Lost/SPN Fic: The Immortals Try Blueberry Pie (Miles/Richard, Dean/Cas)
Title: The Immortals Try Blueberry Pie
Pairings: Miles/Richard, Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,203
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Apple pie at one in the morning would just be ridiculous.
A/N: This started life as a WIP that has been languishing on my computer forever, but pann_cake’s awesome Five Acts prompts inspired me to finish it for her.
They pull up in front of an all-night diner with a neon red light flickering in the rain like a beacon promising greasy burgers and at least eleven different flavors of pie. Richard looks over at Miles and he’s grinning as if they’ve just stumbled upon the promise land.
“Trust me, man. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten a slice of blueberry pie at one in the morning,” Miles says.
Richard tries to smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace as he steps out of the car and into the rain. He ducks his head and runs for the shelter of the diner’s awning, it takes him a moment to realize Miles isn’t with him. He turns to find his friend standing in the rain looking longingly at a classic car parked near the door.
“Miles! Come on, you’re getting drenched!”
Miles shakes himself from his reverie and joins Richard; he’s shivering slightly from the rain. Richard sighs and shrugs out of his jacket and passes it to Miles.
“Put this on,” he says and Miles grins wickedly. Richard braces himself for the inevitable sarcasm.
“Aw,” Miles says. “Does this mean we’re going steady?”
“It means I don’t want you to die.”
“Close enough.”
Miles leads the way into the diner, their shoes squeaking and sliding as they cross the slick linoleum floor. The place is empty aside from a few bored waitresses, a fry cook, and two men staring intently at their menus in a booth by the window. Richard realizes they must be the owners of the car Miles had found so enthralling.
“What was so special about that car?” Richard asks as they slide into their own booth.
Miles shakes his head at Richard as if he’s missing something obvious. Luckily, Richard is no longer offended by Miles’s look. He’s gotten one at least twice a day since he left the island and embarked on a trip of endless meandering with Miles. It used to bother him, but he can see the affection in it now, even if Miles tries his best to hide it.
“Dude, that’s a ‘67 Impala. There’s nothing not special about it. It’s kickass, just look at it.”
Richard squints at the car, he can barely make out the shape through the dark and the rain.
“I’m not sure it’s worth catching pneumonia over,” Richard says.
“Says you.”
The waitress, a young girl with strawberry blonde hair and a crooked smile, comes over to take their order.
“What can I get for you boys?”
Miles winks at Richard, no doubt enjoying the ridiculousness of anyone referring to Richard as a boy, and passes the waitress their menus without bothering to look at them.
“Two slices of blueberry pie, extra whipped cream and two coffees.”
The waitress looks apologetic.
“I’m sorry; the gentlemen in the back just ordered the last two pieces. We have banana cream though and Jerry makes the best apple pie in the county.”
Miles looks scandalized.
“Seriously? There’s no more…are you sure?”
Richard stifles a laugh, but quickly stops when Miles glares at him.
“Sorry,” she says.
“Just the coffees then,” Miles mutters.
The waitress leaves to get their coffees and Miles cranes his neck to look at the men behind them. Richard thinks they look normal enough, a bit odd together though. The one facing him appears to be around Miles’s age and he looks a bit rough around the edges with his jean jacket and the bruise blossoming around his left eye. From behind the other man appears to be some sort of business man; he’s wearing a trench coat…not at all practical for this type of weather.
Miles turns back to Richard and there’s a dangerous glint in his eye. Inwardly, Richard groans.
“They haven’t started eating yet,” he says slowly. “Feel like saying hi?”
“Miles, can we please not accost those men while they’re trying to eat. Just order another flavor.”
“I’m doing this for you, you know.”
Richard arches an eyebrow.
“For me?”
“So you’ll know the joys of blueberry pie at one in the morning. There are no substitutes; apple pie at one in the morning is just ridiculous---”
“This conversation is ridiculous.”
“Just come on.”
Miles gets up and Richard has no choice but to follow. Richard can’t help but wonder if they’re about to get into a fistfight over pie. Either way, they’re in this together. Even if this is quickly devolving into the absurd.
They approach the table together, Richard hanging back slightly, trying his best to look non-threatening. The men look up warily.
“That your car?” Miles asks.
“Yeah,” the younger man answers.
“She’s badass.”
The man grins.
“Damn straight, she’s my baby.”
“She looks like she’s in perfect condition, how the hell did you pull that off?”
“Oh, she’s taken some licks, trust me. She’s been rebuilt a couple of times.”
“No way.”
