The One That Got Away
Title: "The One That Got Away"
Written for spn_bigpretzel's 2019 Spring Madness
Prompted by theymp
Rated: Gen
Starring: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester and Herbert
Beta: spoonlessone
Artwork: jdl71
The prompt was: "Dean stared in horror at the baked goods. It seemed this pie hadn't just turned out bad, it was evil."
Lebanon was one of those places were nothing much changed, and everybody knew everyone else’s business - or almost everyone else’s at least. They knew when the kids were going to play hooky and gather at the old farmhouse with their illicit six-pack of Miller Lite. They knew when old Enoch Schwann was courting Widow Hendrix that she was going to take him for every penny he had before he was much older, and they thought for sure that the Campbell brothers were running one of those new fangled Air B&B things, and that they would pretty soon settle down and start courting themselves, such fine looking young men as they were.
So daily life went on much as usual, with nothing to do except gossip - until the day the store arrived. It was weird that nobody noticed it had appeared overnight. One day it was an empty lot, and the next day there was a store - a bakery in fact - with delicious goods in the window and stacked on the shelves. Everything from sourdough to challah bread, cookies, cakes and pies were on display, and the proprietor, a charming feller with a refined accent, was ready to sell you his goods for a price that seemed pretty damned reasonable for such deliciousness.
The store had been open for around a week and a half when Sam and Dean arrived in town with their grocery list. As usual, they separated, Sam to pick up the order of groceries, while Dean headed to the liquor store for their usual order.
He was heading back to the Impala, loaded up with their week’s supply of alcohol, when he noticed the smell. It wasn’t a bad smell, in fact quite the reverse. Dean’s nostrils quivered like a bunny rabbit’s, and he skidded to a stop, inhaling, savoring, and doing his best not to drool onto his t-shirt.
Racing to the Impala with his burden, he stashed it hastily and then turned back to where he had caught that incredible scent. Sam had just rounded the corner to bring their grocery order back to the car, and, spotting Dean, he called out. Dean didn’t pause, merely waved vaguely behind him and continued towards the source of that tantalizing odor.
Pushing the door open to the little bakery, Dean stood, breathing in the aroma of freshly baked cakes and cookies, bread and... pies. He took in the scents, the sights, felt the warmth of the damp atmosphere caused by the fresh, delicious food that arrayed the shelves.
“Good afternoon.”
Dean jumped, suddenly shocked out of the trance that had been caused by overexposure to the overwhelming deliciousness. “Uh... hi!”
The proprietor stepped forward and smiled. “May I interest you in something? A black forest cake, or...” the man paused, considering. “No. I believe you would be far more interested in... a pie.”
Dean stood, transfixed. The voice was soft, insinuating, and the accent was cultured. All Dean could think about was that amazing scent. It was almost as if he were hypnotised by his surroundings.
“Pie, yes. I love pie.”
“Perhaps you would like to see my current offerings,” said the man, emerging from behind the counter and gesturing for Dean to follow. In one corner of the store, which suddenly seemed to be larger than it had appeared from outside, were pies, dozens of pies. There were cherry pies, apple and rhubarb, chocolate, pecan, lemon meringue, and in the center of the display, giving off the intoxicating scent of sugary fruit, stood the most mouth watering pie Dean had ever seen. The crust was flaky and golden, crispy and glittering with sugar. It smelled of summer fruit and spices, and Dean felt his mouth watering.
“Oh, my Chuck!” he said, and for a moment, the proprietor winced. Dean was far too enamored of the pie to notice, and the moment was soon gone. “How much?”
“For you, the price is $10.” The salesman beamed. “It’s always wonderful to see a man who knows exactly what he wants. I’m sure that you and the pie will be happy together.”
Dean fumbled a ten dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it into the other man’s hand, and after a moment, the pie was plucked from its place of honor and tenderly placed into a white cardboard box. Dean appeared dazed as he took the box and left the store to make his way back to the Impala.
