The Joys of Cooking
Dean decided to learn how to cook properly.
The first time he got real sleep was when Benny sat beside him. At that point, Dean, even insomniac Dean, was starting to hallucinate, and decided that sleep was worth it if it meant he'd wake up to having his throat torn out. Hours passed uncomfortably. As he swam in and out of consciousness, snapping awake at every alien noise, eyes flickering to every wind change, the sleep was endless and serene and everything he needed to not go insane.
Dean was going to start with A. Apple pie, obviously. Homemade all the way. Crusts made of flour and rolled with a rolling pin, handpicked apples with dollops of butter and sugar and cinnamon and allspice. All of those sweet spices he could find. Maybe get the apples from a market, maybe from an orchard. Baked in a fully stocked kitchen, and he was going to just burn the ever loving shit out of his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he ate the entire pie himself straight out of the oven. Wouldn't even plate it. Just eat it all in one go. Give a slice for Sam, maybe not, but he wouldn't stop until all that was left was pyrex glass and a fork. Make Sam get his own damn pie. But then Dean wanted Sam to have pie.
As he woke up, Benny laughed in that Benny laugh. Dean stretched, muscles still taut, but he'd lost that haggard feel to his brain, his eyes no longer pounding. He wasn't dead, he was a survivor. The next time, he still pushed his body until he shut down again. Dangerous to let it go that far, but he was still wary. Uncomfortable at the trust being built, given to a vampire. Benny made a rude joke about the situation, and Dean returned it.
After the first week, the two fell into a rhythm of sleep, awake, fighting, and the occasional meal of whatever was growing in the forest. It was easy if that was all Dean wanted or needed out of life. In some ways, it was. Survival became a lifestyle. He grew sharper, hungrier, able to live and survive in a world of UV rays, pine needles, ferns, and monsters. Benny was a poor substitute for his brother, but Dean was a poor substitute for Benny's absent love.
He'd roast a chicken. Beer can that bastard and drink the rest of the sixpack while he sliced and sauteed carrots, baked potatoes, and actually make a large salad with multiple types of lettuce and tomatoes and croutons and peppers. Get some biscuits with butter and honey. The chicken would come out, and Sam and him would eat it all in a dining room with nice music and a tablecloth on the table. Dean didn't care just how gay a tablecloth would make him.
The things he pondered over while waiting for the adrenalin to bottom out after decapitating a werewolf. His fingers were skittering all over the place. He felt disgusting, but Benny never complained. He complained about everything, except Dean's lack of hygiene, and that stupid angel they just had to find before going to the gate. "It's like when you're in a video game, and you have to pick up bullshit item number 1, before you can win the game. It doesn't matter what it is, it's just something you have to get as a way to kill more play time. Cas is coming with us, but he's not something I have to get because that's how the video game is played. "We have to get Cas, because he's Cas."
Benny looked at him like Dean had just declared himself mayor of the Munchkins, but at least Benny knew what a Munchkin was. Dean thought about explaining video games, then realized that even War Games was too modern a pop culture reference to use. So finally, Dean stated that the Soviet Union had collapsed when he was about eleven, no nukes had fallen, and Germany had been unified since then. Russia now had a leader who looked like James Bond went evil. And blond. Benny still had that open jaw look on his face.
Dean wasn't going to mother fucking grill. He was tired of food cooked over an open flame. He was, however, going to find the greasiest, tastiest burger joint ever in a Midwest town of about 500 people, and tear into the two pound hamburger and french fries and onion rings and a milk shake. More pie for dessert. Sam doesn't get to eat, just watch him devour everything.
And then Dean relents, and orders a bacon burger with double condiments (except mayonnaise, because disgusting), and watch with open delight as Sam has to eat the whole thing.
There were just monsters everywhere. Dean got bored, and wanted more variety. And then he got it, and he suddenly realized that variety sucked, and wanted to go back to run of the mill vampires, werewolves, ghosts, gremlins, leprechauns, and cat fiends. He didn't know what else to call them. Benny agreed with the name, because cat fiend sounded a little tautological, but Benny also didn't get music references except for maybe Elvis and Sinatra. Benny tossed out a few musicians he'd liked- Carl Perkins, Chet Atkins, Kitty Wells. Benny cracked a joke about angels in honky tonk bars after the Wells namedrop, and Dean suddenly got the whole "Uhh..." notion.
Dean felt like he was trapped in a monster nursing home.
He was going to bake a lasagna. Smothered in meat and cheese and noodles. Breadsticks on the side with a nice wine. Dean didn't know wine, but with the seven thousand bottles out there and seventy thousand wine snobs, he thought he could find a nice wine somewhere just by asking around. No spaghetti for him. He was an adult, wanted to eat grown up food when he got back.
He was going to buy a cheese grater and grate his own parmesan. Use full on ricotta and mozzarella and hamburger and name brand noodles. And some sort of vegetable. Maybe asparagus. Or artichokes. Or broccoli. Something that looked like an adult would eat it. Dean never realized the power of vegetables until he'd lost them. Don't tell Sam.