Richard exchanges a glance with the other man. He’s been as quiet as Richard; the two of them watching their companions talk excitedly about a car. Despite being close to the other two’s age, Richard notes that the man in the trenchcoat looks as baffled as Richard feels. There’s something else too, something in his eyes that seems so familiar.
“I’m Miles,” Miles says. “And this is my buddy, Richard.”
“I’m Dean, this chatterbox is Cas.”
Cas nods at Richard.
“It is nice to meet you,” he says formally.
Richard is a bit taken aback by the man’s voice. It almost sounds like a growl.
“Do you mind if we join you?” Miles asks.
Dean looks hesitant and his hand twitches slightly under the table. If Richard didn’t know better, he’d think the boy was going for a gun.
“Pull up a chair,” Dean says.
Miles grabs two from a nearby table and gestures for Richard to sit down. Richard wonders what Miles is planning. He hopes it doesn’t involve stealing pie.
“So, what are you two doing out so late?” Dean asks.
“We’ve been traveling around for a few months now,” Miles answers. “Seeing the sights. We’re on our way to Austen to see a friend, thought we’d grab a bite before we crashed for the night. What about you two?”
“We’re roadtripping it too. Cas doesn’t get out much, do ya?”
Cas looks pained.
“No.”
“What business are you two in?” Richard asks. It’s a reliable question; he used to break it out when he was searching for neutral topics to discuss with the people he bumped into while he was away from the island.
“We’re FBI,” Dean says without hesitation, flashing a badge too quickly for Richard to get a good look at it. He’s lying, Richard decides instantly. That’s not a good sign.
Cas tries to imitate Dean’s flourish, but fumbles his badge, nearly dropping it into his steaming, untouched cup of coffee. Richard feels a light touch on his hand under the table, he doesn’t have to look at Miles to know they’re on the same page. There’s something off about these men. But then, the same could be said for the pair of them, Richard reminds himself.
“Cool,” Miles says, “You get the shiner on the job?”
Dean smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Sure did.”
“Huh.”
The waitress arrives at the table with two slices of pie, both of them oozing berries from the sides of their delicate, flaky crusts. Despite himself, Richard feels his mouth begin to water. He really has been around Miles for too long.
Dean snatches up his fork with unbridled glee, ready to dig in with abandon. It is easily the most enthusiastic Richard has ever seen anyone get over food and he used to live on a desert island where half-starved castaways routinely washed up on shore.
Miles reaches for Dean’s wrist, clearly a mistake because Dean jerks away from his touch well before it lands.
“Hey, buddy, keep your hand to yourself if you don’t want to lose it.”
Miles holds his hands up by way of apology.
“I have a proposition for you,” Miles says.
“Sorry, man, I don’t play for your team.”
“That’s too bad,” Miles smirks. “But that’s not what I was talking about. See, I promised my friend here blueberry pie, he’s never tried it. But you handsome fellows bought the last two slices.”
Cas cocks his head to one side, examining Richard closely.
“You’re much older than you look,” Cas states rather than asks and Richard feels his back stiffen. Beside him Miles pales. He taps
Richard on the arm, pushing him to get up.
“Come on, Richard. Enjoy your pie,” Miles says hastily, but Cas reaches out and catches Richard’s wrist.
“What are you?” he asks, his voice full of curiosity.
Richard shakes his head.
“Let go of my wrist.”
There’s an audible click of a gun being cocked, confirming Richard’s earlier suspicion.
Miles looks from Richard to Cas to Dean with his hand still hidden under the table, but no doubt pointing straight at Richard.
“Everyone calm the fuck down,” he hisses, jerking Richard back down into the booth.
“My friend asked your friend a question,” Dean says. “And we’re going to need an answer.”
“This is just a mis--” Richard begins, but Miles cuts him off.
“You really want to play that card, dude?” Miles asks Dean. “How many times have you died? Three?”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“It’s a gift,” Miles shoots back. “And your buddy here has some weird shit going on too. I don’t know what exactly, but it ain’t normal. So stop throwing bricks in your damn glass house and we’ll be on our merry. Cool?”
“That’s not happening,” Dean says evenly and Miles groans, burying his face in his hands.
“It’s okay, Miles,” Richard says trying his best to be reassuring. “Dean here has a gun that I would prefer he not use on us. Let’s just tell them what they want to know.”
Miles’s laugh sounds strangled.
“Fine. I hear dead people and he’s immortal. Or he was, we’re not sure what the situation is anymore, but if you decide to play Mr. Wizard and shoot him to find out, I will kill you if you don’t kill me first.”
It’s strange how comforted Richard is by those words.
