When Dean was done beating the hell out of the Impala, when enough time had passed that he was no longer shaking, when Sam hadn't come back out to see what happened so Dean figured Sam didn't know what he'd done, he decided to go into the house and get a beer and get started working on the car again. It was the one concrete thing he could do right now.

Sam was at the kitchen table, staring so hard at a book that he didn't even realize Dean was at the doorway watching him. Sammy, his little brother. The boy who one day might turn so evil he might need to be killed sat now like he used to when he was a kid studying for a test, head in his fisted hands, wearing an old t-shirt and jeans that were ragged at the heels, sock footed, with the toes of one foot curled on top of the other.

"Research?"

Sam lifted his head, looking surprised. No, he hadn't known Dean was there. The bruise on his eye still looked nasty.

"Uh – yeah. Sort of."

"Something we need to take care of?" Even if Dean had to drive another broken down 'soccer mom' minivan, a hunt was preferable to not having enough to do to keep his mind occupied.

"No, nothing like that. Just – reading." Sam's eyes were dark. He wasn't sleeping again, just like after Jess. He'd never known their Mom. He'd gone nearly five years not even talking to Dad and had him back only a little while before he lost him again forever. Dean wanted to go to Sam, sit down across the table and tell him everything would be okay. He wanted to be the big brother and tell Sam that they'd get through this. Dad was gone but they had to keep going. They had to keep fighting. He wanted to make everything all right for his little brother.

But he was too tired and had too much worry on his shoulders right now. He didn't know if he believed things would be all right. He could tell Sam they would be, he'd lied like that before and he was pretty sure he'd lie like that again, but he was too tired right now to try. They were at Bobby's, so they were safe. Sam was safe and busy reading so Dean didn't need to worry about him. Right now.

"I'm gonna take a shower, maybe lay down for a minute or two."

"Okay. Bobby's out. Said he'd be back before supper." Sam said.

"Okay. Let me know -." If you start turning evil, if you get any more freaky premonitions, if you want me to just sit near you for awhile… "- if there's anything I need to know."

"Okay."

The shower didn't help anything but sleep came quicker and deeper than Dean was expecting. When he woke up the sun had moved to the other side of the house and he felt like he had sunk into the mattress. He went downstairs and found Sam asleep on the couch and he let out an aggravated sigh. If Sammy was planning on doing much more sleeping on anything that wasn't a bed, Dean was gonna go out and buy Bobby a Sammy-sized sofa so he didn't have to sleep twisted up like a pretzel.

At least he was sleeping, though. Not sitting up all hours staring at nothing, turning away whenever Dean walked in on him, trying to keep him from seeing that he'd been crying. Trying to make it easier for Dean.

"You're awake." Bobby said behind him from the kitchen doorway.

"Barely. He been sleeping long?" He gestured to Sam.

"Not nearly. Half hour I guess. It hit him just as soon as he laid down. And don't start in on me about my davenport and how Sam don't fit."

Biting back just that comment, Dean didn't say anything at all. Yep, he was gonna have to buy a bigger couch for this place.

"You boys are on your own for supper. I've got to pick up a wreck in the next county. I'll be gone a couple hours at least."

"Okay."

Bobby headed for his front door, calling over his shoulder, "Sam left something for you on the kitchen table."

Something he must've found in his research, Dean thought. He gave a look to Sam again, to be sure he was still asleep, and walked out to the kitchen expecting to find a book or newspaper article or journal entry waiting for him on the kitchen table.

He found a pie. A homemade pie. Sam had made him a pie.

Not only that, there was a plate and a fork on the table, and a large wedge of pie had already been cut for him.

"Always gotta be sure I know what you mean, don't you Sammy?" Dean smiled. He sat at the table to have a taste of this pie. The top was dark to almost being burned and when he lifted the piece out on his fork he could see that the bottom crust was still nearly raw. The inside was underdone apple, partially melted caramel, bitter walnuts, and enough brown sugar to give him instant cavities. It was the best pie he'd ever tasted.

"How is it?" Sam's voice behind him surprised Dean. He looked back; Sam was in the doorway, with his hands shoved in his pockets, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe like he was exhausted.

"It's good." Dean said around a mouthful of the pie. "Best pie I ever had."

"Liar." Sam got a fork out of the drawer, sat down at the table and took a chunk of pie. He made a face and set the fork down. "That's got to be the worst pie ever."

