Fic: Recipe for Winchester Friendship Bread (AKA Breadfic!) (part 2 of 2)
Title: Recipe for Winchester Friendship Bread (part 2 of 2)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, bread bag
Ratings/Warnings: PG/Spoilers up to Head of a Pin
Word Count: 4,600
Summary: A bag of Amish friendship bread starter teaches the Winchester brothers to love again.
Notes: The recipe in the headers actually works, but I take no responsibility for any demon sieges that occur should you use it. This fic is, overall, sockkiah's fault.
Day 7: Smoosh the bag.
The light of the lava lamp bathroom fixtures cast a purple tinge on the bread bag as he smooshed it against the counter. “I just don’t know what to do, bread bag. We were already drifting before hell, but now we’re so far apart it’s like we’re strangers. I want to be where we were before, arguing over music and weapons and who gets to drive instead of all this epic crap. It used to be us against the world. Now it’s us against each other and everything else, and I die a little inside every time there’s one of those long silences between us. I’m sorry to dump this all on you, bread bag-and, admittedly, sorta embarrassed, what with you being inanimate and all. I just miss my brother so much, and I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”
Something knocked at the bathroom door. “Sam?”
Sam straightened up and wiped the snot and tears off his face. “What?”
“Are you baring your soul to the bread bag in there?”
“I…no.”
“Sammy.”
“Dude, I’m pooping.”
“You always talk in tearful whispers while you poop?”
“Not…usually.”
Dean sighed on the other side of the door. “Fine, you keep your secrets. But leave the bag in there when you’re done. I call next dibs.”
Day 8: Smoosh the bag.
The next day, the Google Alert Sam had set for “possessed by a demon” went off first thing in the morning, leading the Winchesters to a small town just outside Cincinnati. There, a high school basketball team had been possessed, taking the local Denny’s under demon military rule. Sam and Dean walked in posing as hungry customers but didn’t get through their coffee before one of the demons recognized them.
“Angel bait and the would-be Antichrist,” sneered a demon wearing number 69.
“I like your jersey, stretch,” Dean said pleasantly.
The demon leaned in close. “I’m gonna use it to wipe your flesh out of my teeth.”
“You gonna take that from him, Sammy?”
Sam started. “What? Me? You’re the one he’s-”
“These are clearly your people, Sam.”
“My people…” Sam’s cheeks flushed, and he leaned back in his seat, betrayal welling within him. “Dean, how could you say that?”
“Say what? The height, dude! Look around, it’s like a sasquatch convention in here.”
Sam avoided his brother’s eyes. He didn’t want Dean to see the hurt and insecurity in his face. The full weight of his secrets - his freak nature - pulled his shoulders down.
The demon looked between them. “Should I give you two a minute before we start the massacre? It seems like there’s some family stuff going on here, and I don’t wanna interrupt…”
“No, that’s okay,” Sam said quickly.
“Excuse me?” Dean interjected, and crossed his arms, slumping back in his seat. “Oh, this is so like you.”
“So ‘like me’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means every time we get even remotely close to actually talking about the crap going on between us, you bail.”
“Oh, right. Says the guy who played keep-away with his Hell exposition for how many months!”
“Like you haven’t kept secrets!”
“Hey, when I keep secrets, at least I do it right! None of this ‘Oh, woe is me, I have a secret and I’m gonna hint at it until it drives you nuts for weeks and then spill it dramatically on the trunk of the Impala.’”
“As if the ‘Ooh, look at me, I’m Sammy and I don’t tell anybody anything even if it’s eating me alive’ method is so healthy!”
The demon cleared his throat. “Would you guys like me to get my team captain? He’s really good at helping people talk out their problems.”
“NO!” both brothers yelled. They stared at each other, red-faced and fuming.
“Are you just aching to kill some demons right now?” Sam said.
“Totally,” Dean agreed, snapping Ruby’s knife out of his pocket.
The Winchesters worked their way through the crowded diner, exorcising what demons they could and stabbing the ones who were too far gone to save. Number 69 tried to ram them from behind with a dish cart, but Sam was too fast for him, psychically leeching the demon out of him before he could even reach them.
