Fic: The one where Dean and Jody clean the kitchen and talk about cooking (11.12 coda)
I enjoyed the last episode. I've always loved Jodi and I've never minded either Alex or Claire. In last week's ep, I really liked all three of the women and the Sam and Dean we had was great, so I didn't feel ripped off in that regard or anything. Solid ep for me with bonus cooking and cleaning!
This week's coda was inspired by frozen_delight's glorious gifspam and associated conversations and the title was inspired by a conversation with kalliel (and others) about the difficulty of naming fics and writing summaries! :D
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Title: The one where Dean and Jody clean the kitchen and talk about cooking…
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda.
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 11.12
Word Count: ~1,000
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: What it says on the tin…
--
Dean remembers himself at Claire’s age, a seething mess of rage and resentment wrapped in a tough-punk persona and his Daddy’s leather jacket.
No way he’s cut out to give Claire the talk she needs. He’ll just end up cracking open her armor and making all the hurt spill out, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, and even more reckless.
No, this needs finesse. A soft, understanding voice that can slip under your skin and prise out secrets you never meant to tell. Compassionate eyes that can stare into your soul and make you feel worthwhile, no matter what they see.
“I’ll put Sammy on it,” he says. “He’s better with the whole talking thing anyway.”
“Thanks,” Jody turns back to the dishes and Dean picks up another plate to dry.
They work in silence and it’s soothing. Mess becomes order. Unclean becomes clean.
Jody hands him a wet cloth and bottle of Lysol All Purpose Cleaner and Dean wipes down the island counter while Jody takes care of the sink and the counter beside it.
He moves the fruit bowl and his wine glass and makes sure to get the edges as well as the top. He dries it off with the dish towel so there won’t be any smears.
When he finishes and turns around Jody’s watching him, leaning back against the sink, glass of red in hand.
“Good job,” she raises the glass. “Very thorough.”
Dean rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Well. Force of habit. Better safe than sorry. Spell ingredients can wreak havoc if you don’t clean ‘em up properly. And growing up, the kitchen table, if we had one, was an operating table more often than we ate on it,” he shrugs.
Jody’s eyebrows are in contact with her hairline. “That is profoundly disturbing,” she says.
And Dean can see that. He often forgets how messed up his childhood must sound to regular people, but he knows a lot of his experiences were far from normal.
He could strip, clean and reassemble their entire arsenal of guns by the time he was eleven. ‘A man is only as good as his weapon,’ his dad liked to say. ‘You can be the best shot in the world, but if your gun jams when you’re trying to take down a werewolf you’re dead or turned.’
By twelve years old he was responsible for maintaining the first aid kit and he still remembers the dressing down he got from his dad when the butterfly bandages weren’t where they were supposed to be.
When someone is potentially bleeding out after a run in with a poltergeist, you can’t afford the extra time it takes to find the things you need. You have to know exactly where everything is. Dean knows now that it was panic over Dean’s injuries that made his dad so harsh, but back then all he took on board was the lesson that failing to keep things in proper order meant that he just wasn’t good enough.
Dean picks up his wine glass and takes a slurp. “Thanks for dinner,” he says. “It was really good.”
Jody smiles. “I hear you’re not such a bad cook yourself.”
Dean almost blushes. “I do all right with simple stuff.”
“Sam says you make a mean gourmet burger.”
“Yeah. Well. Burgers are easy. Not like a roast chicken dinner.”
Jody’s eyes widen. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Dean. Roasts are easy. It’s all about the timing.”
She runs through the method for making a roast, even tells him how to make gravy, and Dean has to agree that she’s right. There’s nothing there that he can’t do. He’s always thought that roast dinners were complicated. Something only a mom could make.
He vaguely remembers his own mom making roast dinners. Roast was a special meal, for birthdays or celebrations or company. Dean does make a mean burger. And he’s mastered the art of making Mac’n’cheese from scratch. And he’s got Bobby’s chilli recipe down pat. But maybe it’s the memories of his mother’s kitchen that make him reluctant to try the dishes she did so well. A reluctance to step into her shoes.
Sam sticks his head around the corner. “Hey. Can I do anything to help?”
“Oh now he asks,” say Jody, but she’s smiling playfully when she says it.
Dean makes a shooing gesture. “Just go sit in an armchair, rub your belly and burp loudly, like you do after supper back home.”
Sam’s eyes widen, comically large, and he splutters out an indignant protest before recovering enough to add, “Whatever, I just thought I’d come and see if you girls needed the trash taken out!”
Dean whips his butt with the dish towel and he runs out the door with a yelp. Jody laughs so hard she almost spills her wine.
“You two are like an old married couple,” she says when she’s recovered enough to breathe again. “You actually remind me of me and my husband.”
For a moment Dean wonders if she’s been reading those stories on the internet and he almost reminds her that they’re brothers. But she’s not looking at him askance, in fact she’s looking at him rather fondly, and how much wine have they all drunk anyway?
Besides, she’s right. He and Sam have lived together almost their entire lives. They’re partners in the truest sense of the word and they move around each other with the familiarity of long association.
“He’s my family,” he says with a shrug. “And maybe it ain’t conventional, but he’s the only family I got.”
Jody puts a hand on his arm. “My family isn’t exactly conventional either. And Sam’s not your only family. Family is what you say it is,” she purses her lips. “What was it Bobby always used to say?”
“Family don’t end with blood,” Dean lifts his glass in silent salute to the man who’d been like a father to him.
Jody nods. “And don’t you forget it.”
When it’s all over; when Claire has been proven right about the danger, and Alex has proven that she’s prepared to die to protect her makeshift family, and Jody has proven that you don’t need a biological connection to be a fiercely protective mother, Jody sends Sam home with ribs and bread rolls and two tubs of sauce.
