Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Summary: Six pizza-related moments in the life of the Winchesters
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters do not belong to me

Six Times Dean Ate Pizza When He Wasn't Really Hungry


"Eat your pizza, son," John instructed, moving the plate in front of the four-year-old. He thanked the waitress with a nod, and turned back to the baby cradled in his arms.

Dean just stared at it, his bottom lip trembling. Pepperoni pizza, with lots and lots of cheese. His favorite kind. But right now, he didn't feel like eating. Sammy was crying, avoiding the bottle that his dad was holding to his mouth, and he felt like crying too. He didn't want pizza. He wanted his mom.

His mom would have tucked a napkin into the front of his shirt like a bib, even though he was a big boy. Then she would have smiled, and moved his plate a little closer, so it was easier to reach. But his mom wasn't here. And while he didn't know where she was, he was pretty sure she wasn't coming back.

Dean glanced at his brother. Sammy was still crying, still squirming in his dad's arms. Maybe he missed Mom, too.

"Dean," John said softly. "Eat your pizza, son."

The little boy looked back down at his plate, his eyes brimming with tears, and picked up the slice of pizza.


"Here we go, children," Mrs. Cotti announced. "Your pizzas are ready."

Dean watched as his teacher placed his home-made English muffin pizza on the table in front of him.

The other children, eager and excited, were happily reaching for their own food, and his teacher wore a smile, the same one she wore every day when spending time with "her" kids, but Dean wasn't hungry. It smelled good. It really did, but the youngster was busy looking out the window.

It was Sam's first day of kindergarten, and Dean knew his little brother was scared. Right now, the five-year-old was sitting by himself on the playground, his little hand occasionally reaching up to wipe at his eyes. And his teacher was over on the other side of the playground, not even noticing the crying little boy that was supposedly in her care.

It was all Dean could do to stay in his seat. Sammy would be okay, he knew that. There wasn't anything here that could hurt him. At least, nothing supernatural in nature. Their dad had made sure of that. But seeing his brother's tears made him want to run out of the classroom, down the hall, and outside. It made his stomach feel funny, too.

"Dean, eat your snack, honey."

With a sigh, Dean complied, hoping that he wouldn't throw up in front of his whole class.


"Eat your dinner, Dean," John said, his jaw set and his eyes glaring daggers into the newspaper article he held.

"Yes, sir."

It had only been forty-five minutes since he'd seen Sammy off, dropping him at the bus station, and watching as the bus departed the station. As his brother departed his life.

He still couldn't believe how fast the fight between Sam and their dad had escalated. One minute, Sam was telling them that he'd been accepted into Stanford, the next, John was telling him not to come back. They had been at each other's throats a lot lately, but Dean had never dreamed that it would come to this.

He had always known that Sam wanted to go to college, wanted to put the hunting life behind him, but it wasn't until it happened, that he realized just how much it would hurt. And how empty it would make him feel.

He'd sat in the parking lot until the bus was out of view, then pulled out with a squeal of tires, heading in the other direction. And on the way back to the motel, Dean had picked up two large pizzas. It was their normal order, the same amount of pizza they'd been ordering ever since Sam had reached young adulthood and started to fill out his lanky frame.

But now, it was way too much for them to eat.

Dean raised a slice to his mouth, chewing on it half-heartedly.


"Aren't you going to eat?" his date asked.

Dean shrugged. For some reason, the bright lights and loud music just didn't seem satisfying tonight. And as for Sandy, or Sophie, or Silvia, or whatever her name was, he couldn't muster any enthusiasm about her either. Just another in a long string of meaningless one night stands. She was pretty enough, her looks garnering lots of attention from the other men in the room, but there was just something about her. She seemed too eager, too easy. Maybe he was just another in a string of one night stands, for her. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

Laughter broke out at the next table, and he glanced that direction. Two men, brothers by the looks of things, were shoveling chicken wings into their mouths as fast as they could. He and Sam had done something similar only a few weeks earlier, after a successful ghoul hunt. The contest had been a draw. He smiled at the memory.

Right now, Sam was back in their room--on the internet, reading a book, or maybe already under the covers, enjoying a well-deserved rest. To be honest, Dean envied him, just a little. But he'd never admit it.

"How 'bout another one?"

Shaking his head at the waitress, Dean took a sip of his beer, ignoring the barely-touched pizza on his plate.


"That will be $6.99, sir," the cashier said.

Taking his wallet out of his pocket, Dean paid for his lunch, then looked for an empty table. It wasn't hard to find. Most people didn't eat meals in the middle of the afternoon, so the room was almost empty, with only a few people sitting here and there, sipping at coffee and fidgeting nervously in their chairs.

The doctor had made him a deal. He'd be able to see Sam as soon as he was moved to a room, if, after cleaning up, he went down to the cafeteria. Had a meal. Relaxed for at least an hour. Or he could sit out in the waiting room, his hands bathed in Sam's blood, denied access to his brother.

It wasn't a hard choice to make. Two seconds later he'd been heading for the bathroom, three minutes after that he was on the elevator that would take him down two floors, where the cafeteria was located.

Pizza. That's what he'd ended up with. It didn't matter, though. It could have been cardboard for all he cared. Maybe it was. Cardboard covered with pizza sauce and decorated with cheese and pepperoni. Setting his jaw, he went through the exercise of eating, counting the minutes until he could see Sam.


"Uncle Dean, Uncle Dean!"

Dean braced himself as a four-year-old whirlwind of energy launched himself into the air, trusting his uncle to catch him. He smiled at the little boy, tousling his light brown hair with one hand as Sam watched in fond amusement.

When the child wiggled in the universal sign of "put me down," Dean set him on his feet, then found himself being dragged in the direction of the kitchen.

On the table were plates, napkins, drinks, and two closed pizza boxes. He watched as his nephew flung one of the lids open in excitement.

"Where's your mom?" Dean looked around, realizing she hadn't yet joined them.

"She went shopping for clothes." He scrunched up his nose, giving his opinion of that idea before adding, "And she's gonna eat when she gets home. But you're gonna eat with us, right, Uncle Dean?"

Dean couldn't help but grin. While he wasn't hungry in the least, having stopped for dinner on the road an hour or so back, there was no way he could resist the set of pleading "puppy dog eyes" aimed in his direction. He had no doubt as to where his nephew had learned that expression. He'd seen Sam wearing the same one too many times.

Seconds later, Dean found himself seated at the table across from Sam and his son, beer in one hand, and a slice of pizza in the other. It didn't matter that he wasn't hungry, he wouldn't miss eating with his family for all the world.