Sam wasn’t fast enough, however, to see the team coach pick up a meat thermometer from the kitchen and throw it skewer end first. The metal hit Dean in the chest, and he stumbled back, crashing into a booth and knocking over someone’s Grand Slam platter.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, letting the coach make a cowardly retreat. He hunched over his brother, who was wide-eyed and gasping at the ceiling. “Dean? No, no, no, no, please-Dean, come on-” He reached for the meat thermometer, debating pulling it out, but his shaking hands couldn’t do it. Dean would probably bleed out faster that way.
Oh god, he couldn’t lose him again. Not like this - hell, not like anything! And it dawned on Sam, too late: He lived for his brother. Depended on him. Loved him more than he thought it was even possible to love someone who teased him that much. He wouldn’t survive Dean dying again. He wasn’t sure he’d really survived the first time it had stuck, back in that parking lot in Florida after the Trickster.
Dean gasped in a deep breath of air, shook his head, and propped himself up on his elbows. “The customer service in this place is CRAP!” he yelled in the direction of the empty kitchen.
“Dean?” Sam said, teary-eyed. “How did-”
Dean glanced down, pulling open one side of his leather jacket. Amish friendship bread starter leaked from his inside pocket, where the tip of the meat thermometer had just barely made it through the bag. “Holy-”
Before he could get out another word, Sam enveloped him in a hug. “God, Dean, I thought I’d lost you again. I’m so sorry! For everything-I don’t even-”
“Shh,” Dean said, hugging his brother back. “I’m sorry too, Sam. I’ve been avoiding addressing things and holding back so much from you-”
“I’ve been harboring dark secrets from you, Dean - I’ve done things. Horrible, gross, bad tasting things.”
Dean pulled away to look him in the eye, tears rolling down his cheeks. “We’ll deal with it, Sammy. We won’t let it tear us apart. You’re my brother, and I love you.”
“I love you too, man.” Sam sniffled, wiping at his face, before glancing down at Dean’s chest. “The bread bag saved you, Dean. It saved your life. We have to save it-we have to get it to Bobby’s and complete the yeast cycle!”
“First things first,” Dean said, separating the bread bag from the meat thermometer. Pinching down hard on the holes, he yelled, “Is there a waiter in the house? We need a doggy bag over here!”
Day 9: Smoosh the bag.
The boys hauled ass to Bobby’s, stopping only once for pie the entire trip. They arrived in the wee hours of the morning, waking Bobby and getting an unwelcome glimpse of him in his boxers before proving their non-demonness through holy water shots. He set them up spots to sleep in the living room, Dean tucked the bread bag lovingly into his overnight bag with a squeeze of its brand new bag, and the house went quiet except for the snores of three exhausted hunters.
“Dean,” said a low voice in his ear just before sunrise.
“Aw, come on,” Dean groaned, pushing himself upright on the couch. “Not now.” Sam was still fast asleep on the floor, and by the way he didn’t move when dean stuck a toe under his nose, Dean was pretty sure this was a dream.
Castiel was slouched on the edge of the couch, his hands folded primly on his knees and a look of dire urgency written in his eyes. “You and your brother are headed down a dangerous path,” he intoned.
“Yeah, thanks for the news bulletin, Cas, but we’re cool now. We actually reconciled yesterday at Denny’s.”
“Oh, you did?” the angel said, turning completely around. “That’s wonderful, Dean! I’d be so happy for you if I could feel feelings other than dire urgency!”
“Thanks,” Dean said, beaming. He pointed a finger around the room. “So, while you’re yanking chains in my subconscious, think you could…?”
Castiel sighed. “Dean Winchester, for the last time, I am not summoning up strippers in your dreams.”
“You could take off the trench coat and dance around a little yourself. I’m not picky.” Dean grinned, enjoying how uncomfortable it made the angel.
“Anyway,” Castiel said, his voice hitting that low spot again, “despite your reconciliation with Sam - which is awesome nonetheless - you are still headed down a dark and dangerous path.”
“Oh, so now it’s both dark and dangerous?” Dean said, but the angel had already gone.
Day 10: Smoosh the bag.
Pour the contents of the bag into a bowl and mix in 1 ½ cups flour, 1 ½ cups sugar, and 1 ½ cups milk. Stir. Measure out 1 cup of starter into 4 bags. Pass these on to friends.
