A/N: This is set sometime during season four, I suppose. So a conversation on Facebook prompted this. Here's the comment that inspired this:
Obviously, [Dean] is the king of Pie. He worships Pie. Pie is his God.
It's a lifestyle.
It's a religion.
"What are you doing?"
Sam gestured at him, waving a large tree-trunk arm around and almost knocking over their food on their little rickety table that just barely passed the safety inspection. "You. What are you doing?"
"Uh." Dean looked down at the pie tin in front of him. Hmm. Apple. He could smell the tantalizing cinnamon. It was even still warm. "Eating?"
Sam's wry smirk did not go unnoticed. "Do you usually eat with your hands clasped?"
Dean frowned back at him. "I always pray before I eat pie."
"Thought you didn't believe in God. Even with your angel floating around."
A disgusted pshhh left him before he could stop it. "Of course I don't believe in God. And he's not my angel!" Dean pointed his knife at his brother, scowling threateningly at him. Why was Sam smirking? He should be afraid of him, damn it! Damn kid had no respect for him anymore. "I'm praying to the Pie God. You know this. It's a lifestyle. It's a religion. You have to respect the pie, Sammy."
"Uh huh. Okay."
Dean frowned, unsure of what his stupid younger brother was trying to say. But whatever. He had a pie to eat.
"Dean!" Sam called out, ducking as another demon swung at him. They were way outnumbered. "Now would be a really good time to call for Castiel!"
But before he could start a prayer, a loud boom! echoed through the room with a bright flash of light. Dean and Sam covered their faces and turned away, weapons still clutched tightly in hand. Once the noise and dust settled, they peeked through their arms to see what had happened. All the demons were scattered around the room, lifeless.
"Uh... Thanks, Cas?"
"Usually, you call me the Pie God."
Dean spun around to see a man in a white toga-like robe standing behind him. He was barefoot and his blond hair was wild, blue eyes shining mischievously.
"You're my most loyal follower, Dean," the man said, spreading his arms out in a peaceful gesture. "Well," he added with a smirk, "pretty much my only follower. But still. I figured that you've been loyal enough that I could help out this once."
"Uh..." Dean looked at Sam, who was staring wide-eyed back at him, weapon raised, eyebrow quirked in question. Dean looked back at the man. "Thanks?"
The man's smile brightened. "My pleasure, Dean. Just pray if you need me." Between one blink and the next, he was gone.
"What just happened?"
"Sammy, I have no idea."
"Could be a tulpa."
"Or he could be an actual Pie God."
"That's just stupid."
"You shut up."
"Look, dude's not hurting anything, right?" Dean asked as he flipped absently through a book Sam had given him to go through about minor gods. He wasn't paying any particular attention to it, of course. "I mean, he helped us."
"Dean." Uh oh. Bitchface number twelve. "We don't even know if he is who he says he is. He could—Where are you going?"
Dean slammed the book closed and stood up with a screech of the chair sliding against the linoleum. "Getting some pie. You want anything?"
The frustrated exhalation of air as Sammy tried not to scream obscenities at him was music to his ears.