Today, Dean yearns for a taste of his mother's apple pie. He's had plenty of great pies over the years, hell, he's even made some pretty great ones himself, but he's never managed to find or create a perfect match to Mary's homemade apple pie. It's not for lack for trying, each bake he mourns the loss of his mother's well loved book of recipes to the same flames that took the woman herself. He wishes she were still here to walk him through the process, to gently guide and give advice that she'd learned from years of practice and perfection. The thought strikes him sometimes how much older he is than she ever was. He wishes their lives had been less complicated when she'd briefly returned to their lives. Maybe he could have worked with her to write down her recipe for the perfect pie. However, when Dean looks across the table and sees Jack, Sam, and Cas with the same spark of enjoyment in their eyes as he'd felt all those years ago, he thinks maybe it's not the recipe that make the pie perfect, but the sense of home and warmth that comes with it.
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