Pour the remaining 1 cup of starter into a large bowl. Stir in 3 eggs, 1 cup oil, ½ cup milk, 1 cup sugar, 2 cups flour, 2 tsp cinnamon, ½ tsp vanilla, ½ tsp baking powder, ½ tsp baking soda, and 1 large box instant vanilla pudding. In separate bowl, mix together ½ cup sugar and 1 ½ tsp cinnamon. Grease two bread pans and coat them with the sugar-cinnamon topping. Pour in the batter, coat it with the sugar-cinnamon topping, and bake for 1 hour at 325 degrees F.
The Winchesters woke up early and laid siege to Bobby’s kitchen, pulling out bags and canisters and boxes from the cabinets and laying out their plan on the countertop next to the sink. They found everything they needed in minutes, except-
“Instant pudding,” Dean hissed, banging a fist on the countertop. “Crap, why didn’t I think to pick some up on the road? Who keeps vanilla instant pudding stocked up in their kitchen?”
“Uh, apparently Bobby.” Sam pointed into the cupboard he’d just opened over the fridge. One half of it was stocked with fruity girly drink mixes, the other half crammed to near bursting with boxes of instant pudding in all flavors of the rainbow.
Dean frowned up at the cupboard. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
Vanilla pudding mix acquired, they began mixing ingredients. It was the biggest mess either of them had ever made in a kitchen - and that included vampire beheadings and demon slayings aplenty. Oil and milk spattered the walls, vanilla dripped from the fridge handle, and flour coated every surface in sight, including the boys themselves. Despite mistaken measurements and one brief prank involving baking powder, neither brother could remember having had such a good time since Dean had been raised from Hell. Nor had they had such a productive talk.
“Demon blood?” Dean said, crinkling his nose as he sprinkled cinnamon on the bottom of the pan. “Really? Sure you’re not making it up to make me lose my appetite so you can hog the bread?”
Sam shrugged, smiling in spite of the subject matter because he knew now this conversation would end in hugs and bread.
“It must have really sucked, torturing people like that,” Sam said a little while later, pouring the batter into the pans. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that, man. If you want to talk about it, I’m here, and I won’t judge you.”
“I know, Sam,” Dean said, smiling and thinking he might actually take his brother up on the offer sometime.
When Bobby came downstairs in his bathrobe a little while later, the brothers were sitting at his kitchen table, Sam licking the mixing bowl and Dean shoving the spoon in his mouth. “What in the hell-” he started, his eyes traveling up the mess on the walls.
“Mornin’, Bobby,” Sam said. “Sorry about the mess - we’ll clean it up.”
“We mabe Abith fwendthip bwead,” Dean said around the spoon.
Bobby looked visibly shaken. “You what?”
Dean slipped the spoon out of his mouth. “We made Amish friendship bread.”
“I heard you the first time, you idjit!” Bobby ran to the kitchen window, flattening his palms on the edge of the sink, and groaned. “Aw, dammit, boys, do you know what you’ve done?”
“Provided a sweet, hearty snack that keeps on giving?” Sam guessed.
Bobby shook his head, looking pained. “Oh, boys. You should’ve told me.”
A sound erupted outside, like a thousand voices raised in a hungry cry.
Bobby gave the two of them a helpless look. “Demons love Amish friendship bread. They can smell it cooking a plane away.”
Sam and Dean rose from their seats and looked out the window. All they could see for miles was demons. Demons walking and biking and driving into the junk yard. Demons clambering across cars. Fat demons, skinny demons, even demons with chicken pox. And all of them with flecks of drool forming at the corners of their lips.
Dean swallowed.
“It only needs twenty more minutes,” Sam said, cracking open the cupboard of holy water. “Think we can hold them off that long?”
“We can sure try,” Dean said, leaping into action.
“What the-” Bobby started, watching the brothers collect supplies. “Dammit, boys, just chuck the stuff and let ‘em have it! Don’t go riskin’ your necks for a stupid loaf of bread!”
“Two loaves,” Sam corrected hastily, pouring salt along the window panes. “The recipe makes two loaves.”
“It’s more than just bread to us, Bobby,” Dean said, turning to him with big pleading eyes. “That bread starter brought us back together as a family. It made us face ourselves for the first time since I got back. And-dammit, Bobby, it made me realize-” He set a hand on the man’s shoulder and dropped his voice. “You’re like a father to me, man, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize how it’d affect you to have me gone. I know you’ve had a rough time of it, and whatever help you need, we will get it for you. You don’t need the fuzzy navels and pistachio pudding to feel alive.”
