A/N: I posted this and a song fic today, and I suggest you read the song fic first, because it's horribly depressing and dark, and you'll probably want to come over here for some happy feels to wash the taste out of your mouth. Just a suggestion. ;)
"Apple Pie"
Dean dusted the red tablecloth with flour, and then poured out the pastry dough on top to start rolling it out. Classic rock blared from the speakers attached to the iPod dock, loud enough that Dean had to raise his voice a bit to tell Amy to take some flour and dust the pie tin with it.
She grabbed a fistful from the bag and proceeded to do so. It didn't take as much as she'd grabbed, and she stood at the counter for a moment before simply opening her hand and giving a hearty blow. Flour spewed into the air, hitting the side of Dean's head. Some of it found its way up his nose, and he ducked his face into his elbow to sneeze. He then leveled a look at his niece.
"Really?"
She giggled, and brushed her hands on her apron.
Dean finished flattening out the pastry, and then draped it over the tin, the edges spilling over the sides. He pressed the folds into the ridged edges, making sure to fill each crevice to get that perfect crimp.
"You finish mixing the filling?" he asked over the jamming guitar solo.
"Yes!" She grabbed the large glass bowl and carried it over to show him the cinnamon glazed apples.
Dean nodded in approval, and started scooping the filling into the pie tin while she held the bowl steady. Once that was done, he set it aside and re-dusted the tablecloth so he could roll out the top piece of pastry, but a new beat filled the kitchen as the iPod queued up the next song, one Dean couldn't resist dropping everything for. He brought his hands up to hold an air guitar as he began to mime ripping through the punching riffs. Just as the lyrics were about to start, he whipped a hand toward his niece, pointing at her as he began to lip sync.
"Rising up, back on the street." Dean arced his extended arm out to the side. "Did my time, took my chances!"
Amy snatched the spatula off the counter and held it spade end up as she fake sang into it. "Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet."
"Just a man and his will to survive." Dean switched to air drums for the next bit.
Amy spread her feet apart and shot one hand into the air in a class rock star pose as she raised the spatula-mic. "It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight."
Dean skirted over to her, jamming out on an air guitar again. "Rising up to the challenge of our rival."
Amy started performing some of her karate moves to punctuate the last part of the chorus. "And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night."
"And he's watching us all, with the eye of the tiger."
They rocked out till the end of the song, and then descended into a fit of chuckles and giggling. Dean went back to finish the top piece of pastry, rolling it out and then folding it over the top of the pie. He pinched the edges and put some slits in the top, and then put the thing in the oven to bake. After setting the timer, Dean turned around, only to take in the messy kitchen dubiously. There were mixing utensils across the countertops, used bowls, a cutting board covered in apple juice and skin peels, a sticky pan on the stove from making the cinnamon glaze.
Every time, Dean got so caught up in baking that he couldn't seem to keep track of not making such a mess. Oh well.
Amy was sitting at the counter, running her finger around the inside of the mixing bowl and licking the cinnamon glaze off.
Dean smirked. "Hey, rugrat, help me clean this up."
She gave him a smug mien. "I am. I'm doing the dishes."
Dean shook his head and cranked the faucet on to heat up the water, then started collecting the other dishes to rinse and scrub. He could laugh at himself at how domestic he'd become. But Dean didn't begrudge, or regret it. He was happy, in all the ways he'd never let himself believe he could be.
After years of toil and hardships, he finally had the 'apple pie' life, and he didn't even have to give up hunting.
