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Dean is really starting to resent their post-Chuck freedom. Don’t get him wrong, being able to make his own choices and not having to look over his shoulder every damn second is nice and all that but the novelty has kinda worn off. To put it plain and simple, he’s really fucking bored of the same old routine everyday. Their newfound peace and his blossoming relationship with Cas were enough for Dean in the beginning but nowadays Dean is itching for something to crop up.
Sam keeps saying he needs a hobby and even suggests he help around the bunker more, but Dean just barks back a mocking insult about how Sam would think that, wouldn’t he? because he’s basically just a dusty old librarian nowadays. Dean knows that Sam is just trying to help but half-hearted barbs are easier than the truth: Dean doesn’t really know how to take things for himself like Sammy always has.
Normally when he gets stir crazy like this, Dean just throws himself into hunting but the monsters attack more sparratically than ever, probably because Chuck isn’t yanking on their strings anymore either. Which means he and Sam can go weeks without a new case and then suddenly have four back to back. There are some things that remain constant of course, attacks involving wolves always spike around the full moon and same goes with witches and pagan holidays. Still, most days Dean feels like he’s got cabin fever.
Today though, the desire to shake the melancholy has gotten so bad that Dean made the mistake of agreeing to help Sammy with his OCD desire to finally categorize the entire bunker into his ‘system’. That’s how Dean finds himself in a cookie cutter storage room rummaging through scrolls and spells for an Ankh, because of something about Egyptian Gods that Dean didn’t even pretend to follow.
After about half an hour of unfruitful searching, he’s about to throw in the towel when something catches at the corner of his eye. Dean considered the small book placed on the filing cabinet because it isn’t like the usual tombs of lore scattered about the bunker. It’s small and thin, only about 50 pages long. The book’s cover is a solid black with no title to indicate what’s inside, and well, Dean’s always been a curious guy.
Turns out it’s a cookbook of recipes — an old timey one that’s written in a messy handwriting detailing vintage recipes for deviled eggs and roast beef and desserts like biscuits and cakes. Dean spares a moment to wonder if Mrs Butters wrote it or if this book was left here to gather dust because the wood nymph made the need for a recipe book obsolete.
Dean flicks through the yellowing pages of ingredients and measurements just ‘cause he can and honestly the hunter can’t deny he’s faintly curious about what dishes he’ll find. Dean briefly wonders if his grandfather ever cooked any of these foods or was he like Dean’s Dad in the belief that cooking extravagantly wasn’t really something a man did.
The recipe for apple pie catches his attention like a baited hook. Dean’s not really sure why. He isn’t used to working with flour or mixing bowls and having to measure everything out. He’s more comfortable with burgers and bacon.
Suddenly the realisation that Cas has never eaten pie before hits Dean like a physical blow. Of course Cas had eaten pie upon Dean’s insistence when he was an angel but It was all just molecules back then. Now he's a regular old human. Ever since he’d got out of The Empty through the sacrifice of his own grace and an admittedly much less beautiful love confession from Dean, Cas had been trying to fill in the blanks of humanity. They’ve gotten him his own clothes, made him watch all the classics — mainly horror flicks, Spielberg and Star Wars but in Dean’s opinion that’s all you really need — and caught him up on all the wonders of food.
It’s adorable watching Castiel wrinkle his nose in disgust or shut his eyes in delight when he tries something new. It’s enthralling watching him get absorbed into different flavours and spices. He claims Dean’s burgers are the best and the hunter feels a burst of pride bloom in his chest like a rose whenever he thinks about it.
Dean can’t believe after all this time they’d neglected to make Cas try pie. He’s frankly somewhat offended at his past self.
At breakfast this morning Castiel had informed them all he would be spending the day trying to get a handle on his new vegetable garden. For the last few days Cas had been complaining about a new deer adversary that kept raiding his garden during the night. So Dean’s got plenty of time to go to the store and buy a pie or…
Dean compares the list of ingredients inked onto the page against his mental list of ingredients in the pantry. When everything matches up Dean can’t stop his mind from drifting to the idea of Cas coming back from his garden and smiling at Dean like the sun after being greeted by a pie still warm from the oven. Cas is so gone for Dean and every time the hunter does something even remotely nice for him, Cas melts. It kinda breaks Dean’s heart actually, Castiel deserves so much better than him and Dean will be damned if he doesn’t spend every day of the rest of their lives trying to be the man Cas thinks he is.
