fic: Easy as Pie (Supernatural; Sam & Dean; pg)
Easy as Pie
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; pg; 1,405 words
In which Dean has a brilliant idea that even Sam (reluctantly) agrees is brilliant. Also, there is pie.
For the lovely innie_darling & tenaciousmetoo on their birthday. Thanks to angelgazing for all her help and hand-holding.
~*~
Easy as Pie
They're stuck in traffic on the FDR when Dean says, "We should have a pie truck."
Sam, still fuzzy from dozing against the passenger-side window, says, "What?"
"A pie truck. A truck of pie." Dean grins in that maniacal way that makes Sam understand why people would think they're serial killers, but which Sam secretly finds endearing because it means Dean is actually pleased with himself and the world. It's a close relation to Dean's grin when he successfully embarrasses Sam, and not quite as mellow as his just-got-laid grin. Sam catalogues these expressions in great detail. He always has, but for a while the memories were like pictures from other people's vacations--vaguely familiar, but not particularly meaningful. It's harder than he expected to let the emotions that go with the memories wash over him, and he covers it up by reverting to being Dean's annoying little brother.
"A truck made of pie? That doesn't seem very useful."
Dean grunts. "You have no vision, Sam."
"No delusions of grandeur, you mean."
"No, I mean vision. Not a truck made of pie, moron. A truck where we make pie! To sell."
Sam shifts in his seat so he can face Dean more easily. "This is because the last three meals we ate came from trucks, right?"
"Right," Dean says, "and don't even tell me those waffles weren't awesome."
"The waffles were awesome," Sam is forced to admit, even if having to eat them in the car was an endless litany of do not get hot fudge sauce on the upholstery, Sam and I don't want to have to wash ice cream residue off the dashboard, Sam, as if Sam were still a messy five-year-old. It'd probably be comforting, if it weren't so freaking annoying.
"But you know what's even more awesome than waffles?"
"I'm sure you're about to tell me." It's easy to play straight man in Dean's comedy routine. That's comforting, too, and familiar.
"Pie!"
"True," Sam says, "but there's just one problem."
"Just one?" Dean asks, surprised.
"No, there's a lot more than one, but there's one main one, which is, just who is going to make this pie?"
"We are. Well, I am. You can, like, handle the cash and, I don't know, make a website. I'm not letting you near the food."
"What the hell do you know about baking a pie?"
"How hard can it be? We stopped the apocalypse. We will not be beaten by pie."
"You do realize you can't just make Jell-o and Cool Whip pie in frozen pie shells, right?"
"I have fought the hounds of hell, Sam. I think I can manage a real fruit pie."
It makes Sam sick even now to think about it, but he can't lose ground in an argument just because of his feelings. "You lost to the hounds of hell, Dean."
Dean waves a hand airily, as if everything that happened doesn't still keep him up nights sometimes. "I'm here, aren't I?" he says, as if that settles everything. And as points go, it's pretty indisputable, but Sam's never really found it easy to back down even in the face of an unwinnable argument. "And that was a great Thanksgiving, don't even front."
"Okay, so let's say you actually learn how to make pie that is not only edible, but salable. We can't afford to buy a truck and outfit it with an oven or whatever. And what about the Impala? Are you really going to hook a pie truck up to her?"
Dean pales a little bit at that, and Sam ruthlessly quashes the pang of guilt he feels at torpedoing his brother's wild idea, because there's just no way it could ever happen.
Sam crosses his arms over his chest and nods once, decisively. "That's what I thought."
Which doesn't explain how, a month later, they're holed up at Bobby's while Bobby and Dean retrofit an old Mr. Softee truck with a counter and a portable oven hot enough to bake an apple crumb pie to golden brown crunchy goodness.
Bobby's neighbor took pity on Dean when he gave her some sob story about how he'd always dreamed of being a pie maker, and even though Sam's pretty sure she knows it was a snow job, Dean spends every hour he's not working on the truck with her, learning how to bake. If they're doing anything else, Sam doesn't want to know about it.
The first time Dean bakes a pie for them in Bobby's cluttered kitchen, the house smells like apples and cinnamon, and Dean's got that frazzled frantic edge Sam remembers from hunts back before the world almost ended and everything got heavy.
Dean insists they wait until it's cool before they cut it, and then doesn't touch the slice in front of him--he watches Sam and Bobby with that wide-eyed, hopeful look Sam doesn't see much of anymore.
Bobby gets a glob of pie on his fork and shovels it into his mouth, proving once again that he's a braver man than either Winchester, and chews thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Not bad," he says, taking another forkful.
Sam mans up and takes a bite of his own slice. "'S'good," he says around a mouthful of apples and crumbs. And it is--the apples are the right combination of sweet, tart, and spicy, and the crumbs are really buttery.
"Yeah?" Dean asks, his own fork still hovering above his plate.
"Yeah," Sam says. "Would I lie to you?" Dean gives him a look. "Don't answer that. Would I lie to you about this?"
