A/N 1: Hey guys! Pinkey here! Happy Supernatural Day! Now, I know I said my next story would be another Thaluke fic, but then my sister and I started watching Supernatural on Netflix (currently on season 8!) and well, I'm sure if you clicked here, you know what happened next, and what better day to debut the first chapter than Supernatural Day?! So here's a short (up to 10 chapters, probably?) SPN story based on a Tumblr prompt about Dean, pie, and a diner! You probably know the one :D Spoilers for up to season 3! This story takes place between the season 2 finale and first episode of season 3~ Enjoy!

Early October was always Melody's favorite time of year. It meant loose sweaters, cute winter boots, beanies and matching scarves to keep her curly auburn hair tame, and more. But most importantly, it meant hot cocoa paired with her grandmother's homemade apple pie. A simple American classic, she knew, but there really was something about the "secret ingredients" (Nana always said it was love and hard work) that put it over the top.

Melody's Nana Weiss (everyone just called her Nana) had won several annual awards in the town's fall festival for her pies. The celebrations were generally a tourist trap that Melody avoided at all costs, save for the day that the local pie baking competition was judged. It was a tradition that she shared with her grandmother, joining her that day each year to visit the fair's numerous vendors (especially to grab a funnel cake to split between them to satisfy their genetic sweet tooth), and cheering her on when Nana Weiss's pie took home another taste test medal.

In addition to the fair, which was coming up in a matter of days and had Nana Weiss holed up at home perfecting her soon-to-be-featured baked goods, Nana Weiss's pies were the pastry of fame in the local diner. It wasn't an extravagant diner, but it wasn't ramshackle or worn down. Like many of the other landmarks in town, it was simply charming. And covered with cliche patterns and furniture. Melody worked the register half of the week, and knew from first-hand experience that her grandmother's dessert was nearly always out of stock before noon (save for the extra pie Nana Weiss stashed in the fridge for the staff). And the diner didn't even open until nine.

Crisp winter air clung to her skin and recoiled before her lips and nose as she breathed, hurrying into the diner that most would overlook as they pass by on the highway. Quite unlike herself, Melody was late. She shuffled past the tables and the row of raised stools at the bar on her way to the kitchen, searching for her apron. Only a few tables were occupied, and for that she was glad. She wouldn't have to get an earful from the manager, James. In Melody's opinion, the man was less qualified for the job than a pencil. But that didn't mean she felt like picking a fight about her tardiness.

After securing her apron around her waist and finding a new pad and pen to take orders with, Melody re-emerged from the kitchens and began her daily task of bussing tables and suggesting her favorite menu items to those who were particularly indecisive. Not to mention she served up a collective sum of six apple pies for dessert, her sticky fingers serving as a metaphorical gold star for persuasive sales technique.

"Take a break, Mel. I think you've more than earned it," Greta praised some time past one. Melody smiled at her blond-haired friend and co-worker, tucking back a loose coil of her own hair, which had escaped her bun sometime in the last hour. She glanced at the diner clock, an antique thing decorated around the edges with neon signage. It was almost noon. She would certainly need a break before the lunch rush. Nodding, she untied and folded up her apron, thanking Greta for the reminder.

Making a light lunch of a bowl of tomato soup, Melody carried the dish out to the bar in the diner's main area. She secured a place at the small bar counter that jutted out from the kitchen to eat. She hardly spared a glance at the other patrons of the restaurant on her way, sitting with a sigh as the pressure of standing was relieved from her feet. She ate quickly despite the full half hour she was granted for her break.

Greta leaned against the bar counter, wiping at thrice cleaned surface to avoid the actual chores she was meant to be doing on her shift.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" Melody teased, earning an exposed pink tongue from Greta's painted lips. She smirked. "Well, get to it. Make yourself useful and get me some pie." She ducked her head as Greta threatened to swat her with her hand towel. When Greta looked up an raised an eyebrow, Melody knew why without having to turn back and see for herself.

The bell above the diner door chimed as some new patrons entered the building. Melody heard Greta whistle lowly behind the counter. "Mmm."

Melody's eyebrows scrunched together and she just shook her head with a grin, looking down at her empty bowl of soup. Greta had a habit of being highly distracted by the more...attractive...customers, and today proved to be no different. When Melody looked up, Greta was gone. She reappeared after a moment with a slice from the staff pie and a fork, wagging it at Melody with an unspoken warning. Melody winked in response with a soft laugh before Greta ducked back into the kitchens.

She had just pierced the pie crust with the fork tines when to her right, she heard a rustling sound and a receiving grunt.

Following the grunt was a low whisper. "Dean, no. Leave the girl alone." The scolding was followed by a second, annoyed, grunt and silence. And then, a tap on her shoulder.

Melody turned her head to find herself staring into captivating green eyes. She blinked as she leaned back, putting some more space between her and the stranger leaning against the counter in the seat next to her, clad in dark clothes and an aged leather jacket. It was probably sentimental, considering the obvious looked-after condition for an item of its age. A five o'clock graced the stranger's jawline, his hair cropped short and carelessly styled. His name must have been Dean, according to the complaint of the man on his other side.

In contrast, his companion was younger looking, and the opposite to Dean in nearly every manner. Tall and somewhat lanky where Dean was, well, butch. A clean shaven face, wily hair grown out and reaching for the nape of his neck. Stern-faced with worry lines etched into his forehead while Dean had the ghosts of laugh lines splayed out at the corners of his eyes.

Melody took the strangers in with a few surprised blinks, searching for a category to describe the pair. Troublemakers was her gut reaction. "Can I help you fellas?" she asked, an eyebrow quirked.

"Tell me, does there happen to be any more of that pie left?"

The man called Dean blinked with a stupid grin on his face. He was charming, but definitely trouble. Despite her fascination with attractive customers, even Greta might have said no and walked away. Melody, however, considered her options. She was curious just how far his facade went. She speared another piece of pie onto her fork and smirked at him while she let his question linger, taking the time to enjoy her bite.

[To be continued]

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