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Sam couldn’t stop his smile when he stepped into the kitchen: Mary was preparing dinner.
He had a fleeting thought about how offended Jess would’ve been with the two of them for pushing the woman into the kitchen the minute she had appeared, but she was their mom. And moms’ loved to cook, didn’t they?
As Jess’s voice called him all sorts of names in his mind and urged him not to be so blatantly chauvinistic, he could only remember everything that Dean had told him about their mother’s culinary skills: how awesome her pie was, how perfect her meatloaf…
His stomach grumbled.
Mary looked up at the sound and he blushed, “Sorry, not eaten a lot over the last few days.”
“Well, we better get some food into you then,” Dean said as he appeared behind Sam and deftly set the table before taking a seat himself.
The plates were mismatched and the cutlery antique and heavy, but it was home in a way Sam had found himself missing when held by Antonia Bevel.
Mary placed a bowl of mashed potatoes and bacon patties and stood looking oddly nervous. Sam wondered for a brief second why she would be nervous but then figured she had known them when they were still children and that it had to be strange for her to cook for grown men. Dean was already piling patties and mashed potatoes on his plate and Sam hastened to follow suit, knowing his brother was liable to finish everything unless Sam was quick enough to snag some for himself.
“Mom?” He questioned when she made no move to take some for herself.
She jerked at his call, as though snapping out of some reverie, but nodded and took her own share; her plate looking near-empty next to his and Dean’s which were piled high with sandwiches and potatoes and patties.
“Well?” She asked; waiting for them to take a bite and glancing at Sam with a shrug, Dean did just that. Sam took a bite himself and froze: the potatoes were lumpy and the patty was cold and uncooked at the centre. His eyes closed automatically as he sought to overpower his gag-reflex and then met Dean’s gaze where he could see the same shock. Nevertheless his brother swallowed the over-salted food with obvious difficulty that he tried to mask (not that Sam was fooled) and smiled at their mother.
“It’s great, thank you.”
Sam couldn’t bring himself to lie so blatantly so he just nodded and smiled; watching as Mary’s tense shoulders came down and relaxed at the pronouncement. She took a bite of her own and almost immediately spat the food out.
“You call that good?!”
Dean burst out laughing and Sam joined in tentatively.
“By God that’s terrible! How did you two even manage to swallow?” Mary exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, mom. It happens. We’ll manage.” Dean soothed.
“You’re not eating that crap!” She announced; getting up and retrieving the phone, “Where do you get the best burgers around here?”
“Here,” Sam answered even as Dean replied ‘Biggersons’.
She raised her eyebrow at Sam, slowly lowering her phone, “Here?”
“Dean makes the best ones I’ve ever had,”
She turned to his brother and Sam grinned at how red Dean’s face was.
“You cook?”
“Some,” Dean answered, scratching the back of his neck shyly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” She asked, “Would have saved us from my terrible cooking.”
“C’mon, mom. It wasn’t that bad. Trust me, me and Sammy have had much worse over the years. Besides, your meatloaf was the best.”
“It was from the local Piggly-wiggly. Sorry to burst your bubble, kiddo.”
Dean just stared at her for a moment before turning to the fridge where he began deftly retrieving additional ingredients. He and Mary watched as Sam’s brother expertly chopped up tomatoes and onions and gathered up the remains of Mary’s mashed potatoes to improve while heating up the skillet to fry the patties simultaneously. It barely took him twenty minutes to put fresh plates with juicy looking burgers on the table and Mary let out a low whistle, “Wow, you’re good.”
Dean blushed as he took his seat, determinately not looking up as he took his first bite.
“Wow,” Mary whispered as she swallowed her first bite, echoing Sam’s words from so long ago when he had first sampled his brother’s cooking.
Sam just grinned, “Right?”
She smiled at him and nodded vigorously, taking a second bite and savoring it before turning to Dean again who had still not looked up. “Where’d you learn to cook like this, Kiddo?”
Dean shrugged, mumbling, “Wanted to be like you,”
“Oh Dean…” She whispered, stretching her hand across the table to squeeze his briefly, “I’ve never been much of a cook, Sweetheart. But I- I can learn if –if you want.”
“It’s fine, Mom. Don’t worry ‘bout it. I can handle the cooking, I don’t mind.”
“Do you still like pie?” She enquired as she brought out a plate.
“You baked this?” Dean asked. His eyes shining obviously with hope.
“Got it from the diner, sorry. Besides, I think you’ve experienced enough of my cooking for a day.”
Dean laughed and dug in, eating the sweet treat with gusto.
“I guess that answers my question” Mary laughed and Sam joined in. Dean was oblivious- eyes glued to the pie he was devouring . He looked up at their laughter and mock scowled, “What?! It’s so good. You guys should get one and try it.”
Sam shook his head as he picked at his own pie, he had never loved the baked treat the way his brother had and wondered, not for the first time- how much his brother’s love of pie had to actually do with the dessert itself and how much was it’s association to Mary. He had long suspected that one of Dean’s few memories of their mother was of helping her while she made pie and it was that last bit of ‘normal’ that Dean remembered everytime he had pie that had sealed his love for the treat rather than it's flavour. His suspicions were proven correct when Dean turned down pie after Mary’s departure and he found himself cursing his mother for ruining one of the few things that his brother still cherished.