Dean finally takes a bite. He cocks his head thoughtfully as he chews and licks his lips when he's done. "Yeah," he finally says. "Better than store-bought, anyway."
"I guess I better get that website set up," Sam says, and Dean's answering grin is bright enough to light a small city.
Of course, setting up a website means they need a name. After Sam shoots down Cherry Pie, American Pie, Pie in the Sky, and Easy as Pie, Dean says, "Fine, you come up with something, genius."
Three days later, he's got a Facebook page set up for The Pie Truck. Maybe he does lack vision.
"I like it," Dean says. "Now are you gonna twat about it?"
Sam buries his face in his hands. "Tweet, Dean. I'm gonna tweet about it."
Dean claps and rubs his hands together. "Excellent."
"Yes, Mr. Burns."
Dean's laugh is loud enough to set the dog barking out in the yard.
The first day is nerve-wracking. They set up shop across from the mall near Bobby's house, and wait. A security guard wanders over.
"What've you got?" he asks, eyeing them skeptically.
"Apple, cherry, or blueberry," Dean says. "All baked right here in this very truck."
"I'll have a slice of blueberry," the guy says.
Dean slices the blueberry, making sure the guy can see it's fresh out of the oven, and Sam says, "That'll be $3.14."
Dean hands over the slice of pie and a fork wrapped in plastic, the guy digs the cash out of his pocket and hands it to Sam, and just like that, they're in business.
It's a lot of work, but not nearly as hard as Sam expected it to be, especially once they start getting a reputation for having great pie. And once they've filled out all the licensing paperwork so they don't get run off by the cops in every town. Dean wants to be the Pillsbury brothers on the applications, but Sam vetoes that, as well as Crocker and Hines, and he's so annoyed by the time he's done that he does something he regrets as soon as the paperwork is out of his hands, even though it's totally worth Dean's outraged, "You named us after Chandler Bing?"
"I named us after Bing cherries." Dean opens his mouth and Sam says, "Don't even go there, or I swear to god, I will pop you."
"You're about sixteen years too late for that." Dean flashes a smug grin.
Sam snorts. "I guess that's just the pits for me."
Dean thwacks the back of his head. "Shut up. We have people to save and monsters to hunt."
"And pies to bake."
Dean's grin this time is wide and sunny. "And pies to bake. I'm thinking tomorrow's special should be strawberry-rhubarb with a crumb crust."
Sam's stomach rumbles in anticipation.
end
~*~
Feedback is delicious!
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/233300.html.
people have commented there.
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; pg; 1,405 words
In which Dean has a brilliant idea that even Sam (reluctantly) agrees is brilliant. Also, there is pie.
For the lovely innie_darling & tenaciousmetoo on their birthday. Thanks to angelgazing for all her help and hand-holding.
~*~
Easy as Pie
They're stuck in traffic on the FDR when Dean says, "We should have a pie truck."
Sam, still fuzzy from dozing against the passenger-side window, says, "What?"
"A pie truck. A truck of pie." Dean grins in that maniacal way that makes Sam understand why people would think they're serial killers, but which Sam secretly finds endearing because it means Dean is actually pleased with himself and the world. It's a close relation to Dean's grin when he successfully embarrasses Sam, and not quite as mellow as his just-got-laid grin. Sam catalogues these expressions in great detail. He always has, but for a while the memories were like pictures from other people's vacations--vaguely familiar, but not particularly meaningful. It's harder than he expected to let the emotions that go with the memories wash over him, and he covers it up by reverting to being Dean's annoying little brother.
"A truck made of pie? That doesn't seem very useful."
Dean grunts. "You have no vision, Sam."
"No delusions of grandeur, you mean."
"No, I mean vision. Not a truck made of pie, moron. A truck where we make pie! To sell."
Sam shifts in his seat so he can face Dean more easily. "This is because the last three meals we ate came from trucks, right?"
"Right," Dean says, "and don't even tell me those waffles weren't awesome."
"The waffles were awesome," Sam is forced to admit, even if having to eat them in the car was an endless litany of do not get hot fudge sauce on the upholstery, Sam and I don't want to have to wash ice cream residue off the dashboard, Sam, as if Sam were still a messy five-year-old. It'd probably be comforting, if it weren't so freaking annoying.
"But you know what's even more awesome than waffles?"
"I'm sure you're about to tell me." It's easy to play straight man in Dean's comedy routine. That's comforting, too, and familiar.
"Pie!"
"True," Sam says, "but there's just one problem."
"Just one?" Dean asks, surprised.
"No, there's a lot more than one, but there's one main one, which is, just who is going to make this pie?"
"We are. Well, I am. You can, like, handle the cash and, I don't know, make a website. I'm not letting you near the food."
"What the hell do you know about baking a pie?"
"How hard can it be? We stopped the apocalypse. We will not be beaten by pie."
"You do realize you can't just make Jell-o and Cool Whip pie in frozen pie shells, right?"
