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Pancakes. Easy. Idiots on TV and in movies are always cooking them for breakfast in those picture-perfect suburban houses, I can do this, dammit. I killed Hitler, I can make some fucking pancakes.
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Okay… so he slightly overestimated how easy making pancakes would be. It should be easy: flour, eggs, sugar, salt, butter, baking powder, milk. 7 ingredients, most of them things he uses daily (aside from baking powder, because what the fuck is that). Dean didn’t take into account the fact that Chuck was going to royally fuck then over and make them “normal” now. What does this whole being “normal” thing mean?
Well, first, something seems off about the eggs. The first one cracked had a small blood spot- nothing too alarming, there were 9 more, he could use another one. Nope, it would seem that he picked up a carton that had 10 different eggs with a blood spot. Cool, it’s fine. It’s not like Dean isn’t used to the taste of blood in his mouth, it’s just usually after a fight that he somehow ended up winning (apparently, if Chuck is a reliable source, his success in fighting is godly luck, or some bullshit like that). It’s fine, everything is fine. Dean killed Hitler, dammit, he can handle a little bit of blood in his pancakes.
Except it’s not just bloody eggs. It’s baking soda instead of powder (is there a difference, maybe, but with his lack of luck, it’ll probably explode). It’s having only whole wheat flour (courtesy of Sam’s “health” kick) instead of all purpose. It’s not having sugar but instead having one million pink, blue, and yellow sugar packets stolen from diners for the past decade.
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20 minutes of swearing later, Dean is close to having acceptable pancake batter. It looks good enough. Sure he used salted instead of unsalted butter (what’s the difference anyway, there’s salt in the recipe anyway- it’ll just be extra salty, keep the ghosts away). And so what if it’s a bit grey, smells a bit off, and is both soupy and clumpy at the same time? Cas is an angel, he’s only had pancakes a handful of times- he won’t know the difference. He killed Hitler, he can handle some less than perfect pancakes.
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Okay, so Cas may not know the difference, but Dean definitely does. The first attempt and the pancakes are not bubbling on the pan. It’s been 5 minutes, something should have happened by now. Except when he uses the spatula to check the underside, it’s partially burnt and still raw. How does that even happen?
The second attempt goes slightly better. Dean realizes that the pan has uneven heat distribution (is this another thing that just didn’t exist when they had their “luck” from Chuck?). The pancakes look slightly better. He goes for a smaller pour, basically creating a random polka-dot pattern on the pan. And he has a stack! Albeit a small, sad looking stack- but a stack nonetheless. Second greatest accomplishment in Dean’s mind, right after killing Hitler.
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He sets two small plates with 3 pancakes each at the table, along with some orange juice (with maybe some vodka in one), and some silverware down, then steps back to admire his work. As he’s leaving to go get Cas, he trips over his feet and smacks his shoulder into the doorframe. Shit, was he always this clumsy? Or was this yet another reminder that Chuck let them live without the small inconveniences of being human. It’s fine, he killed Hitler, he can handle a bruised shoulder.
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As Cas sits down to eat his pancakes, Dean stares intently at his face, trying to mask his giddiness at hearing his thoughts. As Cas eats his first bite, the crease in his brow deepens, looking more confused than he usually does. As he is finishing his first pancake, Cas looks at Dean and beings, “wow, these are not as bad as I was fearing.”
Dean let’s put a breath, chuckling under his breath as he lifts his eyes to look at Cas. “Huh, well thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas. It’s not like I’ve been cooking for the past 3 decades or anything.”
Cas stares back at Dean, a bit confused when he says, “I know you can cook, Dean. I meant I was surprised how okay these tasted given that you used eggs with large blood spots, whole wheat flour, a mix of stevia and other sweetener packets that are 10 years too old, and expired milk! All in all, it’s pretty good!”
“…expired milk?” Dean asks, letting the food fall from his mouth to the plate.
“Yeah, it’s been a while since we’ve been in the bunker, and a while before that since you did a grocery run.”
“Oh no,” Dean groans, hearing the bubbles in his gut. This is just like with those grilled cheeses at Garth’s. He hears an alarming noise coming from his gut and he stares down in horror.
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Oh no, Dean thinks. It’s gonna be a rough night. Having “normal” bodily reactions to bad food is the worst part of living in this timeline. Well, at least he killed Hitler, Dean considers as he runs to the bathroom.