Bobby’s lower lip worked up and down slightly, and then he steeled his face, gave the oven a determined look, and said, “There’s more salt under the sink. Close off the perimeter. I’ll get the sawed-offs.”
Once the salt was laid down, they used holy water and rounds of rock salt to keep the demons at bay. Some fell on the lawn. A few made it through the front door but were caught in Devil’s Traps in the living room. There were legions of them, far more than even Sam’s powers could take care of - though he tried. Two minutes from the timer going off, Sam collapsed exhausted against the oven.
“I can’t do it any longer,” he said, shaking his head at his brother. “It’s too much. We’ll never make it.”
“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said, tossing one last liquor bottle of holy water into the crowd outside and tugging on a pair of floral oven mitts. “We’ll take it out now.”
“The scent will overpower them,” said a deep voice near the fireplace in the next room. The boys looked up to see Castiel regarding the fallen and trapped demons curiously. “What sense of self-preservation they have will be overwrought by the rich cinnamony aroma, and they will fly at this place in such numbers your barriers will not hold.” He raised his head, staring straight at Dean. “I tried to warn you.”
“This is the ‘dark and dangerous path’?” Dean cried, waving his mitted hands about. “What the hell, Cas? Couldn’t you have maybe included the words ‘bread’ and ‘demon bait’ somewhere in the dooming and glooming?”
“Crypticness is in my contract,” the angel answered, and nodded toward the oven. “You cannot simply eat the bread and be rid of the demons. All traces of the starter must be eradicated. They’ll never go away so long as they can smell even a bit of the mixture.”
“The panic room,” Bobby shouted from the pantry. “We take the bread out, haul ass downstairs, and lock ourselves behind six inches of solid iron until we’ve eaten every crumb.”
“But what about the new bags of bread starter?” said Sam.
Dean grabbed the bags from the countertop and rushed them across to Castiel. “Cas, you’re our only hope,” he said, pressing the bags into the angel’s hands. “Get them out of here. Keep them safe. Give them to somebody who’ll enjoy them. And, uh, tell them to Google the directions, all right?”
“I will do this for you, Dean,” Castiel said somberly. “I will keep one in the angelic staff room. Zachariah says I need to contribute more to the garrison’s snack supply, anyway.”
And with a rustle of invisible feathers, Castiel was gone.
“Dean!” Bobby shouted. “They’re breaking through the side door! Do it now!”
Pulling Sam out of the way, Dean yanked open the oven, flicked off the heat, and pulled out one bread pan in each hand. Sam managed to crawl to the top of the basement stairs, and Bobby helped prop him up from behind, supporting his weight down the stairs. Dean brought up the rear, two steaming pans in his mitts and an army of demons roaring at his tail.
The three hunters headed into the panic room as fast as they could, Bobby carrying Sam and Dean trying not to let the bread touch the cobwebs on the basement ceiling. Once they were all inside, the iron door slammed behind them. They breathed a collective sigh of relief - and then took in a collective lungful of delicious bread smells.
“That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled in my life,” Sam said, grinning in spite of his exhaustion.
“Ditto that,” Bobby said, leaning back against a sigil on the wall. “I don’t care if it’s burning hot. Dean, cut me a piece of that, would you?”
Dean twisted his mouth up, staring hard at the bread. “Sam?”
“Yeah, Dean?”
“Did you bring a knife?”
“No. Did you?”
“You idjits,” Bobby sighed.
And outside, the demon hoards screamed for bread.
Epilogue
Day 4: Smoosh the bag.
Sam slumped happily into the passenger seat of the Impala, shoving his overnight bag in the back. “I think that intervention went really well. Kinda weird watching Bobby cry, but he’ll be better off once he’s got the artificial fruit flavoring out of his system.”
Dean keyed the ignition. “We did some real good work here today, Sam.”
“Yeah. Hey, can I change out the tape? We’ve been listening to Zeppelin for nine hundred miles.”
“No, dude, don’t-” Dean started, but before he could stop him, Sam had popped open the glove compartment looking for the tape collection.
Inside the glove compartment, amidst a pile of cassette tapes, lay a fresh bag of Amish friendship bread starter. One of the bags, in fact, that he’d seen Dean slip to Castiel during the siege.
“Is that-” Sam started.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said, clapping the glove compartment shut as he cranked up “Ramblin’ On.” “You know the rules. Driver picks the tunes.” He flashed his brother a grin. “Shotgun shuts his bread hole.”