The thing is, he doesn’t know how to bake. Jack's birthday cake is a tragic example of that. He’s never successfully made so much as a cake mix bought from the store let alone a pie from scratch. Something he can’t name tries to convince him to just go buy an apple pie and spend his day tinkering with Baby instead of baking like a dam housewife but Dean does his best to ignore it.
Realistically, It doesn’t look like a hard recipe and Dean’s got nothing important to do today. Besides, he’s been cooped up for weeks, Dean doesn’t think Baby could handle anymore tune ups. Sam has his books and Cas has his garden which is making Dean realize that he’s got no one to blame for his feelings of boredom but himself. Chuck isn’t writing the story anymore so Dean can do whatever the fuck he wants with his newfound freedom just for the hell of it. That includes baking an apple pie for Cas that’ll probably be terrible.
He leaves the storage room with a purposeful stride and goes straight to the kitchen.
Dean finds he actually really likes baking. The simple step by step of one task after another is soothing. There’s no pressure to get everything perfect here, it’s not like constructing a spell to save the world, he’s doing it for him. There’s something that feels warm and safe about it – not boring, just peaceful.
So yeah he enjoys it. The only issue is he’s kinda awful at it. This baking endeavour has been one unfortunate mistake after the next which all added up into the most pathetic pie Dean has ever seen.
He thinks his first error was including a few apples that were just a tad overripe. Though one bad apple may not spoil the whole bunch, Dean thinks the few he added in poor judgement may have ruined the pie because now the filling is way too mushy. The second error is with the pastry, the dough appears to be somewhat overworked considering the crumbling crust. And thirdly, when the pie had been in the oven Cas had called and Dean had left the kitchen to talk to him about the best way to fence off his garden and he’d kinda lost track of time and now he’s returning to a kitchen smelling of burning crust.
Dean rushes over to the oven in a panic, hastily turning down the heat and clawing on a pair of oven mitts as fast as possible to pry the glass dish from the warm light. Dean can feel the heat seeping through both the pie plate and the thick fabric surrounding his hands.
Thank fuck he has enough ingredients and time to attempt another pie so this disaster of burnt crust and ruined apples can just be chalked up to a practice run and it never has to see the light of day. Still it kinda sucks that he messed up so brutally. Well, who knows maybe the filling only looks bad?
A runny spoonful of filling confirms that it does in fact taste worse than it looks.
“God Dammit.” He can barely taste the burnt overripe fruit because he’s added way too much cinnamon.
Dean’s in the middle of spitting out the abominable filling into the sink when he hears an unexpected voice behind him. “Why would I do that?”
The sudden presence of another person makes the unlikely baker almost jump a foot in the air. Jack Kline stands in the kitchen looking genuinely confused. Regardless, his hand is held up high in that innocent greeting of his and the smile he wears is almost blinding.
“Jack! Don’t do that!” Dean exclaims but the fright and annoyance is quickly fading to joy and relief “You’re gonna give your old man a heart attack.”
Jack tries to look apologetic but he’s doing an awful job at stopping the corners of his lips turning up in amusement. The kid might be the capital ‘g’ God now but he’s still just Jack, goofy, innocent and downright awful at being enigmatic.
Within moments Dean’s rushing over to hug him because above everything else Jack is his kid. Now that Jack’s not dying and someone Dean has to lose, the truth of their situation is much easier to accept.
“What are you doing here, Jack?” Though Jack’s always welcome back home in the bunker Dean is puzzled to see him. “Don’t you have like God stuff to do Kiddo.”
“You literally just called for me.” Jack says in that sarcastic voice that only the youth can pull off. He spares a sympathetic glance at the failed husk of apple pie.
Dean gives him an unimpressed look. “Whenever it rains, Cas stands in the downpour for hours praying to you and it’s still only a coin toss if you’ll answer.” Dean gets it from both sides, Jack’s the almighty now, he’s busy sometimes, but he’s still Cas’s son and the former angel is gonna wish to speak to him sometimes. Dean’s just worried the poor bastard will catch a cold.
