Thanksgiving, Dean/Castiel, G
It's fragrant, jewel-toned, glistening in its perfectly golden crust. Dean's eyes widen, then narrow. "Is that..."
Sam frowns. "It's pie, Dean. Why is there pie?"
Thanksgiving
It's fragrant, jewel-toned, glistening in its perfectly golden crust. Dean's eyes widen, then narrow. "Is that..."
Sam frowns. "It's pie, Dean. Why is there pie?"
It had just been sitting there, on the scarred nightstand between them, when they woke up. Dean and Sam both leap out of their beds, grab their guns, and quickly scan the modest motel room. There are salt lines across the doorway and on the windowsills, thick and protective. Their duffel bags, clothes and weapons are exactly where he and Sam had left them the night before. Everything looks completely undisturbed.
"You messing with me, Sam?"
Sam shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes.
"So, pie just happened to appear in the dead of night." Dean's gaze darts around the room, suspicious. "Okay, seriously," he says, looking up, hands on his hips. "What's with the pie?"
There is a rustling noise, and a breeze spins through the room, making the smell of cinnamon and allspice waft up. When the rustling stops, the door bursts open and Castiel walks in. "You like pie," he says gravely.
"You?" Dean frowns, but he puts down the gun. "Why would an angel bring me pie?"
Castiel tilts his head, his brows drawing together in confusion. "I already told you."
"People don't just give you pie for no reason," Dean argues. "This another test? What is it, apocalypse pie? Destiny pie? Help you defeat the forces of darkness pie?"
"No. It's pumpkin."
"Okay," Sam says briskly. "Thank you for the pie. I'm just... gonna go get dressed now." Scooping up his things, he nods at Dean and heads into the bathroom.
Castiel just stands there in his rumpled suit and ever-present trench coat, unblinking gaze watching Sam go. When they hear the shower start up, he turns to Dean.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
Dean just crosses his arms over his worn t-shirt. "I don't--I don't know. You just don't get magical... holy pie drop-offs every day. Well, maybe you do, but here on Earth, not so much."
"You don't think you deserve pie," Castiel says, surprised.
"It's not--" Dean scrubs a hand through his hair. "I don't--" He goes over and sits by the pie, staring at it forlornly.
Castiel waits. Sunshine from the still-open door lights up the room.
They don't speak any further until the bathroom door opens and Sam steps out, a cloud of sweet-smelling steam trailing behind him. He's wearing clean clothes and his hair is wet.
Dean looks up, hesitates for a moment, then tilts his head at his brother. "Hey, Sammy. You hungry?"
Sam studies him carefully, looks over at the angel. "I could eat," he says, and goes over to join Dean.
There isn't any flutter of wings this time as Castiel walks towards the door.
"Hey," Dean says, rummaging around in his duffel bag for a couple of forks.
The angel stops.
"You gonna help us eat this, or what?"
Castiel doesn't smile, but he comes over to sits across from them on Sam's rumpled bed. Dean hands him a fork.
Sam frowns. "It's pie, Dean. Why is there pie?"
Thanksgiving
It's fragrant, jewel-toned, glistening in its perfectly golden crust. Dean's eyes widen, then narrow. "Is that..."
Sam frowns. "It's pie, Dean. Why is there pie?"
It had just been sitting there, on the scarred nightstand between them, when they woke up. Dean and Sam both leap out of their beds, grab their guns, and quickly scan the modest motel room. There are salt lines across the doorway and on the windowsills, thick and protective. Their duffel bags, clothes and weapons are exactly where he and Sam had left them the night before. Everything looks completely undisturbed.
"You messing with me, Sam?"
Sam shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes.
"So, pie just happened to appear in the dead of night." Dean's gaze darts around the room, suspicious. "Okay, seriously," he says, looking up, hands on his hips. "What's with the pie?"
There is a rustling noise, and a breeze spins through the room, making the smell of cinnamon and allspice waft up. When the rustling stops, the door bursts open and Castiel walks in. "You like pie," he says gravely.
"You?" Dean frowns, but he puts down the gun. "Why would an angel bring me pie?"
Castiel tilts his head, his brows drawing together in confusion. "I already told you."
"People don't just give you pie for no reason," Dean argues. "This another test? What is it, apocalypse pie? Destiny pie? Help you defeat the forces of darkness pie?"
"No. It's pumpkin."
"Okay," Sam says briskly. "Thank you for the pie. I'm just... gonna go get dressed now." Scooping up his things, he nods at Dean and heads into the bathroom.
Castiel just stands there in his rumpled suit and ever-present trench coat, unblinking gaze watching Sam go. When they hear the shower start up, he turns to Dean.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
Dean just crosses his arms over his worn t-shirt. "I don't--I don't know. You just don't get magical... holy pie drop-offs every day. Well, maybe you do, but here on Earth, not so much."
"You don't think you deserve pie," Castiel says, surprised.
"It's not--" Dean scrubs a hand through his hair. "I don't--" He goes over and sits by the pie, staring at it forlornly.
Castiel waits. Sunshine from the still-open door lights up the room.
They don't speak any further until the bathroom door opens and Sam steps out, a cloud of sweet-smelling steam trailing behind him. He's wearing clean clothes and his hair is wet.
Dean looks up, hesitates for a moment, then tilts his head at his brother. "Hey, Sammy. You hungry?"
Sam studies him carefully, looks over at the angel. "I could eat," he says, and goes over to join Dean.
There isn't any flutter of wings this time as Castiel walks towards the door.
"Hey," Dean says, rummaging around in his duffel bag for a couple of forks.
The angel stops.
"You gonna help us eat this, or what?"
Castiel doesn't smile, but he comes over to sits across from them on Sam's rumpled bed. Dean hands him a fork.