Dean has half a dozen new recipes in his wallet and the confidence to try them out.
--
This week's coda was inspired by frozen_delight's glorious gifspam and associated conversations and the title was inspired by a conversation with kalliel (and others) about the difficulty of naming fics and writing summaries! :D
--
Title: The one where Dean and Jody clean the kitchen and talk about cooking…
Author: zara_zee
Beta: Not beta’d
Genre(s): Episode coda.
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Spoilers: Episode 11.12
Word Count: ~1,000
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sand box.
Summary: What it says on the tin…
--
Dean remembers himself at Claire’s age, a seething mess of rage and resentment wrapped in a tough-punk persona and his Daddy’s leather jacket.
No way he’s cut out to give Claire the talk she needs. He’ll just end up cracking open her armor and making all the hurt spill out, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, and even more reckless.
No, this needs finesse. A soft, understanding voice that can slip under your skin and prise out secrets you never meant to tell. Compassionate eyes that can stare into your soul and make you feel worthwhile, no matter what they see.
“I’ll put Sammy on it,” he says. “He’s better with the whole talking thing anyway.”
“Thanks,” Jody turns back to the dishes and Dean picks up another plate to dry.
They work in silence and it’s soothing. Mess becomes order. Unclean becomes clean.
Jody hands him a wet cloth and bottle of Lysol All Purpose Cleaner and Dean wipes down the island counter while Jody takes care of the sink and the counter beside it.
He moves the fruit bowl and his wine glass and makes sure to get the edges as well as the top. He dries it off with the dish towel so there won’t be any smears.
When he finishes and turns around Jody’s watching him, leaning back against the sink, glass of red in hand.
“Good job,” she raises the glass. “Very thorough.”
Dean rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Well. Force of habit. Better safe than sorry. Spell ingredients can wreak havoc if you don’t clean ‘em up properly. And growing up, the kitchen table, if we had one, was an operating table more often than we ate on it,” he shrugs.
Jody’s eyebrows are in contact with her hairline. “That is profoundly disturbing,” she says.
And Dean can see that. He often forgets how messed up his childhood must sound to regular people, but he knows a lot of his experiences were far from normal.
He could strip, clean and reassemble their entire arsenal of guns by the time he was eleven. ‘A man is only as good as his weapon,’ his dad liked to say. ‘You can be the best shot in the world, but if your gun jams when you’re trying to take down a werewolf you’re dead or turned.’
By twelve years old he was responsible for maintaining the first aid kit and he still remembers the dressing down he got from his dad when the butterfly bandages weren’t where they were supposed to be.
When someone is potentially bleeding out after a run in with a poltergeist, you can’t afford the extra time it takes to find the things you need. You have to know exactly where everything is. Dean knows now that it was panic over Dean’s injuries that made his dad so harsh, but back then all he took on board was the lesson that failing to keep things in proper order meant that he just wasn’t good enough.
Dean picks up his wine glass and takes a slurp. “Thanks for dinner,” he says. “It was really good.”
Jody smiles. “I hear you’re not such a bad cook yourself.”
Dean almost blushes. “I do all right with simple stuff.”
“Sam says you make a mean gourmet burger.”
“Yeah. Well. Burgers are easy. Not like a roast chicken dinner.”
Jody’s eyes widen. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Dean. Roasts are easy. It’s all about the timing.”
She runs through the method for making a roast, even tells him how to make gravy, and Dean has to agree that she’s right. There’s nothing there that he can’t do. He’s always thought that roast dinners were complicated. Something only a mom could make.
He vaguely remembers his own mom making roast dinners. Roast was a special meal, for birthdays or celebrations or company. Dean does make a mean burger. And he’s mastered the art of making Mac’n’cheese from scratch. And he’s got Bobby’s chilli recipe down pat. But maybe it’s the memories of his mother’s kitchen that make him reluctant to try the dishes she did so well. A reluctance to step into her shoes.
Sam sticks his head around the corner. “Hey. Can I do anything to help?”
“Oh now he asks,” say Jody, but she’s smiling playfully when she says it.
Dean makes a shooing gesture. “Just go sit in an armchair, rub your belly and burp loudly, like you do after supper back home.”
Sam’s eyes widen, comically large, and he splutters out an indignant protest before recovering enough to add, “Whatever, I just thought I’d come and see if you girls needed the trash taken out!”
Dean whips his butt with the dish towel and he runs out the door with a yelp. Jody laughs so hard she almost spills her wine.
“You two are like an old married couple,” she says when she’s recovered enough to breathe again. “You actually remind me of me and my husband.”
For a moment Dean wonders if she’s been reading those stories on the internet and he almost reminds her that they’re brothers. But she’s not looking at him askance, in fact she’s looking at him rather fondly, and how much wine have they all drunk anyway?
Besides, she’s right. He and Sam have lived together almost their entire lives. They’re partners in the truest sense of the word and they move around each other with the familiarity of long association.
“He’s my family,” he says with a shrug. “And maybe it ain’t conventional, but he’s the only family I got.”
Jody puts a hand on his arm. “My family isn’t exactly conventional either. And Sam’s not your only family. Family is what you say it is,” she purses her lips. “What was it Bobby always used to say?”
“Family don’t end with blood,” Dean lifts his glass in silent salute to the man who’d been like a father to him.
Jody nods. “And don’t you forget it.”
When it’s all over; when Claire has been proven right about the danger, and Alex has proven that she’s prepared to die to protect her makeshift family, and Jody has proven that you don’t need a biological connection to be a fiercely protective mother, Jody sends Sam home with ribs and bread rolls and two tubs of sauce.
Dean has half a dozen new recipes in his wallet and the confidence to try them out.
--