The end!
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, bread bag
Ratings/Warnings: PG/Spoilers up to Head of a Pin
Word Count: 4,600
Summary: A bag of Amish friendship bread starter teaches the Winchester brothers to love again.
Notes: The recipe in the headers actually works, but I take no responsibility for any demon sieges that occur should you use it. This fic is, overall, sockkiah's fault.
Day 7: Smoosh the bag.
The light of the lava lamp bathroom fixtures cast a purple tinge on the bread bag as he smooshed it against the counter. “I just don’t know what to do, bread bag. We were already drifting before hell, but now we’re so far apart it’s like we’re strangers. I want to be where we were before, arguing over music and weapons and who gets to drive instead of all this epic crap. It used to be us against the world. Now it’s us against each other and everything else, and I die a little inside every time there’s one of those long silences between us. I’m sorry to dump this all on you, bread bag-and, admittedly, sorta embarrassed, what with you being inanimate and all. I just miss my brother so much, and I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”
Something knocked at the bathroom door. “Sam?”
Sam straightened up and wiped the snot and tears off his face. “What?”
“Are you baring your soul to the bread bag in there?”
“I…no.”
“Sammy.”
“Dude, I’m pooping.”
“You always talk in tearful whispers while you poop?”
“Not…usually.”
Dean sighed on the other side of the door. “Fine, you keep your secrets. But leave the bag in there when you’re done. I call next dibs.”
Day 8: Smoosh the bag.
The next day, the Google Alert Sam had set for “possessed by a demon” went off first thing in the morning, leading the Winchesters to a small town just outside Cincinnati. There, a high school basketball team had been possessed, taking the local Denny’s under demon military rule. Sam and Dean walked in posing as hungry customers but didn’t get through their coffee before one of the demons recognized them.
“Angel bait and the would-be Antichrist,” sneered a demon wearing number 69.
“I like your jersey, stretch,” Dean said pleasantly.
The demon leaned in close. “I’m gonna use it to wipe your flesh out of my teeth.”
“You gonna take that from him, Sammy?”
Sam started. “What? Me? You’re the one he’s-”
“These are clearly your people, Sam.”
“My people…” Sam’s cheeks flushed, and he leaned back in his seat, betrayal welling within him. “Dean, how could you say that?”
“Say what? The height, dude! Look around, it’s like a sasquatch convention in here.”
Sam avoided his brother’s eyes. He didn’t want Dean to see the hurt and insecurity in his face. The full weight of his secrets - his freak nature - pulled his shoulders down.
The demon looked between them. “Should I give you two a minute before we start the massacre? It seems like there’s some family stuff going on here, and I don’t wanna interrupt…”
“No, that’s okay,” Sam said quickly.
“Excuse me?” Dean interjected, and crossed his arms, slumping back in his seat. “Oh, this is so like you.”
“So ‘like me’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means every time we get even remotely close to actually talking about the crap going on between us, you bail.”
“Oh, right. Says the guy who played keep-away with his Hell exposition for how many months!”
“Like you haven’t kept secrets!”
“Hey, when I keep secrets, at least I do it right! None of this ‘Oh, woe is me, I have a secret and I’m gonna hint at it until it drives you nuts for weeks and then spill it dramatically on the trunk of the Impala.’”
“As if the ‘Ooh, look at me, I’m Sammy and I don’t tell anybody anything even if it’s eating me alive’ method is so healthy!”
The demon cleared his throat. “Would you guys like me to get my team captain? He’s really good at helping people talk out their problems.”
“NO!” both brothers yelled. They stared at each other, red-faced and fuming.
“Are you just aching to kill some demons right now?” Sam said.
“Totally,” Dean agreed, snapping Ruby’s knife out of his pocket.
The Winchesters worked their way through the crowded diner, exorcising what demons they could and stabbing the ones who were too far gone to save. Number 69 tried to ram them from behind with a dish cart, but Sam was too fast for him, psychically leeching the demon out of him before he could even reach them.
Sam wasn’t fast enough, however, to see the team coach pick up a meat thermometer from the kitchen and throw it skewer end first. The metal hit Dean in the chest, and he stumbled back, crashing into a booth and knocking over someone’s Grand Slam platter.