“You’re not immortal anymore,” Cas offers. “I would be able to sense it if you were.”
“How?” Richard asks, but Dean shoots Cas a warning look.
“It’s not important how,” he says before turning to Dean. “They’re not dangerous, Dean. I believe they only want our pie.”
Dean’s jaw is still clenched, his body tense like he’s ready for a fight, but Cas rests a hand on his arm and Richard can see the muscles in his face relax. The boy really is a magnificent liar on all counts.
Cas slides his slice of pie toward Richard.
“I’ve never tried blueberry pie, either,” he says softly. “You take this one. I can share with Dean.”
Richard wants to ask the man so many questions, but he knows better than to press his luck. Besides, he has more than one lifetime’s worth of experience at living with questions without answers.
“Thank you,” Richard says, trying to put the weight into those two words that they deserve.
He slides out of the booth, pie in hand. Miles quickly follows.
“We’re getting that to go,” he mutters. “And then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
*
By the time they stop driving the rain has slowed to a drizzle. They pull off at a gas station and sitting in the car illuminated by the glow of floodlights, Richard takes his first bite of blueberry pie. The crust has grown soggy during the drive and the cool whip has melted into a pool of sugary liquid on the bottom of the Styrofoam container. It’s the most delicious thing Richard has ever tasted.
Miles is watching him, grinning, so Richard passes him the fork. Miles takes his own bite and looks slightly disappointed.
“Not bad, but it’s better warm.”
Richard leans forward, one hand slipping into Miles’s short hair to haul him closer. He kisses Miles, gently at first, but the night has been long and strange and more than a little bit scary, so the gentleness quickly gives way to desperation. He slides his tongue against Miles’s and tastes sugar and blueberries, an echo of the flavors already in his own mouth.
Richard pulls away, their lips parting with a smack. Miles is smirking, far too pleased with himself for his own good. Richard returns his attention to the pie.
“I’m glad we play for the same team,” Richard says, without looking at Miles.
Beside him Miles snorts, remembering.
“That Dean dude was full of shit. There’s no way he’s not screwing Captain Trench Coat.”
Richard doesn’t comment, just offers Miles the fork again, but Miles waves him away.
“Have at it, I’ll have my dessert later,” he winks and Richard shakes his head.
It truly has been a very strange night.
But Miles was right about one thing, there really is nothing quite like the taste of blueberry pie at one in the morning. He glances at his watch.
Or at 2:30.
Pairings: Miles/Richard, Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,203
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Apple pie at one in the morning would just be ridiculous.
A/N: This started life as a WIP that has been languishing on my computer forever, but pann_cake’s awesome Five Acts prompts inspired me to finish it for her.
They pull up in front of an all-night diner with a neon red light flickering in the rain like a beacon promising greasy burgers and at least eleven different flavors of pie. Richard looks over at Miles and he’s grinning as if they’ve just stumbled upon the promise land.
“Trust me, man. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten a slice of blueberry pie at one in the morning,” Miles says.
Richard tries to smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace as he steps out of the car and into the rain. He ducks his head and runs for the shelter of the diner’s awning, it takes him a moment to realize Miles isn’t with him. He turns to find his friend standing in the rain looking longingly at a classic car parked near the door.
“Miles! Come on, you’re getting drenched!”
Miles shakes himself from his reverie and joins Richard; he’s shivering slightly from the rain. Richard sighs and shrugs out of his jacket and passes it to Miles.
“Put this on,” he says and Miles grins wickedly. Richard braces himself for the inevitable sarcasm.
“Aw,” Miles says. “Does this mean we’re going steady?”
“It means I don’t want you to die.”
“Close enough.”
Miles leads the way into the diner, their shoes squeaking and sliding as they cross the slick linoleum floor. The place is empty aside from a few bored waitresses, a fry cook, and two men staring intently at their menus in a booth by the window. Richard realizes they must be the owners of the car Miles had found so enthralling.
“What was so special about that car?” Richard asks as they slide into their own booth.
Miles shakes his head at Richard as if he’s missing something obvious. Luckily, Richard is no longer offended by Miles’s look. He’s gotten one at least twice a day since he left the island and embarked on a trip of endless meandering with Miles. It used to bother him, but he can see the affection in it now, even if Miles tries his best to hide it.
“Dude, that’s a ‘67 Impala. There’s nothing not special about it. It’s kickass, just look at it.”
Richard squints at the car, he can barely make out the shape through the dark and the rain.
“I’m not sure it’s worth catching pneumonia over,” Richard says.
“Says you.”
The waitress, a young girl with strawberry blonde hair and a crooked smile, comes over to take their order.
