Sam stares down at his greasy hamburger and greasy fries and tries to remember the last time he's eaten anything that actually scientifically qualifies as food.
It's been... a while. Life has been an endless string of cardboard pizza and cheap beer lately, followed by tired burgers and tacos that are about as Mexican as he is. On a real red-letter day they get Chinese takeout, and if it's a banner week they might actually sit in a diner for long enough to absorb more than just the bitter coffee and the local culture. At this point Sam can't even remember what a salad looks like, and 'steak' has become more of a theoretical concept than an actual word denoting a tangible thing. He can't remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal, and he hasn't had fresh-baked cookies since Jess--
He turns his mind away with a sharp veer, a well-practiced motion that hardly even hurts anymore, really. Meatloaf, he thinks. When's the last time he had real, actual meatloaf? Meatloaf with gravy, and mashed potatoes, and peas on the side; simple, hearty, and normal.
He wonders, vaguely, if their mother ever made meatloaf. He wonders if Dean would remember it if she had.
Dean slides into the car with his own bag of fast-food death in hand. "You'd think it'd be easier to make something without tomatoes. I mean, one less thing to put on, right?" He slams the door shut with a huff and starts checking his mirrors, automatically. "If these fries are cold, I swear I'm goin' back in there."
Sam just sighs.
Dean glances at him. "What?"
"Nothing, nothing." Sam shakes his head, grins ruefully at his reflection in the passenger-side mirror. "It's silly."
"No, seriously, what?"
Sam shakes his head again and motions at his burger. "Nothing, I just... have this weird craving for meatloaf, that's all."
Dean's quiet for long enough that Sam doesn't think he's going to say anything. They pull out of the restaurant drive and onto the mostly-empty road.
Finally, Dean says "Mom used to make meatloaf sometimes," in that carefully neutral tone he always uses for the past.
Sam looks at him and asks softly, "Was it good?"
Dean ghosts a smile that almost makes it to his eyes. "It was the best, Sammy. It was the best."