“Dean!” Sam shouted, letting the coach make a cowardly retreat. He hunched over his brother, who was wide-eyed and gasping at the ceiling. “Dean? No, no, no, no, please-Dean, come on-” He reached for the meat thermometer, debating pulling it out, but his shaking hands couldn’t do it. Dean would probably bleed out faster that way.
Oh god, he couldn’t lose him again. Not like this - hell, not like anything! And it dawned on Sam, too late: He lived for his brother. Depended on him. Loved him more than he thought it was even possible to love someone who teased him that much. He wouldn’t survive Dean dying again. He wasn’t sure he’d really survived the first time it had stuck, back in that parking lot in Florida after the Trickster.
Dean gasped in a deep breath of air, shook his head, and propped himself up on his elbows. “The customer service in this place is CRAP!” he yelled in the direction of the empty kitchen.
“Dean?” Sam said, teary-eyed. “How did-”
Dean glanced down, pulling open one side of his leather jacket. Amish friendship bread starter leaked from his inside pocket, where the tip of the meat thermometer had just barely made it through the bag. “Holy-”
Before he could get out another word, Sam enveloped him in a hug. “God, Dean, I thought I’d lost you again. I’m so sorry! For everything-I don’t even-”
“Shh,” Dean said, hugging his brother back. “I’m sorry too, Sam. I’ve been avoiding addressing things and holding back so much from you-”
“I’ve been harboring dark secrets from you, Dean - I’ve done things. Horrible, gross, bad tasting things.”
Dean pulled away to look him in the eye, tears rolling down his cheeks. “We’ll deal with it, Sammy. We won’t let it tear us apart. You’re my brother, and I love you.”
“I love you too, man.” Sam sniffled, wiping at his face, before glancing down at Dean’s chest. “The bread bag saved you, Dean. It saved your life. We have to save it-we have to get it to Bobby’s and complete the yeast cycle!”
“First things first,” Dean said, separating the bread bag from the meat thermometer. Pinching down hard on the holes, he yelled, “Is there a waiter in the house? We need a doggy bag over here!”
Day 9: Smoosh the bag.
The boys hauled ass to Bobby’s, stopping only once for pie the entire trip. They arrived in the wee hours of the morning, waking Bobby and getting an unwelcome glimpse of him in his boxers before proving their non-demonness through holy water shots. He set them up spots to sleep in the living room, Dean tucked the bread bag lovingly into his overnight bag with a squeeze of its brand new bag, and the house went quiet except for the snores of three exhausted hunters.
“Dean,” said a low voice in his ear just before sunrise.
“Aw, come on,” Dean groaned, pushing himself upright on the couch. “Not now.” Sam was still fast asleep on the floor, and by the way he didn’t move when dean stuck a toe under his nose, Dean was pretty sure this was a dream.
Castiel was slouched on the edge of the couch, his hands folded primly on his knees and a look of dire urgency written in his eyes. “You and your brother are headed down a dangerous path,” he intoned.
“Yeah, thanks for the news bulletin, Cas, but we’re cool now. We actually reconciled yesterday at Denny’s.”
“Oh, you did?” the angel said, turning completely around. “That’s wonderful, Dean! I’d be so happy for you if I could feel feelings other than dire urgency!”
“Thanks,” Dean said, beaming. He pointed a finger around the room. “So, while you’re yanking chains in my subconscious, think you could…?”
Castiel sighed. “Dean Winchester, for the last time, I am not summoning up strippers in your dreams.”
“You could take off the trench coat and dance around a little yourself. I’m not picky.” Dean grinned, enjoying how uncomfortable it made the angel.
“Anyway,” Castiel said, his voice hitting that low spot again, “despite your reconciliation with Sam - which is awesome nonetheless - you are still headed down a dark and dangerous path.”
“Oh, so now it’s both dark and dangerous?” Dean said, but the angel had already gone.
Day 10: Smoosh the bag.
Pour the contents of the bag into a bowl and mix in 1 ½ cups flour, 1 ½ cups sugar, and 1 ½ cups milk. Stir. Measure out 1 cup of starter into 4 bags. Pass these on to friends.
Pour the remaining 1 cup of starter into a large bowl. Stir in 3 eggs, 1 cup oil, ½ cup milk, 1 cup sugar, 2 cups flour, 2 tsp cinnamon, ½ tsp vanilla, ½ tsp baking powder, ½ tsp baking soda, and 1 large box instant vanilla pudding. In separate bowl, mix together ½ cup sugar and 1 ½ tsp cinnamon. Grease two bread pans and coat them with the sugar-cinnamon topping. Pour in the batter, coat it with the sugar-cinnamon topping, and bake for 1 hour at 325 degrees F.
