Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

Sam returns from the store without pie. Angst ensues. Set after Season 6. No spoilers. Written for FicWise prompt word: Longing.

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With Love

Sam let himself into the motel room and smiled a greeting to his brother who was already seated, with an expectant expression, at the table. Sam dumped the brown grocery bags down with a world-weary sigh.

Dean leaned across and pulled the paper bags towards him, raising his eyebrows in curiosity as he peered into them. The sigh he gave in response to the contents was equal in terms of the depths of its vocal disappointment as any of Sam's own.

"No pie... again... I see," he grumbled.

Sam gave a guilty start. "I forgot," he admitted with a sheepish look. "Still, y'know you're always saying I never manage to get you the one you want, anyhow."

Dean tutted. "I could've really done with some pie right now," he said with a wistful expression.

"I'll go back out and get you some," offered Sam as he shifted from one foot to the other.

Dean gave his brother a small tight, smile. "Nah, it's all right. Next time we see a decent looking diner though..."

"Okay, okay," said Sam, holding up his hands in surrender. "I promise, we'll stop somewhere for pie."

"And cheeseburgers," demanded Dean.

"Sure, cheeseburgers too. But you know you're not getting any younger. You need to watch that waistline, dude," Sam said with a wicked glint in his eye.

Dean looked offended and rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well, I really don't think that's gonna present a long-term problem, given our line of work, do you?"

Sam paused, not liking the turn of the conversation even if he was pretty sure it was half in jest. "Anyway, I guess homemade's gotta beat store-bought any day."

"Yeah, you better believe it." Dean was struck with a sudden thought. "Man, you remember all those pies that Karen made when she came back...?" he trailed off, before snorting in disbelief. "What kinda life is it that I'm hankering after food made by a zombie?"

Sam stilled again, unsure what to say next. What's with him today?

"How did they compare to Mom's?" he asked for want of something else to talk about. He already knew the answer, he recalled the selfsame conversation at the time, but getting Dean talking about his early childhood always seemed to at least settle Dean down. But then Dean, despite his protestations to the contrary, had always been the sentimental one.

Dean stared off into space and his face glowed like it was lit from within.

"Aw, man, they were just the best. Always warm and delicious. Made with love, man, they were made with love," he sighed as a goofy smile spread its slow way across his face.

Sam hated how a small part of him wanted to scream and rage at the unfairness of it all, but he forced a smile even though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He turned away, pleased with a job well done, so didn't see his brother's expression fall.

Dean shook his head to think that Sam still thought the old tricks worked. Didn't Sam realize that he'd only been four years old when their mother died? Could he remember what his life was like at that age?

Since then the weirdness in his life, with all the ghosts, and the time travel, and even Eve, had done nothing more than trample over the purity of his cherished childhood memories.

Dean's chest ached with longing as he wished he could really remember his mother.

(;,;)