Work Text:
“Ew, why is Mom cooking -”
Tyler covered Dean's mouth with his hand, shooting his son a look of warning to quiet down. “I don't want your mother to hear you.”
Dean peeked last him. Wednesday was at the stove, in the midst of preparing pancakes for breakfast. The eleven year old made a face. “You said you were gonna make pancakes.”
“I know,” Tyler muttered. “But your mom and I were talking last night and she wanted to cook this morning.”
“But she sucks at it,” Dean whined.
Out of everything she could do, Wednesday couldn't cook to save her life. It meant that Tyler handled all the meals.
“Hey,” Tyler scolded him. “Don't say that.”
Dean folded his arms. “Well she's not good, Dad.”
“She's trying,” Tyler told him. “We should support her.”
“ Why ?” Dean stared at him, unimpressed.
“Because we love her.”
“I don't know if I love her that much,” Dean disagreed. “Remember when she made Uncle Pugsley’s cake for his birthday when you got sick? I almost broke a tooth!”
“Okay, okay,” Tyler shut his eyes. “Can you just pretend to like it?”
A grin spread over Dean's face. “So you want me to lie to Mom?”
“I wouldn't call it lying -”
“Just exaggerating the truth?” Dean finished for him, his tone innocent. “I don't know if I can do that. I'd feel terrible lying to my mother.”
“I'm sure,” Tyler said dryly. Running a hand through his curls, he sighed. “How about this; if you can eat it and not complain, I'll pay you.”
Dean was immediately interested. But then he narrowed his eyes. “How much?”
“Five dollars,” he negotiated.
“I don't know... It feels like a lot of work for five dollars. I don't wanna accidentally say something, you know.”
Tyler huffed out a laugh. “You're just like your mother. Alright, fine. Ten and that's it.”
“I can work with that,” Dean said cheerfully.
Tyler ruffled his hair. “You're ridiculous, you know that?”
Dean smiled cheekily. “Learned it from you guys.”
Tyler smirked, reaching into his back pocket where his wallet was to fish out the money. “Mhm. Listen, I'm gonna go take a shower real quick. Behave yourself.”
“I'll think about it,” Dean said, watching him leave.
He wandered into the kitchen where Wednesday still was. He heard her muttering to herself angrily, the words starting off in English and ending in Spanish.
“Morning, Mom,” Dean gave her a side-hug. Distracted, Wednesday patted him in the head.
“Yes, good morning, Dean.” The pan sizzled loudly, Wednesday flipped one of the pancakes. It was completely burnt to a crisp on that side.
Dean grimaced. “Just curious, why are you making breakfast? I thought Dad was gonna make pancakes.”
Splat! Wednesday roughly dropped the batter onto the pan.
“Your father insulted me,” she scowled. “He seems to believe that I cannot cook.”
Dean peered closer to the pan. “What are those little chunks?”
It wasn’t fruit. Wasn’t chocolate chips either. Why did they look like pieces of tree bark?
“Have you come in here to criticize my cooking?” She demanded. She tried to flip another one but it was stuck. Her aggravation rising, she put more force into the back of the spatula. “I’m not going to hear it from you either.”
It came unstuck- flying into the air and smashing one of the light bulbs for the light overhead.
Dean watched the glass fall to the floor. “Can we just go out for breakfast?”
“Absolutely not. I’m not going to waste perfectly good food.”
“Mom, you could use these as weapons. I think you’re way past perfectly good .”
With one hand on her hip, Wednesday glared at him. “Enough. You’re going to eat these and that’s it.”
She turned back to the stove.
He groaned softly. She paid him no attention. Breathing out a long breath, Dean stood there for a moment, an idea coming to mind.
“You know,” he said slyly, sliding up beside her, “if you want, I can pretend to like them. Make Dad feel bad and all about doubting you.”
She side-eyed him. “What is in it for you?”
“Twenty bucks.”