Sam was stowing their groceries into the trunk when Dean arrived back at the car, and said nothing as Dean slid his prize onto the back seat. On their way back to the bunker, the scent of the pie drifted over to Dean, promising the most delectable experience of his life. He moaned a little, and Sam raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“Something you wanna tell me?” he asked. “Pretty sure you didn’t have time to get laid, so what’s the reason for this euphoria?”
“Nope. Didn’t need to get laid, Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “All you need to do is smell the fragrance of that amazing piece of culinary excellence on the back seat, and you’ll understand everything.” He beamed at his brother. “Sammy, I’m not kidding. I’ve never seen such an amazing pie in my life.”
Sam inhaled deeply and then shook his head. “I can’t smell a damned thing, Dean. You sure you’ve got a pie in that box?”
“Sure do,” Dean licked his lips and smirked. “Got me the prince of pies right there on the back seat. If you can’t smell it, then we need to get you some antihistamine. You’ve got hay fever.” Dean’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he drew up outside of the bunker and hopped out, yanked open the rear door and grabbed his pie, disappearing into the bunker and leaving Sam behind to haul not only the groceries but also the booze down into their underground residence.
Muttering under his breath, Sam began to gather up their purchases and carry them down into the study. He was just arranging all the bottles in the liquor cabinet when there came a horrendous yell from the kitchen. Sam almost dropped a bottle of Jim Beam in his haste to go find out what the cause of the ruckus was, but when he had finally set the bottle down and raced down the corridor to the kitchen, his first inclination was to hoot with laughter.
Dean had set the pie out on the counter, and it was obvious that he had intended to cut himself a slice right away. There was a knife on the counter, a plate standing ready, but Dean appeared to have bypassed all the niceties and gone straight for the kill and as Sam ran in to see what had made Dean yell, he could see his brother had for some reason plunged his hand into the pie and was performing some kind of crazed dance.
“I know you’re fond of pie, but don’t you think you’re going a bit over the top, Dean?” asked Sam, smirking as he surveyed the scene.
“No, you don’t understand,” said Dean, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. “The pie... it bit me.” He was apparently trying to pull his hand free as he spoke. “It’s eating me, Sammy.”
“Very funny, man!” Sam applauded. “I think you’re hilarious. Now stop fooling around and come help me with the groceries.” Dean was about to say something obscene, when the pie made a kind of grunting sound and more of Dean disappeared into it. Dean screamed and tears began to run down his face.
“God! Do something, Sammy. I tell you, it’s eating me. It’s a goddamn demon or something.”
"It's a *pie*, Dean, not a demon," Sam rolled his eyes in disgust. "Dangerous only to the taste buds."
The pie made a chomping sound as it took in another couple of inches of his arm. "Then why is it munching its way up my arm, Sammy? It wants to devour me utterly!"
"Dean, you're hallucinating, I think." Sam studied the offending confection and frowned. "That's just stupid," he said, poking it, then promptly dropped to the ground and covered his head as the pie snapped at him, too.
"Told you," Dean announced grumpily. "The damned thing isn’t selective. My death won't even be meaningful."
“Where in hell did you get that damned thing from?” Sam climbed to his feet and sheepishly brushed himself off.
“The new bakery on Grove. It was... it was calling to me.” The pie gave a gurgling chomp and moved another couple of inches up Dean’s forearm, and Sam gave a yell. “Come on. We’re going back there right now.” He grabbed hold of Dean and hauled. Dean finally was jerked away from the countertop with a huge, ripping sound, and the two of them fell to the floor. The pie made a belching, laughing sound and took in a little more of Dean’s arm.
Sam drove. Dean, in the back seat, was doing his best to dislodge the pie’s grip on his arm by putting both his feet on the plate and pulling. He was having very little success so far, and when the smell of burning rubber finally impinged on him, he realized that something was eating away at the soles of his boots.
By the time they arrived back at the town center, such as it was, Dean was in dire straits, and the pie had reached his elbow.
Both Sam and Dean raced from the car to the bakery, and as Sam flung the door open, the proprietor called from the back room. “You just made it in time. I was about to close the shop.”