Jack looks a mix between offended and sorrowful for a few moments “I keep an eye out for all of you and I answer when I can.” Dean raises an eyebrow at him, true as that might be, Dean didn’t exactly need Jack right now. Jack of course caves under his gaze. “Ok fine. I just wanted a break from Amara, we’re redesigning heaven and she’s very particular about how she wants things.” Jack admits sheepishly.
There’s a moment of silence because Dean doesn’t really know how to respond to that. He considered the second attempt at baking a pie that he’s about to undergo and how it'd be easier with a second pair of hands. He also thinks that as far as Jack’s concerned Dean has a lot to make up for with that kid so if he’s looking for a way to skip out on his heavenly duties for an afternoon then Dean can help with that.
“You wanna help?” Dean tentatively asks before gesturing towards the bench crammed full of ingredients and cutting boards.
“Of course!” Jack says practically bouncing with excitement. He’d clearly been hoping Dean would offer. Jack’s wearing the same white jacket and clean clothes he left in so Dean decides that he better get the kid an apron just to be on the safe side, lest he spill flour and apple on his equivalent of God robes.
When Dean looks back around, striped apron in hand, Jack has one of those ridiculous floppy chef hats straight out of a cartoon on his head, it’s probably the most endearing use of unfathomable power Dean’s ever seen.
“Where do we start?” Jack asks excitedly as he’s struggling to tie his apron strings into a clumsy bow. Dean makes a mental note to teach the kid how to tie a proper knot one day.
“With the crust.” Dean answers in amusement. “Well first we should wash our hands.”
Dean instructs Jack to clean the mixing bowls and cutting boards of what remains from his last pie while the hunter gets all the ingredients laid out and debates whether he needs to preheat the oven again. It's like already hot right?
He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Jack snapping his fingers and all the bowls and cutlery on the counter being magically cleaned.
“What, no! Jack, don't do that.” Dean snaps. The kid looks at him fearfully and there's a stammered apology and Dean regrets his tone imminently. It’s just that this cooking thing, however brief, has been a really nice exercise in normalcy. It's not lost on him that there is a joke to be made about the literal apple pie life here but he doesn’t want to joke because however bad at baking he was Dean had been enjoying it.
Jack using his magic just feels like cheating.
“Sorry kid, I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” Dean sighs. “But we’re doing this the human way though, capeesh?”
“I understand.” Jack says with a small nod of his head. He raises his hand to snap the bench back to its former mess but Dean stops him.
Well, they’re already here and no one likes dishes.
Dean starts cutting pieces of unsalted butter into small walnut sized chunks while Jack adds pastry flour and salt into a large wooden mixing bowl. “It’s so weird how salt can be used for stuff other than fighting monsters.” Jack mutters as he pours the second cup into the bowl like Dean instructed.
Dean’s first instinct is to make a comment about how sheltered Jack is but the issue is he’s really the opposite. Of course the kid thinks shit like that. Why wouldn’t he? Really it's kinda depressingly fucked up that despite wanting to be better parents than what they had, he, Cas and Sam still taught Jack to use salt for ammunition and protection instead of cooking. Like all of them he never got to have a normal life. Dean isn’t naive enough to think he could ever see a dollop of salt and not catalogue it as a weapon in his mind but he does hope one day he could find a balance. He doesn’t want to be a paranoid basted all the time anymore. Dean hopes this cooking thing could be something he uses a hunter’s weapon to create with, not destroy.
Fuck, that got sappy.
“Salt’s not the only thing. You can do a shit ton with melted chocolate too.”
“Like what?” Jack asks innocently.
Right. Four years old, not the twenty four he looks. “Never mind.”
Pretty soon the butter is all cut up so Dean dumps the small array of tiny clumps into the bowl. He tells Jack that the recipe says to mix it all together with his hands. The kid’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree (not literally, he’s good about not cheating). Jack goes to town and it isn’t long before the butter begins to break up under the weight and heat of his hands and mix in with the flour and salt.
Dean goes to retrieve a cup of water from the fridge and by the time he’s back the two white powders have begun to pick up a little color from the butter, turning the contents of the bowl into a gross yellow-grey mix. The added water makes it look like a snotty paste.
“Cool!” Jack exclaims in pure childlike wonder. He sticks his hands back into the bowl to continue mixing but he quickly draws them out with a hiss as if the mixture burned him.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asks in a panic, Jack’s God, nothing should be able to harm him. Dean swears if a fucking pastry mix turns out to be a secret weapon they could’ve used on Chuck, he’s gonna lose it.
