full dishes across the countertops. "This is amazing," he said.

Carole opened the silverware drawer. "It's so nice to have a real Thanksgiving, isn't it," she said. She handed him a stack of plates. "I've always regretted that you've never had a very good one."

He set the plates around the table. "Mom, they were great," he said. "You did great. I mean, my life didn't end because I didn't have some kind of perfect Thanksgiving."

She smiled and cupped his cheek in her hand. "You are such a great son," she said.

He shrugged. "Well, I try," he grinned.

Carole took out four glasses, set them around the table, and poured water. He picked up a stack of napkins, pausing long enough to peek into the covered dishes on the stove. His stomach rumbled unbearably loudly.

Kurt reappeared in precisely twenty minutes, dressed in clean clothes that weren't smeared with the remnants of his battle with the kitchen. "Dad, we're ready," he called. He clasped his hands. "Carole, the table looks so nice. Thank you."

"I helped," Finn offered.

"You just want pie."

"Well…"

Burt walked up behind his son and put his hands on his shoulders. "You did good, kiddo," he said.

Kurt gave his dad a playful push towards the counter. "Well, stop staring at it and eat already," he said.

"Mmkay," Finn said, grabbing his plate off the table.

Burt hadn't been kidding. Kurt had made enough food to keep them eating leftovers until Christmas- and Finn didn't even want to think of what Kurt was going to make for that. But the four of them sat around the kitchen table, talking and stuffing their faces until even Finn thought he was going to pop.

"I'm so full," Kurt moaned, pushing his empty plate away.

Finn brightened. "Is it time for pie?" he asked eagerly.

"No, not pie time," Kurt said, resting his cheek on the table.

"What do you usually do after you eat on Thanksgiving?" Carole asked.

Burt leaned his elbows on the table. "I do dishes, and he falls asleep on the couch," he said.

"Dad! I watch movies," Kurt protested.

"Oh, excuse me," Burt said. "He falls asleep on the couch while watching a movie." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"But…football's on," Finn said. "Can't it be time for football and pie?"

"You can help us with the dishes," Burt said.

"That might not be a good plan," Carole said warily. "Wet, slippery dishes, in Finn's hands…it won't end well." She patted his shoulder. "Here's the deal. You put the food away, and then you're free."

"Fine," Finn sighed, pushing his chair away from the table.

Kurt got up too. "I'll be on the couch if you need me," he yawned.

Finn pulled out tupperware of all shapes and sizes and shoveled the food haphazardly into it. It was harder than it looked, especially when he had to maneuver the turkey into something. The thing was slippery and unwieldy, but he finally managed to hack enough meat off the bones to pile it into a container.

"There," he said finally, half an hour after he'd been sent to put things away. "Am I done? Can I go now?"

"Think you're good," Burt said, surveying the catastrophic mess in the kitchen.

Carole rolled up her sleeves. "We'll take it from here, honey," she said. "Now go, before you break something."

Burt leaned over and kissed his wife. "It's a good thing we make a good team," he teased. "It'll be easier to get this done with you around."

"Oh, Burt," Carole said, turning around and twining her arms around his neck. "What would you do without me?"

Finn coughed. "I'm going to hurl," he announced. He sauntered out of the kitchen and into the living room as his parents continued to make goo-goo eyes at each other.

Kurt was curled up in his dad's recliner, his eyes already almost closed. "Thanks for helping," he murmured sleepily.

"No problem," Finn shrugged, flopping on the couch. "Whatcha watchin'?"

"Toy Story 3," Kurt said, half-smiling.

"Seriously?"

"I have a weakness for Pixar," Kurt confessed. "I never got around to seeing it in theaters, so Blaine let me borrow it."

Finn grinned. "Really?" he said. "Blaine? This belongs to Blaine?" He picked up the DVD case from the coffee table and started petting the cover. "Ooh, Blaine touched this…"

"Shut up," Kurt mumbled, his cheeks turning bright red.

Finn tossed the case on the other end of the couch. "Hey, you get to tease me about Rachel, I get to tease you about Blaine," he said.

"But we're not even dating," Kurt complained. "It's not the same."

"It's practically the same."

"Not even, Finn Hudson."

"Yes, it is."

Kurt huffed in sleepy annoyance and cuddled up into a smaller ball on the recliner. Finn sprawled across the couch and they watched the movie in companionable silence. At least, they were silent for a while, until Finn heard an odd sound and glanced over to see Kurt fast asleep and breathing heavily through his mouth. He just grinned and kept watching the movie.

They were almost at the end when his mom came up behind him and put her arms around his neck. "You were just a baby when I took you to see the first Toy Story movie," she said, kissing the top of his head. "You cried every time the mean kid came on screen."

"I remember seeing the second one," he offered. "I was in what, kindergarten?"

"You were little," Carole smiled. "So little. That was before the first of your growth spurts."

"Oh, yeah," he grinned.

Carole glanced over at Kurt. "How long has he been asleep?" she whispered.

"Like an hour," Finn said.

Carole walked over to her sleeping stepson and stroked his hair away from his forehead. "I sort of want to wake him up, but I don't have the heart," she said.

Finn glanced at the clock on the mantel. "Yeah, but it's four o'clock," he said. "Wake him up, I want pie."

Carole kissed Kurt on the cheek; he didn't wake up. "Let him sleep," she warned. "The pie will wait."

"Fine," Finn sighed as she went back into the kitchen. But he kept glancing over at his sleeping stepbrother, and finally he leaned over the arm of the couch and poked Kurt lightly in the ribs.

Kurt frowned in his sleep and batted his hands against Finn's. "Lemmelone," he mumbled.

"Kurt, wake up," Finn whispered. "I want pie."

"No," Kurt whined.

"Wake up."

"No."

"It's pie time."

"No."

"Finn," Carole warned from the kitchen. "Are you trying to wake Kurt up?"

"Yes," Kurt called.

"Finn."

"What?"

Burt stuck his head out of the kitchen. "I'm with Finn," he said. "C'mon, kiddo, get up so we can get our pie."

"You people are mean to me," Kurt complained, unfolding out of the recliner and slumping into the kitchen.

Burt already had a big knife and was about to cut into the pie. "You wanna do it?" he asked.

"If you won't let me deal with wet dishes, then you can't let Kurt use a sharp knife while he's half asleep," Finn warned.

"Fair enough," Carole said. "But I told you not to wake him up."

"Hon, you don't know how this kid sleeps," Burt said. "Up until last year, I used to have to carry him to his room after every Thanksgiving. I would've done it this year, but he finally got his growth spurt."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," Kurt yawned.

Finn hacked off a large piece of pecan pie and a slightly smaller piece of pumpkin, then doused it in whipped cream. "This is amazing," he said.

"I know," Kurt smiled drowsily, brushing his hair off his forehead.

"Thank you for doing this," Carole said. She looked from her two sons to her husband, smiling brightly. "I think this is the best Thanksgiving we've had so far."

"Definitely the best pie we've had," Finn mumbled, brushing pecan crumbs off his shirt.

Author's Notes:

Hey, all you American buddies, happy Thanksgiving! Eat some pie, okay?

And for everyone else...how was your Thursday? I hope it was good.

Yeah, I just figured that since I wrote a Halloween oneshot, I had to write a Thanksgiving oneshot. Cute, innit?

Also, did you drool during Kurt's list of items he was making? Yeah, that's totally what I made today. That's right, I wrote a oneshot and cooked an entire Thanksgiving feast all on my lonesome. Including, yes, pie. I think I ate too much pie, actually...

Also also, the San Andreas fault line cake? Totally did that when I was eleven. You write what you know, yo.