There was something very familiar about that voice, and as the man appeared through the door to the back, Sam gave a shout. “Balthazar?”
“At your service, my dear fellow. How may I help you?”
“You can get my brother free from this malevolent pastry. If you wouldn’t mind.” Sam loomed over the man. “I do have an angel blade, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“My dear boy, there’s absolutely no need to go to such trouble.” Balthazar snapped his fingers and whistled, “Down, Herbert!” and the pie made a vile slurping sound, then spat Dean’s arm out, where it hung, his shirt shredded and his skin an angry, inflamed looking red, dripping with sticky pie filling. “No sooner said than done.”
Herbert the pie flapped its lid at Dean and gave a sepulchral laugh as it somehow made its way around behind the counter and into a pet carrier. Dean moaned sadly.
“My pie,” he lamented, dejection in every movement.
“Not any more. You gave it back.” Balthazar chuckled. Perhaps you would like something else instead?” He gestured around at the shelves, which were still lined with beautiful baked offerings.
“Hell, no!” Dean backed away, both hands raised. “Thank you,” he said belatedly, then turned and fled back to the safety of the car. Behind him, Sam nodded and turned to follow, and as he closed the door of the store, it seemed to shimmer, flickered a couple of times and vanished from view.
Back at the bunker, Dean spent the rest of the evening dabbing antiseptic onto the areas where his skin was raw, munching popcorn, drinking whisky and lamenting the loss of the perfect pie he nearly had. It was several hours before he remembered his ten dollars, and by that time it was too late. “Son of a bitch! I’ll kill him”
“Good luck finding him and his pie store.” Sam grinned. “ You know, I think maybe he was trying to teach you a lesson. Perhaps if you’d shared it, it would’ve let you eat it. Maybe it was trying to teach you not to be greedy.”
Dean rolled his eyes as cognitive dissonance set in. “It wasn’t so great. I’m going to bake my own in future. If you behave, I might let you taste it.”
The last word obviously wasn’t going to work. Sam sighed and threw a handful of popcorn at his infuriating brother and headed for bed.
Written for spn_bigpretzel's 2019 Spring Madness
Prompted by theymp
Rated: Gen
Starring: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester and Herbert
Beta: spoonlessone
Artwork: jdl71
The prompt was: "Dean stared in horror at the baked goods. It seemed this pie hadn't just turned out bad, it was evil."
Lebanon was one of those places were nothing much changed, and everybody knew everyone else’s business - or almost everyone else’s at least. They knew when the kids were going to play hooky and gather at the old farmhouse with their illicit six-pack of Miller Lite. They knew when old Enoch Schwann was courting Widow Hendrix that she was going to take him for every penny he had before he was much older, and they thought for sure that the Campbell brothers were running one of those new fangled Air B&B things, and that they would pretty soon settle down and start courting themselves, such fine looking young men as they were.
So daily life went on much as usual, with nothing to do except gossip - until the day the store arrived. It was weird that nobody noticed it had appeared overnight. One day it was an empty lot, and the next day there was a store - a bakery in fact - with delicious goods in the window and stacked on the shelves. Everything from sourdough to challah bread, cookies, cakes and pies were on display, and the proprietor, a charming feller with a refined accent, was ready to sell you his goods for a price that seemed pretty damned reasonable for such deliciousness.
The store had been open for around a week and a half when Sam and Dean arrived in town with their grocery list. As usual, they separated, Sam to pick up the order of groceries, while Dean headed to the liquor store for their usual order.
He was heading back to the Impala, loaded up with their week’s supply of alcohol, when he noticed the smell. It wasn’t a bad smell, in fact quite the reverse. Dean’s nostrils quivered like a bunny rabbit’s, and he skidded to a stop, inhaling, savoring, and doing his best not to drool onto his t-shirt.
Racing to the Impala with his burden, he stashed it hastily and then turned back to where he had caught that incredible scent. Sam had just rounded the corner to bring their grocery order back to the car, and, spotting Dean, he called out. Dean didn’t pause, merely waved vaguely behind him and continued towards the source of that tantalizing odor.
