Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction based on the original creation of E. Kripke. Just for fun. Not for profit.

A/N: Spoilers up to 7.12 – at least as far as the body count goes, but that's it really.

A/N: Inspired by the scary intersection of National Pie Day (January 23) with Dean's birthday (January 24). Also inspired by Vanessa Sgroi's tribute to NPD...

This is likely full of nasty blemishes, but I was trying to get it posted by midnight... and I very almost did!

Dean had almost become resigned to never having pie. Well. Never enough pie, unless he managed to sneak some in on his own... and even when he did manage to order it, and he did manage to actually eat it, it still always seemed to end badly.

As a kid, he remembered his Mom making the most heavenly pies. Then, one day, when he was telling Sammy all about them in mouth watering detail, Dad burst out laughing. Which he never did when Mary was mentioned. Dean and Sam had simply stared at John as he laughed. Realizing he was scaring his boys, he finally stopped laughing long enough to explain.

"Dean," John said, laying a hand gently on his son's shoulder, "Your mother had many fine qualities, and she baked about the finest cookies I've ever tasted. But pie? Nope. She never could master the crust, and most of the time the fillings weren't much better. Those pies you remember came from Mrs. Higgins across the street."

"Oh." Dean's heart broke a little that he had mis-remembered something so important about Mary, but it didn't diminish his love of pie.

Growing up, they had the opportunity to sample some of the best pies the country had to offer – all in season, of course – as they travelled (were dragged, as Sam constantly pointed out over his cake) about the country. Of course, it didn't matter where you were if you were just having chocolate cake. Chocolate was always in season, but apples? Lemons? Cherries? Blueberries? Those were best baked into a pie at certain times.

When Dean was on his own, he had the luxury of picking hunts – sometimes – that happened to be in a particular area during a particular harvest. It was a small pleasure, but it was one thing he could control.

And then those people ruined apple pie for him. Well. Mostly ruined, anyway. Dean had become resigned to Sam never bringing him pie when they were kids. For one thing, Sam was a kid, so it was ok if he picked out what he wanted. And Dean knew how much Sam loved his cake because of the look on his face when Dean brought him some. Then, after Jess, well, Dean was lucky if he could get Sam to eat anything. So it made sense that he might forget that Dean liked pie.

And then, Dean had insisted that Sam bring him pie. Sent him into that diner by himself. It was six months before Dean could even look at pie again.

Then, for a year, everything had tasted of ashes. Then, another year and Dean had had very little appetite for anything. With Sam gone again, Dean had been unable to find the same solace in pie. Lisa had been a good cook. Her pastry was fine – some days better than fine, depending on the weather. She made a particularly good banana cream pie, and her peach was also right up there. But Dean never managed to eat more than one piece...

The Sam had been back. But soul-less Sam ate for fuel. He rarely let Dean dawdle over something as trivial as dessert. And then Sam was back. And Cas was gone. And then... Bobby.

Bobby had always had pie. Sure he had cake too, but every now and then, there was just pie. Sometimes, Dean knew it was homemade. Dean knew who'd taught Bobby to make the pie. Her pie had been really good, even if it had ended badly.

Even with his soul back, Sam seemed to have forgotten Dean's preference – or at least that's what he'd thought...


"What the Hell, Sam?" Dean demanded. Flinching when Sam batted his hand away from the blindfold he'd placed over Dean's eyes.

"Can you just humor me for a minute?" Sam huffed.

"Jeez, dude, seems to me I do nothing but humor you!" Dean muttered back. "Hell! I'm letting you drive!"

"Well, that's one good thing about driving a car you don't have a personal relationship with."

"C'mon, Sam. This is giving me the heebie jeebies…" Dean whined.

"Oh, fine. This is good enough," Sam allowed. He'd barely finished speaking before Dean whipped off the blindfold, squinting and blinking to try to focus on what he wasn't supposed to see. He was at a complete loss.

"Um? Sam? What the…" Dean continued to scan the town square. They were set up for some kind of celebration. Dean was just having a hard time figuring out what.

"I know this isn't some kind of elaborate surprise party for my birthday tomorrow because we're keeping a low profile, right?" Dean looked at his brother.

"Seems the entire country has lost its mind and is throwing you a birthday party a day early – no doubt to keep it under the radar…" Sam was grinning like a loon by this point.

Sam pointed to the banner that was just being raised over the rows and rows of tables.


A look of wonder spread slowly across Dean's face.

"Dude! No!"

"Dude! Yes!"

Sam followed his brother from booth to booth, his grin growing broader with each type of pie that Dean sampled.

Hours later, they stumbled back into the abandoned house they were squatting in.

Dean groaned and flopped on the ratty couch.


"Yeah?" Sam groaned from the chair he'd collapsed in.

"Can we come here every year?"

"Sure, Dean," Sam said softly. It was the first time in a long time that Dean had made any reference to the future.

"Thanks." Dean closed his eyes.

Sam was still smiling as his brother started to snore softly.