If the hunt had gone alright, and if she wasn't too tired, and if they happened to have the money for groceries and not just burgers and fries, and if the room they stayed in had a kitchen, and if Dean hadn't pissed her off too badly, sometimes Jo would cook for them.

The stars had mercifully aligned the day that Sam jumped ship for a few hours to visit Jess's grave. He waved goodbye with his drippy, puppy eyes and drove off in the Impala.

Drained from the chickflickedness of the day, Dean collapsed on the coach and promptly fell asleep without snarky comment or whiny complaint.

When he woke up, Jo was standing in the small kitchen and the most delicious smell was wafting around the motel room.

"Whrrammff?" Dean tumbled off the couch. He straightened up and surveyed the scene in the kitchen. Jo in a faded REO t-shirt, sample sized bags of ingredients, bowls of vegetables on the already set formica table.

"Cookin' you dinner as thanks for savin' my butt today," Jo laughed, bending over to take something out of the stove. Dean didn't know which was a sweeter scene, Jo's behind or the steak she was taking out of the oven and sliding onto one of the plates. "Come sit, 'fore it gets cold."

She had cooked for him before, at the Roadhouse sometimes, or grilled cheese sandwiches with an iron when they were researching late into the night. But she hadn't cooked cooked for him before, not on this scale at least.

"Flank steak, mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, an icy cold beer and dessert," Jo passed him a long necked beer and sat down opposite him, snapping the cap off her own bottle.

"Oh, man." Dean looked wide-eyed at the spread and then at Jo. His eyes narrowed for a moment. "Dude, this better not be the Trickster or some shit. I'd be seriously pissed if this wasn't real."

"Nope." Jo shrugged her shoulders, cutting into her steak. "It's all real. 'cept the mashed potatoes. Never really got the hang of those, so I sorta cheated."

"Fuckin'A." They clinked beer bottles and dug in.

Later on, after they'd cleared the dishes (Jo had set aside some leftovers before the meal just so Sam would have something to eat later on), Jo sat Dean down again with a tall glass of milk.

"What's this about?" He'd sort of hoped the 'dessert' she'd talked about before would be crazy, post-feast sex, but she seemed to have something different in mind.

"Dessert." Jo sauntered back to the table, plate in hand. She slid the dish in front of him.

"Is this… pie?" This was better than all the sex he'd ever had.

Put together.

With twins.

"Yup." She sat down across from him with a slice of pie and glass of milk. "Hope you like apple."

Dean took a bite and closed his eyes, moaning contentedly. Jo wasn't quite sure, but she swore he said something around the flaky crust and cinnamon filling that sounded suspiciously like Marry me.