Strawberries with whipped cream for dessert. And then pie for double dessert.
And even then later, he was going to eat Chef Boyardee, because he honestly missed that stuff too.
They had debated on making fires. Dean wanted them, Benny wanted them, but they were always magnets for attacks. They finally decided on making them when they were about to leave their camp, cook whatever meat Dean could carry and eat for the next few days, and then quickly move on. It was a compromise of sorts, but Dean wanted to stay alive more than he wanted a fire at night to stay warm.
There was going to be Iowa pork chops cooked on a propane grill. He wasn't going to grill, but pork chops needed propane. More baked potatoes, cottage cheese, cucumbers and onions marinated in vinegar. It was a meal Pastor Jim would prepare from time to time when his father was with them. Sometimes, he'd make John a pork fritter sandwich, but this was Dean's meal to make and eat. Sam would eat too. He'd always make sure that Sam would eat.
The angel was close. Dean and Benny started coming across dead things that only an angel could kill in that angelic way. Hollowed out eyes that still smelled of ozone and fire. Each body laid out peacefully and full of remorse. Purgatory monsters never cared for the dead in such a manner. Dean and Benny didn't bother either.
Dean was going to make a massive chili feed. A five gallon drum cooking pot full of beans and tomatoes and cumin and chili powder and beef and peppers and onions and salt and spices Slow cooked all day on the stove with homemade cinnamon rolls oozing frosting served next to them. Some people understood the chili and roll thing. People from Kansas. Everyone else thought it was insane until they had it, and then it was the greatest food combination ever. Along with saltine crackers. Dean would eat three bowls, eat two rolls, a sleeve of crackers, drink a beer, and then loudly burp. Sam would do the same, but he also would have chili dogs, even if he pretended to be a health food nutter. Dean knew Sam was starting to look a little thin.
Cas was penitent. He sat, unbreathing, his eyes closed, head bowed. Dean hugged him. Immediately. Benny smarted off, couldn't let Dean enjoy the moment, and Cas confirmed every fear of abandonment Dean ever had. Dean was, once again, the peace maker. Keeping people he loved from just tearing into each other. The cheerleader that forces everyone to follow the plan and to survive and get along.
Dean was going to hug just everyone in the future. He was going to gatecrash a Catholic fish fry. Not because he was Catholic or overly religious or anti-abortion. They just made the best fish fries. Cod slathered into pancake mix and the cheapest beer available, taken out into the church garage and deep fat fried until golden brown. He was going to figure out a way to sneak into the back, and help fry it all himself. Everyone can eat what he cooks until they're all greasy and still going back for seconds and thirds. He can be like Cool Hand Luke with the eggs, only it's fish and everyone else will eat an endless supply. And then he'll bring in cherry pies and everyone will smell of oil, vinegar, and pie. And they'd all hug, and be happy.
Pastor Jim took him and Sam once as part of some multi-denominational get together, and it was the best fish ever. Sam fell asleep across three fold up chairs, and Dean ate and ate and ate as he watched his brother sleep.
Later.
So much later.
Sam plops a hamburger down in front of Dean. "All of this.. is for me?" Dean is bewildered.
"Yeah," Sam waves it off, munching down on his veggie plate, not even paying attention to the food in front of him.
Dean tears into it. He can't stop himself. It's gone in a minute, and he vaguely remembers Jimmy doing something similar. He mops up the plate with his fries, kills the shake, and order more pie. "You know, we should go to a grocery store after this. I think they even sell cookbooks there. Joy of Cooking, I think."
"Okay," Sam agrees, still not paying attention.
Dean grins, full mouth and teeth, as those previous meals dance in his head.
They pay up, leave, and head for the local supermarket.
Dean goes in, gets hit with a blast of air conditioning. There's just food everywhere.
It all hits him at once. He can't cope, and he's suddenly nauseous, and Sam is still tuned out, and there's fruit and veggies and coffee and a kid crying over the wrong cereal box, and bored teenagers bagging, and meat in the back, and some old lady is handing out samples of gelatinous goo. And the music is just terrible 70s pop standards, and Dean is suffocating on flower odors and bread smells, and the lights are glaring, and there's mist spraying the air.
Dean runs, bounds to the bathroom, goes in, and just vomits everything. His hands splayed against the back wall, holding him up, wondering how to explain this to Sam. How to feed himself and Sam if he can't even get past the foyer area.
"Late night?" Some douchebag at the urinal tries to laugh off Dean's pain.
Dean bangs open the door, walks out, and confronts the man. Silently. Because people are not supposed to talk to each other in bathrooms, especially when one is vomiting and the other has his cock out and in his hand. Dean finally washes his hands, leaves, and finds Sam.
Sam, Dean realizes, can buy their food from now on. Until Dean is able to handle it again.
Dean is still going to cook, but dammit baby steps. Hamburgers and spaghetti and pie. He can work his way up to those other things. But first he'd need a rolling pin and flour and those apples.