Work Text:
Baking pies took a lot longer these days than Bitty would have preferred. He had learned long ago that he had to fight the frustration that bubbled just beneath the surface when things did not go quite as had hoped they would. He had to push it down when his hand floated uselessly through knives, pans, or ingredients. It had taken him years and far too many mishaps, but now he had it worked out.
Even if it took so much longer.
It was the concentrating part. He had to focus hard on his hands, consciously remind himself what he thought he could remember of holding onto items. He had to remember the weight of things. A knife was supposed to feel like something in his hand, cool and heavier than air, but not too heavy. He had learned that sticking to easy recipes, boring though they could be after so many years, was the best bet. It meant he could just focus most of his energies on remembering how to hold onto things. Recipes that he could have made with his eyes closed back when he was…
Well, best not to think about that too much, when baking.
Trial and error had taught Bitty a lot about baking when dead. It was usually best not to dwell on the fact he was no longer living. On the fact that he could no longer smell what he was baking. That, even if he had sort of mastered the ability to pick up baking tools and ingredients, there was no possible way of actually eating the end results. He had gotten over that hurt a long time ago, mostly.
Jack had helped, in life and in death. It had taken a long time and more convincing than Bitty would have liked, but now Jack understood that Bitty had to do this. Twice a year he needed access to this kitchen. He would bake one pie for the start of the new school year, welcoming the new hockey team. Then at the end of the year, he would bake a farewell pie.
It brought him joy and he hoped it brought those living boys and girls some joy too. They all seemed to appreciate the pies from what he could tell. He and Jack, they did their best to stay out of the way of the living. But Bitty could be nosy and even as a ghost one fo his greatest joys was in seeing people eat his baking.
He stared at the pie, concentrating with all his might, on placing it on the cooling rack that no one in the Haus could remove (call it a benefit of haunting a place, Bits supposed, even if he himself did not quite understand how all of it worked).
The had begun to rise and he hoped the smell of pie would begin to fill the house. Making it at least smell like a welcoming place. His form shimmered and he concentrated on finding where Jack was before he vanished completely. It was difficult being present in the day time, but if he and Jack concentrated hard enough, they would be able to hear the reactions of the players who ended up finding the welcome pie. And that was always a joy.