Summary: Some temptations can't be resisted; some shouldn't be.
Un-American Pie by frostygossamer
After driving for eight hours straight Dean pulls the Impala up outside a cheap motel in a small town outside of Boston. The dump is called, somewhat wishfully, 'The New England Inn'. Dean lets Sam out at the office and proceeds to park the car.
In the motel office Sam rents a room from a pretty 20-ish girl with pigtails. She smiles and pushes the room keys over the desk together with a flyer.
Sam picks up the flyer and reads it: The Duke of Boston, best traditional English pub food in New England.
"Theme bar?", he comments.
"Touristy, yeah, but the best food in town. My aunt runs it. And it's just around the corner", the pigtailed girl replies brightly. "Give it a try."
"Maybe", he muses, jangling the keys.
Sam lets them both into their motel room. Dean flings himself down on the nearest bed then immediately sits back up.
"I am sooo ready to go eat", he whines.
Sam flings the flyer at him. "Could try this", he suggests.
"Freakin' theme bar!", Dean moans.
"Supposed to be great food...", Sam replies, "...they have beer."
"OK, worth a look I guess", says Dean, grabbing his jacket.
The pub is old-world, a little too old-world to be convincing, but the atmosphere is dark and cosy, and a delicious smell of cooking permeates the air. Dean grabs a booth while Sam goes to the bar.
"Pie", Dean emphasizes, "I need pie". Sam chuckles, "As ever".
A dumpy middle-aged woman in a little white frilly apron stands behind the bar polishing a glass with a tea towel.
"What can I do for you, love", she says in a fake British accent.
Sam eyes the chalkboard list of specials.
"I'll have...", says Sam perusing the menu, "the Chicken Caesar Salad and... You have pie?"
"Do we do pie?", she laughs, "That's what we're famous for, love".
"OK", Sam replies, "Whatever's the best. And two beers".
Sam returns to their table where he interrupts Dean casing the room for pretty faces.
"Serious chick outage around here", he complains.
Almost instantly a waiter appears at Sam's elbow and sets a plate of roast chicken and freshly tossed salad in front of him. He then places a second plate in front of Dean and slips away, throwing a very un-British "Enjoy!" over his shoulder.
Sam has begun to tuck into his meal when he notices that Dean hasn't moved. He is staring at his plate.
"Dude, that", Dean declares, pointing at his food, "is not pie!".
Sam checks out the plate. "Well, it's clearly a pie, Dean. It's made of pastry. It's has a filling. It's a pie."
"But it's not a sweet filling", Dean wails, "It's not apple. It's not pecan. It's not cherry. What the hell is it?".
Dean grabs the elbow of a passing waiter.
"What do you call this, kid?", he demands, pointing at the offending object.
"It's a Steak and Ale pie, Sir", the boy replies, "The house specialty".
"Well, take it away", Dean says, "It's not what I ordered. Bring me something sweet. Apple… Something… A dessert!".
The boy grabs the plate and scurries off to the kitchen leaving Dean exasperated.
Sam chuckles and continues eating, keeping his head down. Best not to get into a pie argument with his brother. If there's one subject Dean feels strongly about it's pie.
That night Dean tosses and turns in his queen-sized bed. Sam lies awake eaten with worry, wondering what is troubling his big brother's dreams. He wishes he could help. He wishes he could take away Dean's pain and quell the demons that torment his tortured soul.
Finally beaten, Dean falls silent, plastered all over the bed, fatigue defeating him, and looking way too sexy, outlined by the silvery moonlight.
"Night, D.", Sam whispers into his pillow.
The next morning Sam goes to the local library to look at newspaper files relating to the case they're here on. He leaves Dean at the motel making some calls.
As lunch time approaches he begins to feel his stomach complaining and wanders back to the motel to see if Dean is ready for a break.
The scene he finds when he opens the door is classic.
Dean is sitting at the table. In the middle of the table is a takeout carton marked 'Duke of Boston' and in the middle of the carton is a huge Steak and Ale pie! Dean is staring at it fascinated, like a fakir's snake.