“What can I get for you boys?”
Miles winks at Richard, no doubt enjoying the ridiculousness of anyone referring to Richard as a boy, and passes the waitress their menus without bothering to look at them.
“Two slices of blueberry pie, extra whipped cream and two coffees.”
The waitress looks apologetic.
“I’m sorry; the gentlemen in the back just ordered the last two pieces. We have banana cream though and Jerry makes the best apple pie in the county.”
Miles looks scandalized.
“Seriously? There’s no more…are you sure?”
Richard stifles a laugh, but quickly stops when Miles glares at him.
“Sorry,” she says.
“Just the coffees then,” Miles mutters.
The waitress leaves to get their coffees and Miles cranes his neck to look at the men behind them. Richard thinks they look normal enough, a bit odd together though. The one facing him appears to be around Miles’s age and he looks a bit rough around the edges with his jean jacket and the bruise blossoming around his left eye. From behind the other man appears to be some sort of business man; he’s wearing a trench coat…not at all practical for this type of weather.
Miles turns back to Richard and there’s a dangerous glint in his eye. Inwardly, Richard groans.
“They haven’t started eating yet,” he says slowly. “Feel like saying hi?”
“Miles, can we please not accost those men while they’re trying to eat. Just order another flavor.”
“I’m doing this for you, you know.”
Richard arches an eyebrow.
“For me?”
“So you’ll know the joys of blueberry pie at one in the morning. There are no substitutes; apple pie at one in the morning is just ridiculous---”
“This conversation is ridiculous.”
“Just come on.”
Miles gets up and Richard has no choice but to follow. Richard can’t help but wonder if they’re about to get into a fistfight over pie. Either way, they’re in this together. Even if this is quickly devolving into the absurd.
They approach the table together, Richard hanging back slightly, trying his best to look non-threatening. The men look up warily.
“That your car?” Miles asks.
“Yeah,” the younger man answers.
“She’s badass.”
The man grins.
“Damn straight, she’s my baby.”
“She looks like she’s in perfect condition, how the hell did you pull that off?”
“Oh, she’s taken some licks, trust me. She’s been rebuilt a couple of times.”
“No way.”
Richard exchanges a glance with the other man. He’s been as quiet as Richard; the two of them watching their companions talk excitedly about a car. Despite being close to the other two’s age, Richard notes that the man in the trenchcoat looks as baffled as Richard feels. There’s something else too, something in his eyes that seems so familiar.
“I’m Miles,” Miles says. “And this is my buddy, Richard.”
“I’m Dean, this chatterbox is Cas.”
Cas nods at Richard.
“It is nice to meet you,” he says formally.
Richard is a bit taken aback by the man’s voice. It almost sounds like a growl.
“Do you mind if we join you?” Miles asks.
Dean looks hesitant and his hand twitches slightly under the table. If Richard didn’t know better, he’d think the boy was going for a gun.
“Pull up a chair,” Dean says.
Miles grabs two from a nearby table and gestures for Richard to sit down. Richard wonders what Miles is planning. He hopes it doesn’t involve stealing pie.
“So, what are you two doing out so late?” Dean asks.
“We’ve been traveling around for a few months now,” Miles answers. “Seeing the sights. We’re on our way to Austen to see a friend, thought we’d grab a bite before we crashed for the night. What about you two?”
“We’re roadtripping it too. Cas doesn’t get out much, do ya?”
Cas looks pained.
“No.”
“What business are you two in?” Richard asks. It’s a reliable question; he used to break it out when he was searching for neutral topics to discuss with the people he bumped into while he was away from the island.
“We’re FBI,” Dean says without hesitation, flashing a badge too quickly for Richard to get a good look at it. He’s lying, Richard decides instantly. That’s not a good sign.
Cas tries to imitate Dean’s flourish, but fumbles his badge, nearly dropping it into his steaming, untouched cup of coffee. Richard feels a light touch on his hand under the table, he doesn’t have to look at Miles to know they’re on the same page. There’s something off about these men. But then, the same could be said for the pair of them, Richard reminds himself.
“Cool,” Miles says, “You get the shiner on the job?”
Dean smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Sure did.”
“Huh.”
The waitress arrives at the table with two slices of pie, both of them oozing berries from the sides of their delicate, flaky crusts. Despite himself, Richard feels his mouth begin to water. He really has been around Miles for too long.
Dean snatches up his fork with unbridled glee, ready to dig in with abandon. It is easily the most enthusiastic Richard has ever seen anyone get over food and he used to live on a desert island where half-starved castaways routinely washed up on shore.