The Winchesters woke up early and laid siege to Bobby’s kitchen, pulling out bags and canisters and boxes from the cabinets and laying out their plan on the countertop next to the sink. They found everything they needed in minutes, except-
“Instant pudding,” Dean hissed, banging a fist on the countertop. “Crap, why didn’t I think to pick some up on the road? Who keeps vanilla instant pudding stocked up in their kitchen?”
“Uh, apparently Bobby.” Sam pointed into the cupboard he’d just opened over the fridge. One half of it was stocked with fruity girly drink mixes, the other half crammed to near bursting with boxes of instant pudding in all flavors of the rainbow.
Dean frowned up at the cupboard. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
Vanilla pudding mix acquired, they began mixing ingredients. It was the biggest mess either of them had ever made in a kitchen - and that included vampire beheadings and demon slayings aplenty. Oil and milk spattered the walls, vanilla dripped from the fridge handle, and flour coated every surface in sight, including the boys themselves. Despite mistaken measurements and one brief prank involving baking powder, neither brother could remember having had such a good time since Dean had been raised from Hell. Nor had they had such a productive talk.
“Demon blood?” Dean said, crinkling his nose as he sprinkled cinnamon on the bottom of the pan. “Really? Sure you’re not making it up to make me lose my appetite so you can hog the bread?”
Sam shrugged, smiling in spite of the subject matter because he knew now this conversation would end in hugs and bread.
“It must have really sucked, torturing people like that,” Sam said a little while later, pouring the batter into the pans. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that, man. If you want to talk about it, I’m here, and I won’t judge you.”
“I know, Sam,” Dean said, smiling and thinking he might actually take his brother up on the offer sometime.
When Bobby came downstairs in his bathrobe a little while later, the brothers were sitting at his kitchen table, Sam licking the mixing bowl and Dean shoving the spoon in his mouth. “What in the hell-” he started, his eyes traveling up the mess on the walls.
“Mornin’, Bobby,” Sam said. “Sorry about the mess - we’ll clean it up.”
“We mabe Abith fwendthip bwead,” Dean said around the spoon.
Bobby looked visibly shaken. “You what?”
Dean slipped the spoon out of his mouth. “We made Amish friendship bread.”
“I heard you the first time, you idjit!” Bobby ran to the kitchen window, flattening his palms on the edge of the sink, and groaned. “Aw, dammit, boys, do you know what you’ve done?”
“Provided a sweet, hearty snack that keeps on giving?” Sam guessed.
Bobby shook his head, looking pained. “Oh, boys. You should’ve told me.”
A sound erupted outside, like a thousand voices raised in a hungry cry.
Bobby gave the two of them a helpless look. “Demons love Amish friendship bread. They can smell it cooking a plane away.”
Sam and Dean rose from their seats and looked out the window. All they could see for miles was demons. Demons walking and biking and driving into the junk yard. Demons clambering across cars. Fat demons, skinny demons, even demons with chicken pox. And all of them with flecks of drool forming at the corners of their lips.
Dean swallowed.
“It only needs twenty more minutes,” Sam said, cracking open the cupboard of holy water. “Think we can hold them off that long?”
“We can sure try,” Dean said, leaping into action.
“What the-” Bobby started, watching the brothers collect supplies. “Dammit, boys, just chuck the stuff and let ‘em have it! Don’t go riskin’ your necks for a stupid loaf of bread!”
“Two loaves,” Sam corrected hastily, pouring salt along the window panes. “The recipe makes two loaves.”
“It’s more than just bread to us, Bobby,” Dean said, turning to him with big pleading eyes. “That bread starter brought us back together as a family. It made us face ourselves for the first time since I got back. And-dammit, Bobby, it made me realize-” He set a hand on the man’s shoulder and dropped his voice. “You’re like a father to me, man, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize how it’d affect you to have me gone. I know you’ve had a rough time of it, and whatever help you need, we will get it for you. You don’t need the fuzzy navels and pistachio pudding to feel alive.”
Bobby’s lower lip worked up and down slightly, and then he steeled his face, gave the oven a determined look, and said, “There’s more salt under the sink. Close off the perimeter. I’ll get the sawed-offs.”