"What the he-!", exclaims Sam.
"This is a meat pie, Sammy", Dean states calmly, keeping his eyes fixed on the object.
"Not a pumpkin pie, not a peach pie, not a plum pie, not any kind of good old American fruit pie. This pie contains beefsteak. Beefsteak AND ale. Together! In the same pie!".
He turns to Sam. "It's damned unnatural!", he wails, almost in tears.
"Well", Sam replies slowly, "In England I guess...".
"This isn't freakin' England!", Dean shouts, "This is the good old U. S. of A. It's totally wrong! This pie is... un-American!".
"But still", he returns his attention to the pie on the table, "It has a strange attraction I can't deny... I don't know jack about how to deal with it. It's EVIL!".
He breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of the pie. "It smells so freakin' delicious I can't stand it", he chokes.
"OK", Sam says, starting to worry, "Hang on. I'll get on the net and figure this thing out".
He fumbles in his duffel for his laptop and sits on his bed typing. After a few minutes he smiles triumphantly. "Ah-ha", he says, "here it is...".
"Duke of Boston Chef's specialty: tender pieces of juicy sirloin steak with succulent mushrooms and onions, slow-cooked in a gravy enriched with finest ale, encased in short-crust pastry and topped with a crisp golden puff pastry lid".
Dean gasps in agony. "But how... how the hell can we gank it? Oh, Jeez! It has such freakin' power over me...!".
"Well", Sam taps his keyboard again, "I guess the only way is to... Oh, crap! I guess you'll just have to... eat it".
"I can't!", Dean stutters, "It's way too much to handle on my own. I can't do it, Sammy!". He is close to collapse.
"Its OK, Dean", Sam exclaims, rushing to his side. "It's OK. You don't have to do it alone. I'm here, bro. I'm always here for you".
"No! No!", bleats Dean. "I can't ask you to do that. It's wrong, so wrong. I'm supposed to protect you. I promised Dad!".
"It's fine, Dean. We need to do this. It'll be OK", Sam assures him.
So Sam slips the knife from his belt and, after one halting moment of uncertainty, plunges the razor-sharp blade into the alien savoury, dividing it into two steaming portions. Dean winces as gooey rivers of dark brown gravy ooze from beneath the crisp ripped crust and surge down the sides of the gloriously buttery pastry. Exchanging a final desperate glance, the two boys grab sloppy halves of the pie and stuff them into their expectant mouths, trying not to faint with delight as the sensuous boozy liquor runs over their tongues, gratifying their taste buds and causing little cries of pleasure to escape their lips.
When the last crumb is gone they collapse on their beds exhausted.
"Holy Crap!", pants Dean. "That's the most fun I've ever had with my clothes on!".
The rosy fingers of dawn wake Dean first. He looks across the room and sees his brother sleeping innocently in his own bed. He rises surreptitiously and tiptoes into the bathroom.
"Oh God, what have I done?, he thinks, as he eyes himself in the mirror guiltily.
"My own baby brother! I encouraged him to eat un-American pie with me! How can he ever forgive me. It's gonna totally ruin our relationship! I am sooo fucked!", he sobs.
As he exits the bathroom he sees that Sam is awake and avoids his questioning gaze.
"What happened last night", he stammers. "We're never going to talk about it again, right?". And he proceeds to pack his bag with his back to his Sammy.
Sam lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding, gets to his feet and stands behind Dean.
"It's fine, Dean", he says, laying his hand on his big brother's shoulder reassuringly.
"I've encountered one of those before... at Stanford". Dean looks shocked.
"Yes, there was an English themed pub there too. Kids thought it was cool. They didn't know what they were getting themselves into", he sighs.
"I almost tried one myself... I always wanted to but I couldn't. Not without you".
Dean pats the hand on his shoulder gratefully.
"Awesome", he breathes. They're going to be OK.
The End
A/N: I think I've invented something new, food-slash.
As a Brit I've found the American accent surprisingly hard to do. They sounded far to British in the first draft so I went through and added some cursing. That seemed to help. ;-)
Hope you enjoyed it. Please please review it.