She scoffed. “I’m not giving you twenty dollars.”
“Okaaay,” he sighed. “How about ten?”
“Very well,” she gave the money to him and he pocketed it. “But you must be convincing.”
He smiled sweetly, kissing her cheek. “Don’t worry. Dad won’t suspect a thing.”
“We will see. But should you start to choke, be discreet and go upstairs. Thing will help you.”
He’d been on his way out of the kitchen when he paused. “Why would I choke?”
“Why must you ask so many questions?” Wednesday shook her head, her focus returning to the food. “You won’t. But should that happen, your father doesn’t need to know about it. He will take it as confirmation that I cannot cook and that can’t happen.”
“So if I choke, it’d be inconvenient?”
“Precisely.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you too,” Dean deadpanned.
It might have been around ten minutes later when they sat around the dining room table. Tyler’s hair was slightly damp from the shower, his curls every which way. Subtly, he gave Dean a look that was supposed to remind him of their deal. Wednesday brought out a platter of the pancakes. She, too, leveled a stern look at her son when Tyler wasn’t looking. Dean gave her a thumbs up in response.
She took a seat. “Go on. You may eat now.”
“Here, Bud,” Tyler pushed the platter towards Dean, his smile tight.
“Thanks,” Dean muttered. Using his fork, he took two of them. They fell on his plate with a clatter.
No one said anything. No one moved.
“You know what? I gotta pee. Be right back,” Dean got up to use the hall bathroom, leaving Wednesday and Tyler at the table by themselves.
“Hang on,” Wednesday called. “Why did you not go before you sat down?”
“I didn’t have to go then!” The door shut and that was that.
Tyler met the eyes of Wednesday. He’d yet to take anything, his plate empty.
“Well?”
“Well what?” He played dumb.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Her eyes never strayed from him.
Oh, yeah,” Tyler reached for a pancake. His only hope was to drown it in syrup.
Wednesday didn’t like that. “You’ve ruined it with all that sugar.”
“This is how I eat pancakes, Wen.”
She folded her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Eat one without the syrup.”
“I will when I’m-” She gave him another one. “....Okay.”
It took everything in him not to gag. Tyler had to close his eyes when he thickly swallowed.
Wednesday frowned over at Dean’s plate. “What is taking him so long? They’re going to get cold.”
“Probably hiding in there,” Tyler muttered under his breath.
“ Excuse me ?” Wednesday had heard him.
He winced, sighing in defeat. “Baby, I love you. But this is the one thing you can’t do. Can we just accept that and let me handle the cooking again?”
“There’s nothing wrong with what I’ve prepared,” she said defensively.
“Oh, yeah?” He said, pulling the platter closer. “Try one for yourself.”
She swiped one, taking a generous bite. At once, her expression changed and she placed it back down.
“See?” Tyler said, vindicated. “I told you.”
This realization made Wednesday cranky. Tyler rubbed his hand on her thigh nearest him as a comforting gesture.
“Hey, it’s okay, Wen. You just need some more practice.”
“I suppose,” she grumbled.
He leaned over to kiss her temple. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said while she got up to take the platter off the table, “I really sucked when I started out cooking too.”
“It does not,” Wednesday’s eyes flickered over to the spot where Dean had been sitting. “I believe our son escaped.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said with a slight laugh. “You know, I uh, I bribed him into pretending to like you pancakes.”
Wednesday raised her brow. “Is that right?”
“Hey, I did it for you,” Tyler got up to wrap his arm around her waist. “I was trying to be nice.”
“And you bribed him with what, exactly?”
“Ten bucks,” Tyler shrugged.
“That is interesting. Dean offered to pretend to like my cooking in front of you and requested monetary compensation as well,” she looked straight at him. “I gave him ten dollars in advance for his effort.”
For a moment, it was silent in the dining room.
“Did he just swindle us?”
“So it would appear."
“ Dean Wesley Galpin, get out here right now!”