Castiel carefully gathered apples, picking them specifically by color, size, shape, and texture, and put them in a basket. A woven, wicker basket sat in a divot in the ground made by the roots of the tree, and the angel placed each piece of fruit gently into it. A whole bushel of apples rested by his feet, not that he thought he needed quite so much, but he wanted to make sure he had enough.
He next flew to a farmers' market for grain. Beside the short line of tables, there was a bush with pink and yellow flowers on it and bees buzzed happily around it. Castiel watched for a moment with a smile as the bees landed on flowers then flew off seconds later to another flower. The angel tucked a tiny burlap bag into the pocket of his trenchcoat and continued with his quest, his next stop being a sugar factory in Belgium.
By the end of the hour, Castiel had collected all the supplies the recipe called for. The cabin was empty and he had the space to work. He washed and sliced the apples, mixed the slices with a sugar and ground cinnamon mixture, then poured the fruit into a round pan lined with handmade crust, even doing a neat lattice on top with the dough.
The oven had been preheated and he put the pastry on the center rack for thirty minutes. The timer he hastily bought at Walmart dinged and he used lobster-claw-shaped mitts to take the pie out. The open window on the side of the cabin that faced nowhere proved to be the perfect place for it to sit and cool until Castiel's favorite brothers came back.
In the meantime, he poured milk (personally squeezed from a cow), sugar, and the goop from the middle of a fresh vanilla bean into an old-fashioned ice cream maker and cranked the lever on top to mix.
By the time the ice cream was the perfect thickness, the front door unlocked and Sam stepped inside, yelling something to Dean over his shoulder before turning and seeing Castiel sitting with a weird machine tucked between his knees.
Sam stared, trying to decipher what exactly was going on. The angel stood and placed the cylinder on the table.
"It's a surprise," he said flatly as way of explanation before fetching the pie from the window sill.
The door was still open and Dean came through. He noticed the angel and then the pie, and he grimaced sadly.
"Damn it, Cas," he grumbled. "You know I can't eat that."
Castiel shook his head. "I personally collected all of the ingredients; this should have no ill-effect." Sam shot a glance at Dean and chuckled. Neither of the two could believe that Castiel, Bee-Keeper of The Lord, went out, tracked down supplies, and freaking made apple pie from scratch.
Castiel turned to the cabinets and came back with plates, forks, a big knife, and a metal soup ladle because he forgot to get an ice cream scoop.
Dean pointed at the big-ass spoon. "What's that for?"
Castiel answered by taking the lid off the ice cream maker and showed Dean the creamy dessert inside. "It is my understanding that pie and ice cream traditionally pair very well together."