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Junior year, Jess had taken Sam home with her for Christmas. “No one should be alone on Christmas!” Which, since Dean wasn’t going to be coming out this year, Sam would have been.
Jess’s family welcomed him, although they shared Jess’s concern about Sam’s avoidance of talking about his past and his family. They grew even more concerned when they realized Sam had never really decorated a Christmas tree with family tradition ornaments, or watched piles of presents growing under the tree, or baked Christmas cookies. Jess’s little sister made it her personal mission to teach Sam to bake.
The next Christmas, Sam had planned to go home with Jess again, but… Yellow Eyes forced a change in plans.
Now the Winchesters had a place to call home, complete with a fancy kitchen where Sam could bake. Sam also had a loved one to bake for. He and Dean were basically ignoring Christmas again, as usual. On a grocery run, though, Sam had stopped to look at the holiday baking supplies. It made him think of the Moores and the Christmas he’d shared with Jess.
Google provided recipes, and Sam gathered everything he needed. He and Dean weren’t big on cookies, but Sam could probably make a pie. Or several. He briefly considered making a different kind of pie for each of the twelve days of Christmas, but that was probably going a little overboard. Especially since he’d never made a pie before and had no idea if they’d be any good.
On the way home, Dean called him. “Hey. Cas needs help. I’m gonna go with him. Angel thing – and these angels want you dead for the demon blood thing so Cas thinks it’s probably best if you don’t go. That okay?”
“Yeah, Dean. No problem. Be careful.” Sam hung up and said a quick prayer of thanks to Castiel. His timing was perfect.
Dean was out of the way. Sam had the entire bunker to himself and didn’t have to worry about smells catching Dean’s attention. He immediately set to work.
Pie crust was, apparently, complicated. By the time Sam had figured out where everything he needed to bake was, he was already a little overwhelmed. Rolling out crusts was harder than he’d expected, making sure it stayed symmetrical and round. The fillings were easier, at least. They didn’t have to be perfect. He’d stuck with basics – apple pie and cherry pie.
The first apple pie came out weird-looking. Sam tasted it, and it tasted pretty good. Good enough for Dean was questionable, but there was no predicting that until he’d put it in front of his brother. The second pie looked better, but still kind of weird. Similar results with the cherry pies.
Cas brought Dean back just as Sam had finished cleaning up the kitchen. He’d managed to make quite the mess. Dean came to the kitchen and stared suspiciously at Sam. “What did you do?”
“I picked up a demon and ate it.” Sam crossed his arms. “Why are you making it sound like an accusation?”
“Because you’re cleaning the kitchen. And not just the blender. And it smells like cinnamon. So what did you do?”
“I’m not allowed to clean the kitchen? Any other chores you want to make not my job while you’re at it?”
“Shut up.” Dean looked around. “Seriously, though. You never cook, especially just for yourself, I just cleaned the kitchen yesterday, so…”
“So Merry Christmas, jerk.” Sam pulled out one of the pies and handed it to Dean. “Hope it’s edible. I hadn’t baked in forever, so hard to say if it’ll be any good, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”
Dean’s face took on a stunned look as he took the pie from Sam. “You… baked me a pie for Christmas?”
“Don’t worry, you’re still getting your traditional crappy junk food and motor oil.” Dean snorted and dug out a knife and fork. “It’s just that having a kitchen to bake in reminded me of the one Christmas I actually had a somewhat normal holiday season.”
Dean dug into the pie. Around a mouthful of apples, he asked, “Only one? What’d you do the other two years at Stanford?”
“Freshman year I stayed in the dorms and hit the libraries to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life. Sophomore year I went on a road trip with Brady. Remember? We met up with you for New Year’s Eve.”
Dean swallowed hard. “And then junior year you were with Jess. Did she teach you to bake?”
“Nah. Her sister did.” Sam glanced at the pie. “How is it?”
“It’s good. You did good, Sammy. Little sweet, but that’s fine.” Dean stuffed his mouth again. “Want some?”
“Sure, why not?” Sam grabbed his own plate and fork. “And then with Amelia… things were just too weird. We were both still too broken by our losses to really be in any kind of mood to celebrate. What did you and Lisa do the Christmas you were there with her?”
Dean slid a big piece of pie on Sam’s plate. “Lisa and Ben made a point of teaching me every single Christmas tradition they could think of… except baking. Lisa was big on eating healthy, so desserts were a lot more limited than I would have liked.” He chuckled a little. “Which is why the idea of you baking me a pie would never have occurred to me until you gave me this. You rag on me all the time for not eating healthy enough.”
“Eating a few more salads and a few less cheeseburgers would be good for you, but I know better than to ask you to give up pie. It’s bad enough knowing that if I made you choose between me and the Impala you’d have to think about it forever.”
“Why the hell would I have to choose between you and the Impala?”
“Werewolf headed for the car and a ghost with its hands wrapped around my neck.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Why’s a werewolf working with a ghost?”
“They’re not. The ghost’s a ghost because the werewolf ate its heart. They’re trying to kill each other and we, stupid hunters that we are, decided to make it a three-way fight. Two of us, one each of them, they agreed to work together to take us out.”
Dean blinked. “You’ve put way too much thought into this scenario, Sammy.”
Sam shrugged. “When you’ve had the same nightmare at least once a month since… god, I don’t even know how long it’s been. I think since Dad gave you the car. You tend to remember it.”
“Huh.” Dean set his fork down and reached over to tangle his fingers in his brother’s hair. “Screw the nightmares. I can rebuild the Impala. You, not so much. Nothing I’d put before you, remember?” He pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s lips. “Mmm. Especially when you taste like pie.”