“It’s cold.” Jack pouts.
Of course.
“That’s because you have to use ice water Jack.” He explains. At this rate they may not finish before Cas figures out how to outsmart a deer.
When the kid makes no move to continue to mix Dean scoffs at Jack and goes to finish mixing the dough himself. It’s gloopy and sticky under his hands. And really cold but Dean’s gonna pretend he doesn’t notice that.
After some more mixing and time the dough starts to come together. Since this is his second attempt Dean is a little more knowledgeable he decides to add about two extra tablespoons of water. Dean feels a bit smug about it too, like he’s outsmarted the recipe.
“Jack, can you spread some flour over one of the cutting boards? We need a non-stick surface.”
Jack salutes his agreement with a smile and practically bounds over to the other side of the kitchen where Dean placed the bag of flour. Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees the floppy chef’s hat bounce back into his space as Jack begins to dust the flour over a blue cooking board they bought a few years back.
Dean remembers doing this sort of thing with his mother, well truthfully the memory is so blurred around the edges that it could be a fantasy for all he knows but regardless it’s a memory he keeps close to his heart. Dean never imagined he’d get to enjoy something so freaking mundane as this, he’s baking a pie for the love of his life with thier kid for fuck sake, how is this real?
Dean removes the lumpy, damp dough from the bowl and places it on the cooking board. The hunter then glances over at the recipe to double check his next move. Gently he begins to knead the dough, just until it begins to smooth out. He’s careful not to be too rough and not overwork it. This is where he’d messed up last time.
Jack has a sheet of wax paper at the ready to clumsily wrap the dough up and it immediately goes in the refrigerator to rest. On the trip back to the counter Jack swipes at his jaw and somehow manages to get flour all over the side of his face.
For a moment he wonders if this is how Mom felt when she was living in domestic bliss with dad and him, did she find it surreal too? Dean really wishes he could ask her but thinking about Mum when Jack’s around is still hard so Dean chooses to put those thoughts away for now.
They’ve got a bit of time to kill while they wait for the dough so Dean takes the opportunity to catch up with Jack properly. It’s the standard stuff, how he’s going: good. What he’s been up to: fixing Heaven mainly. The upstairs makeover is apparently going good, the kid wants Cas’s opinion on a few redesigns up there though. Mostly Jack says he misses hunting and them.
Dean gets stupidly emotional about that last one. An overwhelming amount of emotion gets stuck in his throat. He’s past 40 and he ain’t getting any younger, at this point chick flick moments are allowed between family. Dean wouldn’t survive if they weren’t. So he tells Jack how much they all miss him too.
They’re in the middle of a conversation about Jack wanting to change purgatory so only the bad monsters go when he suddenly cuts himself off by announcing they’ve got 5 minutes before the dough is to be taken out of the fridge and they should start cutting the apples now.
Dean finishes the coffee he’d been sipping throughout the conversation and heads over to the fridge to grab their remaining thirteenth apples. He briefly waves the no-powers-rule so Jack can use his omniscience to tell Dean which will be the best seven apples to use.
“You always cut away from yourself.” Dean says in his serious no nonsense parent voice he learned somewhere between Ben and Claire. Jack’s watching him core and cut up pieces of crunchy, tart apple with rapt attention, he can see the kid’s fingers itching to grab the knife and have at it but he waits patiently and observes Dean’s technique.
He makes sure to hold the knife the way he’s seen Tv chefs do on cooking shows he watched in countless motels growing up -- it’s different than handling a silver blade meant for gutting monsters and the alternative grip still makes him feel off-kilter, every second he’s fighting the grip that’s been ingrained into him for as long as he can remember.
Since it’s Dean’s second attempt the pieces are less diversely cut but that nice consistent range goes away when he lets Jack cut the remaining three apples.
On his first apple Jack is really careful, his brow scrunched up in concentration but as he goes he gets more relaxed and sure of himself. The pieces aren’t as symmetrical as Dean’s but the kid seems super proud that he didn’t cut towards himself even once the whole time so Dean can’t begrudge him anything.
By the time they’ve only got one Granny Smith apple left to dice up it’s time to take the dough out of the fridge. Dean goes to retrieve it while Jack happily finishes his task.