"I have fought the hounds of hell, Sam. I think I can manage a real fruit pie."
It makes Sam sick even now to think about it, but he can't lose ground in an argument just because of his feelings. "You lost to the hounds of hell, Dean."
Dean waves a hand airily, as if everything that happened doesn't still keep him up nights sometimes. "I'm here, aren't I?" he says, as if that settles everything. And as points go, it's pretty indisputable, but Sam's never really found it easy to back down even in the face of an unwinnable argument. "And that was a great Thanksgiving, don't even front."
"Okay, so let's say you actually learn how to make pie that is not only edible, but salable. We can't afford to buy a truck and outfit it with an oven or whatever. And what about the Impala? Are you really going to hook a pie truck up to her?"
Dean pales a little bit at that, and Sam ruthlessly quashes the pang of guilt he feels at torpedoing his brother's wild idea, because there's just no way it could ever happen.
Sam crosses his arms over his chest and nods once, decisively. "That's what I thought."
Which doesn't explain how, a month later, they're holed up at Bobby's while Bobby and Dean retrofit an old Mr. Softee truck with a counter and a portable oven hot enough to bake an apple crumb pie to golden brown crunchy goodness.
Bobby's neighbor took pity on Dean when he gave her some sob story about how he'd always dreamed of being a pie maker, and even though Sam's pretty sure she knows it was a snow job, Dean spends every hour he's not working on the truck with her, learning how to bake. If they're doing anything else, Sam doesn't want to know about it.
The first time Dean bakes a pie for them in Bobby's cluttered kitchen, the house smells like apples and cinnamon, and Dean's got that frazzled frantic edge Sam remembers from hunts back before the world almost ended and everything got heavy.
Dean insists they wait until it's cool before they cut it, and then doesn't touch the slice in front of him--he watches Sam and Bobby with that wide-eyed, hopeful look Sam doesn't see much of anymore.
Bobby gets a glob of pie on his fork and shovels it into his mouth, proving once again that he's a braver man than either Winchester, and chews thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Not bad," he says, taking another forkful.
Sam mans up and takes a bite of his own slice. "'S'good," he says around a mouthful of apples and crumbs. And it is--the apples are the right combination of sweet, tart, and spicy, and the crumbs are really buttery.
"Yeah?" Dean asks, his own fork still hovering above his plate.
"Yeah," Sam says. "Would I lie to you?" Dean gives him a look. "Don't answer that. Would I lie to you about this?"
Dean finally takes a bite. He cocks his head thoughtfully as he chews and licks his lips when he's done. "Yeah," he finally says. "Better than store-bought, anyway."
"I guess I better get that website set up," Sam says, and Dean's answering grin is bright enough to light a small city.
Of course, setting up a website means they need a name. After Sam shoots down Cherry Pie, American Pie, Pie in the Sky, and Easy as Pie, Dean says, "Fine, you come up with something, genius."
Three days later, he's got a Facebook page set up for The Pie Truck. Maybe he does lack vision.
"I like it," Dean says. "Now are you gonna twat about it?"
Sam buries his face in his hands. "Tweet, Dean. I'm gonna tweet about it."
Dean claps and rubs his hands together. "Excellent."
"Yes, Mr. Burns."
Dean's laugh is loud enough to set the dog barking out in the yard.
The first day is nerve-wracking. They set up shop across from the mall near Bobby's house, and wait. A security guard wanders over.
"What've you got?" he asks, eyeing them skeptically.
"Apple, cherry, or blueberry," Dean says. "All baked right here in this very truck."
"I'll have a slice of blueberry," the guy says.
Dean slices the blueberry, making sure the guy can see it's fresh out of the oven, and Sam says, "That'll be $3.14."
Dean hands over the slice of pie and a fork wrapped in plastic, the guy digs the cash out of his pocket and hands it to Sam, and just like that, they're in business.
It's a lot of work, but not nearly as hard as Sam expected it to be, especially once they start getting a reputation for having great pie. And once they've filled out all the licensing paperwork so they don't get run off by the cops in every town. Dean wants to be the Pillsbury brothers on the applications, but Sam vetoes that, as well as Crocker and Hines, and he's so annoyed by the time he's done that he does something he regrets as soon as the paperwork is out of his hands, even though it's totally worth Dean's outraged, "You named us after Chandler Bing?"
"I named us after Bing cherries." Dean opens his mouth and Sam says, "Don't even go there, or I swear to god, I will pop you."
"You're about sixteen years too late for that." Dean flashes a smug grin.
Sam snorts. "I guess that's just the pits for me."
Dean thwacks the back of his head. "Shut up. We have people to save and monsters to hunt."
"And pies to bake."
Dean's grin this time is wide and sunny. "And pies to bake. I'm thinking tomorrow's special should be strawberry-rhubarb with a crumb crust."
Sam's stomach rumbles in anticipation.
end
~*~
Feedback is delicious!
~*~
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/233300.html.
people have commented there.