Miles reaches for Dean’s wrist, clearly a mistake because Dean jerks away from his touch well before it lands.
“Hey, buddy, keep your hand to yourself if you don’t want to lose it.”
Miles holds his hands up by way of apology.
“I have a proposition for you,” Miles says.
“Sorry, man, I don’t play for your team.”
“That’s too bad,” Miles smirks. “But that’s not what I was talking about. See, I promised my friend here blueberry pie, he’s never tried it. But you handsome fellows bought the last two slices.”
Cas cocks his head to one side, examining Richard closely.
“You’re much older than you look,” Cas states rather than asks and Richard feels his back stiffen. Beside him Miles pales. He taps
Richard on the arm, pushing him to get up.
“Come on, Richard. Enjoy your pie,” Miles says hastily, but Cas reaches out and catches Richard’s wrist.
“What are you?” he asks, his voice full of curiosity.
Richard shakes his head.
“Let go of my wrist.”
There’s an audible click of a gun being cocked, confirming Richard’s earlier suspicion.
Miles looks from Richard to Cas to Dean with his hand still hidden under the table, but no doubt pointing straight at Richard.
“Everyone calm the fuck down,” he hisses, jerking Richard back down into the booth.
“My friend asked your friend a question,” Dean says. “And we’re going to need an answer.”
“This is just a mis--” Richard begins, but Miles cuts him off.
“You really want to play that card, dude?” Miles asks Dean. “How many times have you died? Three?”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“It’s a gift,” Miles shoots back. “And your buddy here has some weird shit going on too. I don’t know what exactly, but it ain’t normal. So stop throwing bricks in your damn glass house and we’ll be on our merry. Cool?”
“That’s not happening,” Dean says evenly and Miles groans, burying his face in his hands.
“It’s okay, Miles,” Richard says trying his best to be reassuring. “Dean here has a gun that I would prefer he not use on us. Let’s just tell them what they want to know.”
Miles’s laugh sounds strangled.
“Fine. I hear dead people and he’s immortal. Or he was, we’re not sure what the situation is anymore, but if you decide to play Mr. Wizard and shoot him to find out, I will kill you if you don’t kill me first.”
It’s strange how comforted Richard is by those words.
“You’re not immortal anymore,” Cas offers. “I would be able to sense it if you were.”
“How?” Richard asks, but Dean shoots Cas a warning look.
“It’s not important how,” he says before turning to Dean. “They’re not dangerous, Dean. I believe they only want our pie.”
Dean’s jaw is still clenched, his body tense like he’s ready for a fight, but Cas rests a hand on his arm and Richard can see the muscles in his face relax. The boy really is a magnificent liar on all counts.
Cas slides his slice of pie toward Richard.
“I’ve never tried blueberry pie, either,” he says softly. “You take this one. I can share with Dean.”
Richard wants to ask the man so many questions, but he knows better than to press his luck. Besides, he has more than one lifetime’s worth of experience at living with questions without answers.
“Thank you,” Richard says, trying to put the weight into those two words that they deserve.
He slides out of the booth, pie in hand. Miles quickly follows.
“We’re getting that to go,” he mutters. “And then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
*
By the time they stop driving the rain has slowed to a drizzle. They pull off at a gas station and sitting in the car illuminated by the glow of floodlights, Richard takes his first bite of blueberry pie. The crust has grown soggy during the drive and the cool whip has melted into a pool of sugary liquid on the bottom of the Styrofoam container. It’s the most delicious thing Richard has ever tasted.
Miles is watching him, grinning, so Richard passes him the fork. Miles takes his own bite and looks slightly disappointed.
“Not bad, but it’s better warm.”
Richard leans forward, one hand slipping into Miles’s short hair to haul him closer. He kisses Miles, gently at first, but the night has been long and strange and more than a little bit scary, so the gentleness quickly gives way to desperation. He slides his tongue against Miles’s and tastes sugar and blueberries, an echo of the flavors already in his own mouth.
Richard pulls away, their lips parting with a smack. Miles is smirking, far too pleased with himself for his own good. Richard returns his attention to the pie.
“I’m glad we play for the same team,” Richard says, without looking at Miles.
Beside him Miles snorts, remembering.
“That Dean dude was full of shit. There’s no way he’s not screwing Captain Trench Coat.”
Richard doesn’t comment, just offers Miles the fork again, but Miles waves him away.
“Have at it, I’ll have my dessert later,” he winks and Richard shakes his head.
It truly has been a very strange night.
But Miles was right about one thing, there really is nothing quite like the taste of blueberry pie at one in the morning. He glances at his watch.
Or at 2:30.