Shadow wasn’t usually the first one awake on holidays.

He preferred sleeping in, pretending the world didn’t exist until coffee replaced the blood in his veins. But today was Thanksgiving—a holiday he pretended to dislike but secretly loved—because it meant a full day at home with his family.

The house was still and dim, morning sun barely reaching through the curtains. Shadow padded into the kitchen, quietly starting the coffee maker. The sound was soft, steady, grounding.

A few minutes later, he felt arms wrap around his waist.

Neo Metal Sonic rested his head between Shadow’s shoulder blades, warm body humming softly with low-power mode heat.

“You’re up early,” Neo mumbled, voice glitchy from sleep.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Shadow said simply. “I wanted to start the day right.”

Neo blinked up at him, amused. “By brooding at the coffee maker?”

“It’s called ‘preparing for responsibility.’”

“Ah. Very broody of you.”

Shadow huffed, but the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.

When the coffee finished, Shadow took a sip like it was fuel for his soul. Then he opened the fridge, staring into it like it was a mission briefing.

Neo hovered beside him, fully awake now.

“Are we actually cooking everything ourselves this year?” Neo asked.

“Yes,” Shadow said firmly. “We need to make… memories.”

Neo stared. “…Shadow, last time you tried to make mashed potatoes, you broke the mixer.”

“It wasn’t calibrated properly.”

“You threw it out the window—”

“Calibration error.”

Neo sighed and started pulling out ingredients before Shadow could start another kitchen war.

They worked together in comfortable silence, occasionally bumping elbows:

Shadow peeling potatoes like he was fighting them

Neo reading the recipe like a soldier following orders

Both of them pretending this wasn’t the cutest domestic thing they’d ever done

Halfway through, little footsteps padded into the kitchen.

Maya stood in the doorway, half-asleep, rubbing her eyes. Her metallic left eye glowed faintly with morning static.

Shadow immediately softened. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

She lifted her arms.

Shadow scooped her up instantly, balancing her on one hip. She signed slowly with one hand:

“What are you making?”

“Dinner,” Neo answered, tickling her cheek. “Your daddy is trying very hard to not start a grease fire.”

Shadow swatted him with a dish towel.

Maya giggled silently.

Shadow set Maya on the counter beside him—something Neo always insisted was unsafe, and something Shadow always did anyway.

Shadow handed Maya a tiny spoonful of the mashed potatoes.

She tasted it, considered deeply, then signed:

“Needs more salt.”

Shadow stared, offended.

“I followed the recipe perfectly.”

Neo peered over his shoulder.

“No, you didn’t. You skipped three lines.”

“That recipe was clearly written by someone incompetent.”

Maya signed a very exaggerated thumbs-down.

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “…Traitor.”

Neo laughed and kissed Maya’s forehead. “She’s right, you know.”

After a moment of brooding, Shadow fixed the potatoes, letting Maya “approve” every step. It became a game—one that filled the kitchen with warmth.

By the time afternoon rolled in, the table was set beautifully:

Autumn-colored cloth Maya picked

Sparkly little paper leaves she decorated

Two candles Shadow pretended were “for ambience”

And a slightly crooked centerpiece Neo insisted had “character”

Shadow carved the turkey with the precision of a surgeon.

Neo plated everything with aesthetic perfection.

Maya set out napkins with her tiny serious face, making sure every one was folded exactly the same.

They sat together and ate as an actual family—comfortable, small, and safe.

Shadow kept glancing at Maya, smiling whenever she wasn’t looking.

Neo watched Shadow watching her, smiling too.

“Movie?” Neo asked after dinner.

Maya nodded excitedly, signing:

“I choose!”

Shadow blinked. “…As long as it isn’t that talking snowman movie again—”

Maya grinned mischievously and signed the exact title.

Shadow placed his head in his hands. “Why…”

Neo laughed. “Holiday tradition, dear.”

Shadow muttered something about “suffering” and “frozen nightmares,” but he picked Maya up anyway and carried her into the living room like the softest, warmest grump on the planet.

They built a blanket fort together—well, Shadow built it while Maya gave orders and Neo added unnecessary structural calculations.

Shadow settled on the floor, Maya curled between him and Neo.

Neo put on the movie.

Shadow pretended he wasn’t invested in the plot.

Halfway through, Maya fell asleep against Shadow’s chest.

Shadow’s arms wrapped around her automatically, protectively, gently.

Neo leaned against Shadow’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

The movie flickered softly in the background.

Shadow whispered, voice low so he wouldn’t wake Maya:

“…I like this.”

Neo hummed. “I know.”

“No loud chaos. No missions. No emergencies. Just us.”

Neo’s voice softened. “You’re good at this, you know.”

“At what?”

“Being a father. Being a husband. Being… home.”

Shadow looked down at Maya, her organic cheek pressed against his chestplate, her tiny hand gripping part of his jacket.

“…Being with them feels… safe,” Shadow admitted.

Neo kissed his temple gently. “You make us safe.”

Shadow rested his head against Neo’s, letting the warmth of the moment wash over him.

The blanket fort glowed from the TV.

The house was quiet, peaceful.

For once, Shadow felt no weight on his shoulders.

Just family.

Just love.

Just a holiday night where everything was calm.

He whispered to Maya even though she was fast asleep:

“Happy Thanksgiving, little one.”

Neo smiled.

And in the soft glow of the movie, the three of them drifted into a warm, safe sleep—one big, quiet, perfect family.