Pushing the door open to the little bakery, Dean stood, breathing in the aroma of freshly baked cakes and cookies, bread and... pies. He took in the scents, the sights, felt the warmth of the damp atmosphere caused by the fresh, delicious food that arrayed the shelves.
“Good afternoon.”
Dean jumped, suddenly shocked out of the trance that had been caused by overexposure to the overwhelming deliciousness. “Uh... hi!”
The proprietor stepped forward and smiled. “May I interest you in something? A black forest cake, or...” the man paused, considering. “No. I believe you would be far more interested in... a pie.”
Dean stood, transfixed. The voice was soft, insinuating, and the accent was cultured. All Dean could think about was that amazing scent. It was almost as if he were hypnotised by his surroundings.
“Pie, yes. I love pie.”
“Perhaps you would like to see my current offerings,” said the man, emerging from behind the counter and gesturing for Dean to follow. In one corner of the store, which suddenly seemed to be larger than it had appeared from outside, were pies, dozens of pies. There were cherry pies, apple and rhubarb, chocolate, pecan, lemon meringue, and in the center of the display, giving off the intoxicating scent of sugary fruit, stood the most mouth watering pie Dean had ever seen. The crust was flaky and golden, crispy and glittering with sugar. It smelled of summer fruit and spices, and Dean felt his mouth watering.
“Oh, my Chuck!” he said, and for a moment, the proprietor winced. Dean was far too enamored of the pie to notice, and the moment was soon gone. “How much?”
“For you, the price is $10.” The salesman beamed. “It’s always wonderful to see a man who knows exactly what he wants. I’m sure that you and the pie will be happy together.”
Dean fumbled a ten dollar bill from his pocket and slapped it into the other man’s hand, and after a moment, the pie was plucked from its place of honor and tenderly placed into a white cardboard box. Dean appeared dazed as he took the box and left the store to make his way back to the Impala.
Sam was stowing their groceries into the trunk when Dean arrived back at the car, and said nothing as Dean slid his prize onto the back seat. On their way back to the bunker, the scent of the pie drifted over to Dean, promising the most delectable experience of his life. He moaned a little, and Sam raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“Something you wanna tell me?” he asked. “Pretty sure you didn’t have time to get laid, so what’s the reason for this euphoria?”
“Nope. Didn’t need to get laid, Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “All you need to do is smell the fragrance of that amazing piece of culinary excellence on the back seat, and you’ll understand everything.” He beamed at his brother. “Sammy, I’m not kidding. I’ve never seen such an amazing pie in my life.”
Sam inhaled deeply and then shook his head. “I can’t smell a damned thing, Dean. You sure you’ve got a pie in that box?”
“Sure do,” Dean licked his lips and smirked. “Got me the prince of pies right there on the back seat. If you can’t smell it, then we need to get you some antihistamine. You’ve got hay fever.” Dean’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he drew up outside of the bunker and hopped out, yanked open the rear door and grabbed his pie, disappearing into the bunker and leaving Sam behind to haul not only the groceries but also the booze down into their underground residence.
Muttering under his breath, Sam began to gather up their purchases and carry them down into the study. He was just arranging all the bottles in the liquor cabinet when there came a horrendous yell from the kitchen. Sam almost dropped a bottle of Jim Beam in his haste to go find out what the cause of the ruckus was, but when he had finally set the bottle down and raced down the corridor to the kitchen, his first inclination was to hoot with laughter.
Dean had set the pie out on the counter, and it was obvious that he had intended to cut himself a slice right away. There was a knife on the counter, a plate standing ready, but Dean appeared to have bypassed all the niceties and gone straight for the kill and as Sam ran in to see what had made Dean yell, he could see his brother had for some reason plunged his hand into the pie and was performing some kind of crazed dance.
“I know you’re fond of pie, but don’t you think you’re going a bit over the top, Dean?” asked Sam, smirking as he surveyed the scene.
“No, you don’t understand,” said Dean, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. “The pie... it bit me.” He was apparently trying to pull his hand free as he spoke. “It’s eating me, Sammy.”
