Sam's Lesson

"Dean, no! You can't do that."

Sam reached across Dean and turned the knob, lowering the flame on the stove.

"Why not? It's cooking too damn slow!" Dean pouted.

Sam sighed. "Because, if you turn it up too high, it'll burn. You have to be patient."

Dean cast a glare at Sam before directing it at the pan. "Why are you making me do this? I hate cooking."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not the one who let those vamps get our scent! We can't leave this room 'til morning, so it's cook or starve. I figured this is as good a time as any to teach you how to feed yourself."

Dean sighed. He couldn't argue with that. It WAS his fault they were being hunted by vamps. He still didn't have to like it, though.

"Where'd you learn to cook anyhow? I know you didn't get it from me or Dad," Dean asked.

Sam was silent for a moment, staring blankly at the sandwich. Then he shrugged one shoulder and said quietly, "Jess taught me."

Guilt ripped through Dean. "Aw, man. I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam waved him off. "It's ok. Don't worry about it."

Needing an escape from the moment, Dean grabbed the spatula, shoved it under the grilled cheese sandwich, and tried to flip it over. However, the top piece of bread slid and the cheese flopped out onto the skillet and began sizzling.

"Dean!" Sam said, frustrated, as he hurriedly tried to put the sandwich back together. You have to wait 'til it's ready!"

Dean dropped the spatula on the counter and threw up his hands. "That's it. I'm done. You do it." He stalked away, flopped onto the bed, and clicked on the TV.

Sam deftly flipped the sandwich and smiled to himself – "The Dean" might be able to save the world from all the demons in hell, but he was whipped by a simple grilled cheese sandwich.