"Is not." Dean said and took another big piece to prove his point. "It's a great pie. So – this was the 'research'? A cookbook?"

"Yeah. I couldn't find a close enough recipe though, so I had to improvise. I remember you said once how much you liked some pie like this we had in – Plattsburgh I think." Sam frowned, trying to remember. Then he shook his head. "Anyway, Bobby was out so I called him and asked him if he'd get the stuff I needed." He made a face again. "I gotta make some coffee to cut that sweetness."

"Sammy Winchester, domestic diva." Dean kept eating his pie while Sam got the coffee maker going. "I didn't know you knew how to bake."

There was a very long pause until Dean thought Sam had no comeback. Until he sat back at the table and said very quietly, "Jess liked to bake. I used to watch her. She was great at it. She was great at anything she wanted to do."

Dean smiled at the pride and warm affection in Sam's voice. He'd only met Jessica for a few minutes, but any girl who loved Sammy and made him happy was a wonderful person in Dean's book.

"She made the most amazing chocolate chip cookies. She knew I loved those more than anything else she baked. You should've tasted them. They were – amazing."

"Did she put M&M's in them?"

"No, she just followed the recipe on the bag of chocolate chips." Sam said it like he didn't realize Dean was kidding him. "But however she put it all together, it was - ."

"Amazing?" Dean asked, still smiling at Sam.

"Yeah." Sam smiled too. "Everything she did was amazing." He covered a yawn then and rubbed his eyes.

"You need more sleep."

"I need caffeine."

"Are you having nightmares?" Dean had to ask.

"How's the car?" Sam asked back. His tone clearly indicated, 'you wanna talk about me? We're gonna talk about you.' So he had heard Dean pounding his frustrations into the trunk of the Impala.

Dean waited a beat. 'point taken.'

"Bobby had to go to a wreck. He said we're on our own for supper. But I think I'm just gonna have pie."

"Dean – you don't have to eat it. You know it's not any good. There's leftover chili in the fridge, I'll heat that up for you instead." Sam got up and got them each a cup of coffee.

"You're not gonna eat?" Dean asked as Sam sat back at the table. "You're gonna eat."

"Not hungry. I'm just gonna drink my coffee and go back to sleep." Sam sounded tired. He sounded exhausted.

"Speaking of which - would you mind sleeping in an actual bed? It hurts my back to see you sleeping on the couch. You don't fit on that couch."

"Yeah." Sam sipped his coffee and spun the pie plate around, looking at his handiwork. "I can't imagine what I was thinking making this. I had no clue what I was doing."

"It's not the talent, it's the passion Sammy. This pie is perfect."

And Sammy gave him a totally exhausted, totally disbelieving stare. Dean thought Sam could put more comeback in one glance than a lot of people could put in a paragraph.

"I'm going up to bed for awhile." Sam got up and poured his coffee out in the sink and rinsed his cup. "You should eat the chili Dean."

"So should you."

Sam stopped in the doorway and leaned back against it. He was swallowing like he was nervous, or going to be sick.

"No, already feels like I got a fist in there. Don't think I could get anything else down."

Dean nodded. He knew the feeling.

"Hey Dean -." And Sam waited until Dean had looked up. "Thanks for saying you liked the pie."

"I didn't say I like it. I said I love it." He ate another forkful. "You're an awesome pie maker Sammy. You should go into business."

"Yeah, Dean. Right." Sam rolled his eyes but Dean knew he was saying what Sammy needed to hear. "I'll see you later."

Sam went upstairs and the house was quiet. Dean ate more pie and drank his coffee and thought about his little brother. Sam had said straight out this morning that he wasn't all right, that he wasn't handling Dad's death well. He'd even said he thought Dad died thinking he hated him and Dean was too wrecked himself to tell Sam how stupid that was. But he also said he knew Dean wasn't all right either and instead of pushing to talk about it anymore, Sam made Dean a pie. That was as good as a hug and as close to 'I love you' as either of them would probably ever get with each other.

Dean finished his coffee and put his dishes in the sink and scrounged the refrigerator for what they could have for supper when Sam woke up again. He had to eat something.

After a moment's thought, Dean shut the fridge and went outside. When he was far away enough from the house that Sam wouldn't be able to hear him, he pulled out his phone.

"Hey Bobby – any chance you could stop at a store and get me the stuff to make chocolate chip cookies?"