They are ready to roll the dough so Dean decides to double check the little black book of instructions for their next step. He and Jack divide the dough in half and each roll the cold malleable substance into two flat circle shapes. Dean doesn’t call out Jack's crust for being just a little too precise on the ¼ of an inch thickness thing even though it's obvious the kid bent the rules a little bit.
Pretty soon they are preheating the oven and placing the thin dough into the squeaky clean pie plate. Jack gets very excited about combining their apple slices with sugar, cinnamon and flour. Dean lets him do it but makes sure Jack only adds a few dollops of cinnamon, lest the pie gets over-saturated with it again.They take turns adding the sliced and spiced apple pieces into the pan lined with chilled dough. They add the slices from the outside in and dot with butter as they go.
Dean’s pretty nervous about assembling the pie. He wets the edges of the dough — both the filled one on the bench and the top crust — so that when both crusts are stuck together they form a seal. After he’s doine forcing the two crusts to stick Jack takes the opportunity to use the tip of a knife to create several vents in the top crust.
Once they’ve done a few more touch ups and a final glance at the recipe Dean slides the pie that’s remarkably better than his first attempt into the warm light of the oven.
They’re in the middle of cleaning up when Dean spots Jack magically clean the bowl he’s meant to be scrubbing in the sink like a regular old human and Dean makes a mental note to ground him as soon as he gets to heaven.
Eventually the sweet smell of baking apples and pastry hangs heavy in the air to tell Dean that pie number two is ready.
It’s not perfect, obviously. One half nephilim boy god and a washed up hunter with a recipe book from the 40s aren’t just gonna stumble themselves into making a perfect pie.
“I could make it perfect.” Jack says as if reading his mind, though Dean doesn’t think he actually is. “Make it taste just like the one you said Mary made when you were my age.”
“Nah,” Dean says after a few moments because that’s a really loaded question. “It’s got character.” And indeed it does. The pie at the end is a little burnt with the pastry being a tad too dark but the pastry seems flakey and buttery which Dean will count as a win.
The duo are both taken away from admiring their creation when a voice at the kitchen door makes itself known by sucking in a gasp. “Jack?”
Jack’s only halfway through his “hi Castiel” and his signature wave when Cas barrels into Jack and wraps the new God into a fierce hug. The kid’s stupid chef hat falls to the floor from the force of the impact.
“Cas.” Jack is saying excitedly the very moment they pull apart. “Dean and I made pie!”
“Really?” Cas asked with bright eyes as he smiles at Dean. He’s sweaty, his hair is all wild from working outside and honestly Cas looks good enough to eat so Dean distracts himself by grabbing a few plates while Cas and Jack chat. When he’s back and feeling a bit calmer Jack makes a grab for the knife to cut the pie but Dean stops him: it’s a hot plate and the kid is barely four years old after all, he’s gotta draw a line somewhere.
From just a look the filling seems far less sloppy and runny than the first and Dean is internally cheering at that. He cuts three slices for them all but he and Jack both instinctively let Cas try it first.
“How does it taste?” Jack asks practically bouncing on the spot.
“Like revelation.”
Dean has no clue what that means but he’s gonna assume it’s good and this was a success. He takes a bite and the buttery crust mixed with the sweet apple and just the right hint of cinnamon is amazing.
“Is this gonna become a regular thing?” Castiel asks after his third bite.
“I hope so.” Dean says honestly. Cas smiles at him so sweetly that Dean has to shovel in another mouthful to stop himself from jumping the guy right then and there.
“What’s next, then?” Jack asks as he reaches into the dish with a spoon to cut off the end of a triangle slice since he’s already wolfed down his first.
“I don’t know.” Dean admits sheepishly. This has kinda been a spur of the moment type thing.
Jack makes an excited noise around his mouthful of pie and shoots over to grab the cookbook. “Cas, pick a number between 1 and 52.” The kid says in a rush after he swallows his food.
“26.” Castiel answers without missing a beat.
“Blueberry tart.” Jack says happily but he doesn’t even look down at the book.
Cas cocks his head to the side for a moment before he thoughtfully says,“I’m growing blueberries in my garden.”
“It’ll be a team effort then.” Dean says before he keenly eats the last spoonful of his pie.