The weekend passed. Sam did his homework and trained with Dean, Angela moved back to her room, and everything went back to their version of normal. The only difference was that Angela had invited them both over for dinner Sunday night. Dean had been unable to resist saying yes, swayed by the memory of her cookies. If they were anything to go by, Angela knew how to cook. So Dean had gotten cleaned up, and made Sam put on his newest jeans and comb his hair. The two of them, looking their best, went next door. When Angela opened the door, Penny on her hip, an amazing smell wafted from the room.

"Oh my God, that smells good," Dean enthused, sniffing like a hound looking to catch a scent. Angela laughed and handed him the baby.

"Good, it's supposed to," she said as she hustled them both into the room. "Come in and sit down."

Obediently Sam sat at the table, the memory of his conversation with Angela making him feel a bit shy. But Dean stood behind her with Penny, lurking over her in the tiny kitchen area trying to to see what she was doing. Every time she would move, he would gracefully keep behind her, like a playful dance. Finally she laughed and handed him Penny's bottle, shooing Dean away with instructions to feed the little girl. Sam's eyes were drawn to Angela. He had never heard her laugh before. It was a light, silvery sound. He realized that her face was usually a little pinched with sadness, because when she laughed, her face relaxed and she looked totally different. Tonight she had her long hair in a braid that hung down her back like a thick rope, and to Sam she seemed younger, although he realized that he really didn't know how old she was.

Watching Angela made Sam think about what it would be like if they had had a sister. Dean was about four and half years older than him and for the first time he wondered why his parents had waited so long after Dean to have another baby. Sam was curious, but knew he could never ask his Dad. Instead he asked the other question he'd been thinking about.

"How old are you Angela?" A flash of discomfort moved across Angela's face and Sam worried that he had offended her. But she turned to look at him, oven mitts on her hands and responded.

"I'll be 17 at the end of the month," she said with a sad smile that made her face pinch back to normal.

Dean's back had been towards Angela as he fed the baby while sitting at the end of the bed. So his brother didn't see the look or the smile. "What date?," asked Dean. "Sam's birthday is May 2nd."

"My birthday is April 30th," she said. Angela lifted the lid of a pot on the stove and ducked away from the steam. Even Sam had to admit that the smells in the room were wonderful and that he was excited to have a home cooked meal. Their host put a cutting board with a couple of loaves of golden brown freshly baked bread on the table. She then added a large bowl of mashed potatoes and then carried the pot from the stove and put it on a folded up towel which acted like a trivet. "It's ready," she said making sure that the oven and burner were off.

Dean put Penny into her crib where she could see the table. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink then sat while Angela did the same. Once they were all seated, Sam got shy again. Suddenly this meal seemed so formal, very different from the meals that Dean made or the diners that Dad tended to take them to. Sam was a little surprised when Angela reached out a hand on each side, palm up. "Shall I say grace?" she looked at them expectantly. Sam took her hand and reached out to his brother. Dean seemed uncomfortable, but shrugged and took her other hand and Sam's. Angela bowed her head so Sam followed suit.

"Bless us O Lord for these thy gifts which we are about to receive. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen." The prayer was short, and Sam murmured along with Angela's amen. Dean had kept silent and dropped their hands as soon as she was finished. If Angela noticed, she didn't say anything, just began to ladle out dinner onto their plates.

"This is a meatball stew. My Maman showed me how to make this when I was young. Usually she would add a pork knuckle," she smiled at Sam's alarmed face, "but don't worry, I couldn't find one at the store." Dean had picked up his fork and taken a bite.

"Mmmmm, I don't care what's in here, this is awesome," Dean said. Sam had to laugh, Dean really loved food and he ate as if he was going to explode with pleasure when he really liked something. Sam could tell that Dean was trying to contain his moan of delight. He picked up his own fork and took a bite of the stew. It was rich and meaty with a slightly sweet undertone. Sam let his eyes close as he savoured the taste.

The table was silent as the boys ate with an appetite they both would have been embarrassed to admit. Angela cut them each a thick slice of warm bread and added a coat of butter. Sam saw that she didn't eat very much herself, but seemed to enjoy watching them. "Save room for pie," she cautioned even as she served Dean a second helping.

"Pie?" Dean's eyes lit up. Sam had to smile again. He could count on one hand the few things that Dean loved more that pie.

"Yup, I made a sugar pie," she said, almost beaming with pleasure and Deans enthusiastic groan. "Did you ever try it before?" Dean admitted that he had but Sam shook his head. "It's very sweet, but so satisfying," Angela responded, turning back to her own meal.

Now that the edge was off his hunger, Sam's brain turned back to his questions. "How did you learn to make all this," Sam asked, his mouth still a bit full of stew. A shadow seemed to cross Angela's face.

"My Maman taught me everything. She was busy with Daniel and would tell me what to do while I did the cooking." Angela didn't mention the times that Maman was too sore or bruised to stand at the stove. Or the time her mother's arm had been broken. "Father expected dinner to be ready when he got home, so we spent most afternoons baking and cooking." Sam noticed that her voice had a faint tremble in it as Angela spoke about her father.

"Didn't you go to school," asked Dean, his green eyes catching the sad look on Angela's face and the secretive look on Sam's. Sam knew that Dean had picked up on his guilty vibe and the subtle change of mood around the table. Angela picked at her slice of bread, breaking off little pieces with her fingers and rolling them into tiny balls.

"No, Father didn't want me to go to school, so Maman taught me to read and write at home." Angela stood abruptly and brought her empty plate to the counter. She picked up the pie and when she turned around Sam saw that although she was smiling, it didn't reach her eyes which were still sad. "So, who wants some pie," she asked, effectively changing the topic.

After dinner, and much praise of her cooking, Dean excused them. He told Angela it's because they had school the next day, but Sam knew it was really to be back in their room for Dad's call. Angela insisted on sending them back with lots of leftovers including at least half of the pie. They said goodnight to the two girls and went back to their own room. Sam sprawled on the sofa, his stomach almost swollen he was so full. He watched as Dean put away the leftovers and puttered around the kitchenette. Waiting for Dad to call always made Dean a little agitated, but tonight his brother seemed more anxious than usual. Dean couldn't seem to sit still.