The Last Cherry Pie
What bothered Sam the most was the way his brother would say anything to sound normal. "I just thought I smelled eggs." "This knife in my boot? Civil War relic, family heirloom." "I love purple nurples." "This isn't devil worship." It would have been obnoxious enough, except that Dean only ever did something if he'd stand behind it to the end. Often literally.
So that's how Sam knew the Mark was changing Dean. Or maybe the problem was that it wasn't changing Dean, but rather the things he did. That's why they were at this roadside diner. According to Sam's research, it had the best pie for three states around.
"So, Dean. What kind do you want?" Sam stuffed his hands in his jean's pockets and bounced on his toes. He looked over at Dean, who stood there and just stared hard at the space behind the counter. He wasn't going to make this easy, but Sam was determined. And just as stubborn as his brother.
"Excuse me," Sam hobbled together a nice smile for the waitress. She looked like a grandma any kid would be happy to have. She came over to the dessert case where the boys were standing, and gave Dean a solemn once-over. Before she could get any more disturbed by the bear of a PTSD patient beside him, Sam said cheerily, "My brother and I were just passing through, but we heard we just had to stop in for some of your pie. It's my brother's favorite thing on the planet, basically. What would you recommend we try?"
The grandma waitress's eyes winked and sparkled when she smiled. "Well, we have the chocolate pie, the banana cream pie, pecan pie, apple pie, apple pie with cheddar, apple berry pie…" Sam's mouth worked for a second before he cut in, "How about you just give us one of each?"
Her eyes widened, but she said, "Well, you are growing boys. I'd wager it takes a lot of pie to fill you up. Your poor mama must have been baking all day long." Sam nodded and smiled once more, then led Dean, who might have been mumbling to himself, to a booth in the corner.
To Sam's surprise, Dean took his seat without any protest. He contorted himself into the pleather bench with all its fuzzy punctures and unidentified blots like he wasn't even thinking about the germs. This bothered Sam. Dean usually liked to use a Clorox wipe before touching anything in these places. He was truly far-gone. Sam had his work cut out to bring his brother back. His real brother, not this shell of a war machine. Sam was sure that if he could just reach Dean, for just a moment, the connection would keep Dean from disappearing inside himself forever. Which was just wrong and Sam couldn't allow it.
"So, Dean. We've got pie. When was the last time you've eaten?"
Something recognizable as Dean gave him a look. Suddenly hopeful, Sam sat still as Dean said, "I've been eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Hey! Waitress, can I get a beer?" Turning back, he added, "I'm on a juice cleanse, Sammy."
The brothers regarded each other across the table. Just then, the old waitress scooted up to their booth with her arms and hands full of pie. She set them all down exactly in the middle of the two boys, and then popped the beer bottle she'd had stashed in her armpit with her back teeth. Sam cringed, his mouth turning down sharply. As the woman walked away, he looked to Dean expecting for a second to see his brother. He was immediately disappointed, and knew he'd just lost track of himself for a minute, though, because Dean just sucked on his beer and burped.
Sam picked up a fork in his fist. He held it in Dean's eye line. Slowly, Dean met his gaze, questioningly. "Fork," Sam said. "Eat. Pie." And he slammed it on the table. Then Sam grabbed the chocolate pie and put in right in front of himself. He shoveled half the slice onto his fork and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed. All the while staring down Dean. If it was fantastic or horrible, he didn't notice. He just said, "Delicious," and pushed it into Dean's beer bottle.
Dean rolled his eyes. Sam sniffed. Dean lifted the beer to his mouth and proceeded to down what remained of it. Sam wanted to knock it out of his hand, but instead he played with the fork in his left hand, and then switched it with Dean's. He was pretty sure Dean didn't notice.
Sam had driven all the way to Massachusetts to see a witch while Dean was back in the bunker doing whatever it was he did lately. The girl had said that the potion, if ingested and then triggered with something nostalgic, would give his brother "a little yank."
"Nothing permanent, not too long, but it should be enough for just a second." She'd been skeptical about what Sam could do with that second with his brother, but Sam had just paid her for the potion and told her where to ship it.
Seeing that Dean was obviously done with his beer, Sam crossed his arms and shrugged at him. Dean seemed irritated at him, but that was better than the nonspecific homicidal attitude he'd been having lately. Sometimes, Sam wasn't even sure Dean knew where he was, or that Sam was there with him. He hoped this worked.
Pouting like a five year old, Dean threw his hand out and, never breaking eye contact with Sam, dragged a plate in front of him. It was red and had whipped cream, and Sam watched, as Dean seemed to suddenly notice how it smelled. Taking almost the entire thing on his fork, he stuck it in his mouth. Sam watched as crumbs tumbled over Dean's chin and down his jacket.
When the fork emerged clean, Sam sat back and relaxed. He sipped his coffee and kept an eye on Dean, who was finishing destroying the pie. Dean sat back and put his hands over his stomach.
"Well?" Sam said.
"Well, what?" said Dean. Sam scowled, and told himself the potion might take a few minutes to kick in. He got up and went to the old jukebox by the door, selecting one of Dean's favorites.
Just then, a girl walked in, making the bells chime. She looked directly at Sam, and her eyes widened. They were bright green and seemed to see something he didn't. "Hey, there, nice night out?" he asked her, scratching his scalp, trying to duck back to the booth in the corner.
She seemed to sense where he was going, and glanced around him. When she saw Dean's head and shoulders, she froze and her mouth dropped open further. Then she quirked her head, as if she was listening to the song, and reached into her coat. Sam blinked, and she spun, whipping out a silvery blade and burying it in a man who appeared behind her. He exploded in white lightning, but the girl seemed relatively unconcerned. Another angel appeared with a swooping sound, right behind the girl again, and this time Sam had his own blade in hand. There was another, and another, and another, and the strawberry blonde girl took them out so quietly several customers across the diner didn't even seem to notice what was happening.
An angel in a suit tripped the girl and held her on the dusty floor, and Sam, wondering what on earth he was doing, ripped the angel off of her. He heaved him over his shoulder, and put his knife in the thing's gut. It screamed, as another one emerged by his head. The girl was slow getting up, but Sam heard her call out, "Sammy!"
Before he could be completely shocked though, Dean was standing over him and had the First Blade with him. There were screams and breaking glass as angel after angel popped in and Dean blindly attacked anyone within his reach. Sam crawled over to the girl and shielded her.
Then she slipped right out from under him with a squeak. Dean had crawled on top of her and was raising the blade. The girl raised her hands, letting her own knife clatter beside her, saying, "No! No, please, please, Daddy, no," and she touched her fingers to Dean's forehead.
He froze, gaping down at her as she continued to beg.
"Dean," Sam said. And Dean turned to look at him, and it was all Dean, with pure anguish on his face. "Dean," Sam said again, breathless. "Dean, what is it?"
Dean, clearly in shock, just peered down at the girl. She relaxed to the floor and turned her head to Sam. She gave him a small smile, and there were tears covering her cheeks. She covered his brother's hand, blade and all, with her own small pink one. "I love you and all, Daddy, but please get off of me. You're squashing me to death."
And Dean rolled ungracefully to her side, falling into a pile of rubble. The girl propped herself on one elbow and sighed. She looked mournfully up at the still shaken Dean and said, shaking her head, "Oh, Daddy, what have you gotten yourselves into now?"
To be continued…