“Very funny, man!” Sam applauded. “I think you’re hilarious. Now stop fooling around and come help me with the groceries.” Dean was about to say something obscene, when the pie made a kind of grunting sound and more of Dean disappeared into it. Dean screamed and tears began to run down his face.
“God! Do something, Sammy. I tell you, it’s eating me. It’s a goddamn demon or something.”
"It's a *pie*, Dean, not a demon," Sam rolled his eyes in disgust. "Dangerous only to the taste buds."
The pie made a chomping sound as it took in another couple of inches of his arm. "Then why is it munching its way up my arm, Sammy? It wants to devour me utterly!"
"Dean, you're hallucinating, I think." Sam studied the offending confection and frowned. "That's just stupid," he said, poking it, then promptly dropped to the ground and covered his head as the pie snapped at him, too.
"Told you," Dean announced grumpily. "The damned thing isn’t selective. My death won't even be meaningful."
“Where in hell did you get that damned thing from?” Sam climbed to his feet and sheepishly brushed himself off.
“The new bakery on Grove. It was... it was calling to me.” The pie gave a gurgling chomp and moved another couple of inches up Dean’s forearm, and Sam gave a yell. “Come on. We’re going back there right now.” He grabbed hold of Dean and hauled. Dean finally was jerked away from the countertop with a huge, ripping sound, and the two of them fell to the floor. The pie made a belching, laughing sound and took in a little more of Dean’s arm.
Sam drove. Dean, in the back seat, was doing his best to dislodge the pie’s grip on his arm by putting both his feet on the plate and pulling. He was having very little success so far, and when the smell of burning rubber finally impinged on him, he realized that something was eating away at the soles of his boots.
By the time they arrived back at the town center, such as it was, Dean was in dire straits, and the pie had reached his elbow.
Both Sam and Dean raced from the car to the bakery, and as Sam flung the door open, the proprietor called from the back room. “You just made it in time. I was about to close the shop.”
There was something very familiar about that voice, and as the man appeared through the door to the back, Sam gave a shout. “Balthazar?”
“At your service, my dear fellow. How may I help you?”
“You can get my brother free from this malevolent pastry. If you wouldn’t mind.” Sam loomed over the man. “I do have an angel blade, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“My dear boy, there’s absolutely no need to go to such trouble.” Balthazar snapped his fingers and whistled, “Down, Herbert!” and the pie made a vile slurping sound, then spat Dean’s arm out, where it hung, his shirt shredded and his skin an angry, inflamed looking red, dripping with sticky pie filling. “No sooner said than done.”
Herbert the pie flapped its lid at Dean and gave a sepulchral laugh as it somehow made its way around behind the counter and into a pet carrier. Dean moaned sadly.
“My pie,” he lamented, dejection in every movement.
“Not any more. You gave it back.” Balthazar chuckled. Perhaps you would like something else instead?” He gestured around at the shelves, which were still lined with beautiful baked offerings.
“Hell, no!” Dean backed away, both hands raised. “Thank you,” he said belatedly, then turned and fled back to the safety of the car. Behind him, Sam nodded and turned to follow, and as he closed the door of the store, it seemed to shimmer, flickered a couple of times and vanished from view.
Back at the bunker, Dean spent the rest of the evening dabbing antiseptic onto the areas where his skin was raw, munching popcorn, drinking whisky and lamenting the loss of the perfect pie he nearly had. It was several hours before he remembered his ten dollars, and by that time it was too late. “Son of a bitch! I’ll kill him”
“Good luck finding him and his pie store.” Sam grinned. “ You know, I think maybe he was trying to teach you a lesson. Perhaps if you’d shared it, it would’ve let you eat it. Maybe it was trying to teach you not to be greedy.”
Dean rolled his eyes as cognitive dissonance set in. “It wasn’t so great. I’m going to bake my own in future. If you behave, I might let you taste it.”
The last word obviously wasn’t going to work. Sam sighed and threw a handful of popcorn at his infuriating brother and headed for bed.