Dean/Pie, Supernatural
Dean/Pie
Supernatural
written for the prompt Dean, the smell of Pie, for comment_fic
by CrevanFox
Supernatural is copyrighted to Eric Kripke. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction
this fic has been remixed here
It's the first thing he smells that smells...good.
He's head whips around, trying to find it, the source of that amazing smell. It fills his nostrils, makes his mouth water. His scalp and throat and face are actually tingling in anticipation.
Hell was salt, tears and sweat. The burn at the back of his throat from screaming, later from the bile rising in his throat at what he was doing.
Then it was dirt, as he clawed his way out of his own damn grave. Burnt trees, dying and rotting surrounded him with that dirty smell of ash and decay.
This was heaven by comparison. Simple, clean, sweet, with a hint of tangyness to it.
It was pie.
Dean remembered pie. He stumbled, still a little in shock, still a little in the hell of everything, but where there was pie, there was life. He kept stumbling, to the window sill of a house. It sat there in it's pastry glory, the scent of blueberry intercut with the more subtke aroma of the pastry shell. It was flaky and looked homemade, and Dean had his face buried in it to the ears before he had realized what he was doing.
It tasted even better than it had smelled.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing!?" came a womans voice from inside, deep and angry.
Dean took off running, licking the pie filling as far as his tongue could reach without slowing down his stride to coordinate it better.
Pie was life, and Dean knew he'd returned.
Supernatural
written for the prompt Dean, the smell of Pie, for comment_fic
by CrevanFox
Supernatural is copyrighted to Eric Kripke. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction
this fic has been remixed here
It's the first thing he smells that smells...good.
He's head whips around, trying to find it, the source of that amazing smell. It fills his nostrils, makes his mouth water. His scalp and throat and face are actually tingling in anticipation.
Hell was salt, tears and sweat. The burn at the back of his throat from screaming, later from the bile rising in his throat at what he was doing.
Then it was dirt, as he clawed his way out of his own damn grave. Burnt trees, dying and rotting surrounded him with that dirty smell of ash and decay.
This was heaven by comparison. Simple, clean, sweet, with a hint of tangyness to it.
It was pie.
Dean remembered pie. He stumbled, still a little in shock, still a little in the hell of everything, but where there was pie, there was life. He kept stumbling, to the window sill of a house. It sat there in it's pastry glory, the scent of blueberry intercut with the more subtke aroma of the pastry shell. It was flaky and looked homemade, and Dean had his face buried in it to the ears before he had realized what he was doing.
It tasted even better than it had smelled.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing!?" came a womans voice from inside, deep and angry.
Dean took off running, licking the pie filling as far as his tongue could reach without slowing down his stride to coordinate it better.
Pie was life, and Dean knew he'd returned.