Once the salt was laid down, they used holy water and rounds of rock salt to keep the demons at bay. Some fell on the lawn. A few made it through the front door but were caught in Devil’s Traps in the living room. There were legions of them, far more than even Sam’s powers could take care of - though he tried. Two minutes from the timer going off, Sam collapsed exhausted against the oven.
“I can’t do it any longer,” he said, shaking his head at his brother. “It’s too much. We’ll never make it.”
“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said, tossing one last liquor bottle of holy water into the crowd outside and tugging on a pair of floral oven mitts. “We’ll take it out now.”
“The scent will overpower them,” said a deep voice near the fireplace in the next room. The boys looked up to see Castiel regarding the fallen and trapped demons curiously. “What sense of self-preservation they have will be overwrought by the rich cinnamony aroma, and they will fly at this place in such numbers your barriers will not hold.” He raised his head, staring straight at Dean. “I tried to warn you.”
“This is the ‘dark and dangerous path’?” Dean cried, waving his mitted hands about. “What the hell, Cas? Couldn’t you have maybe included the words ‘bread’ and ‘demon bait’ somewhere in the dooming and glooming?”
“Crypticness is in my contract,” the angel answered, and nodded toward the oven. “You cannot simply eat the bread and be rid of the demons. All traces of the starter must be eradicated. They’ll never go away so long as they can smell even a bit of the mixture.”
“The panic room,” Bobby shouted from the pantry. “We take the bread out, haul ass downstairs, and lock ourselves behind six inches of solid iron until we’ve eaten every crumb.”
“But what about the new bags of bread starter?” said Sam.
Dean grabbed the bags from the countertop and rushed them across to Castiel. “Cas, you’re our only hope,” he said, pressing the bags into the angel’s hands. “Get them out of here. Keep them safe. Give them to somebody who’ll enjoy them. And, uh, tell them to Google the directions, all right?”
“I will do this for you, Dean,” Castiel said somberly. “I will keep one in the angelic staff room. Zachariah says I need to contribute more to the garrison’s snack supply, anyway.”
And with a rustle of invisible feathers, Castiel was gone.
“Dean!” Bobby shouted. “They’re breaking through the side door! Do it now!”
Pulling Sam out of the way, Dean yanked open the oven, flicked off the heat, and pulled out one bread pan in each hand. Sam managed to crawl to the top of the basement stairs, and Bobby helped prop him up from behind, supporting his weight down the stairs. Dean brought up the rear, two steaming pans in his mitts and an army of demons roaring at his tail.
The three hunters headed into the panic room as fast as they could, Bobby carrying Sam and Dean trying not to let the bread touch the cobwebs on the basement ceiling. Once they were all inside, the iron door slammed behind them. They breathed a collective sigh of relief - and then took in a collective lungful of delicious bread smells.
“That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled in my life,” Sam said, grinning in spite of his exhaustion.
“Ditto that,” Bobby said, leaning back against a sigil on the wall. “I don’t care if it’s burning hot. Dean, cut me a piece of that, would you?”
Dean twisted his mouth up, staring hard at the bread. “Sam?”
“Yeah, Dean?”
“Did you bring a knife?”
“No. Did you?”
“You idjits,” Bobby sighed.
And outside, the demon hoards screamed for bread.
Epilogue
Day 4: Smoosh the bag.
Sam slumped happily into the passenger seat of the Impala, shoving his overnight bag in the back. “I think that intervention went really well. Kinda weird watching Bobby cry, but he’ll be better off once he’s got the artificial fruit flavoring out of his system.”
Dean keyed the ignition. “We did some real good work here today, Sam.”
“Yeah. Hey, can I change out the tape? We’ve been listening to Zeppelin for nine hundred miles.”
“No, dude, don’t-” Dean started, but before he could stop him, Sam had popped open the glove compartment looking for the tape collection.
Inside the glove compartment, amidst a pile of cassette tapes, lay a fresh bag of Amish friendship bread starter. One of the bags, in fact, that he’d seen Dean slip to Castiel during the siege.
“Is that-” Sam started.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said, clapping the glove compartment shut as he cranked up “Ramblin’ On.” “You know the rules. Driver picks the tunes.” He flashed his brother a grin. “Shotgun shuts his bread hole.”
The end!