Disclaimer: To my everlasting despair, I own nothing related to Supernatural.
SWEET CHERRY PIE
By: Vanessa Sgroi
Dean Winchester squinted through the dark and drizzle that was rapidly becoming sleet hoping to find an open place to make a pit stop. Bright lights appeared a short distance ahead and the hunter was happy to see a little restaurant—the Fork-in-the-Road Diner—the first establishment he'd seen after hours of driving. He eased out of the car and jogged through the sleet to the door.
Dean slumped down on the padded stool and rested his elbows on the counter in front of him. He palmed his tired eyes then stifled a yawn behind a closed fist. Dropping his hands, he sniffled a little bit and cleared his throat.
Hunting alone was never optimal or desirable but the need to fill his hours and days with something worthwhile kept him out there—kept him pushing maybe beyond what was wise. He was tired, sore and his forearm throbbed with each heartbeat from the deep cut concealed by gauze and several layers of sleeve.
A dark-haired waitress, maybe five or so years older than he, paused in front of him, Guest Check book and pen in hand. She smiled. "Well, hi there. What can I get for you?"
The corner of Dean's mouth tilted upward. "Coffee."
"Sure thing." Marie eyed the road-weary traveler closely. "I'll make it extra strong. No offense, sugarplum, but you sure enough look like you could use it. Anything to go with that?"
Dean started to say no until he spied the dome-covered pedestal plate at the end of the counter. "Actually, I'll take those last two pieces of pie over there."
Marie smiled again and jotted it down on her pad. "Good choice."
The hunter watched as she flipped over a mug in front of him then filled it with dark, aromatic brew. He sipped at the coffee while she went to plate his pie.
A minute later, she sat the white plate in front of him, two pieces of cherry pie and a healthy dollop of whipped cream artistically arranged on the ceramic square. Dean's stomach growled; the golden crisp pastry and oozing red cherry filling were calling to him. Offering a quick thanks, he picked up his fork and took his first bite. The buttery crust with its crunchy sugared top practically melted in his mouth and the sweet-tart cherry filling exploded joyously against the back of his tongue. Dean bit back a shameless moan; certain this was some of the best pie he'd ever tasted. He took another healthy bite.
Looking at Marie who hovered nearby, he exclaimed, "Oh, God. This pie is amazing!"
"Mama'll be happy to hear that."
When Dean looked at her with a quizzical expression, she further explained, "My mama makes all of the pies we serve here. She owns a little bakery just a ways up the road—Confection Heaven. Her cherry pie is one of the best sellers." She gestured to the two pieces Dean was rapidly consuming. "That was the last of the six she brought over today alone." She refilled his cup. "Mama knows her stuff."
Dean finished the last treasured bite and licked his fork. "That she does." He flashed a rare unguarded grin. "I think I'm sorry it's all gone," he said.
"Tomorrow's another day, sugar. Blueberry's turn at the table."
Dean sighed dramatically. "Tempting." "But I gotta hit the road."
"You look awfully done in. You sure that's wise?"
"Wise? No. Necessary? Yes."
Marie was oddly moved by the forlorn look in this handsome stranger's eyes. She laid his check in front of him then motioned for him to wait before disappearing in the back. A couple minutes later she returned, a lavender bakery box in hand. The word "Cherry" was scrawled across the top. She handed it to Dean. "Here, take this. Mama brought it over for me to take home to Gary—my husband—but you look like you could use it a darn sight more."
"Nah," Dean demurred. "I can't take your husband's pie."
"Sugar, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, Mama can just bring me another one tomorrow and Gary loves blueberry more than cherry anyway."
"You're sure?" Dean queried with a raised eyebrow.
"Absolutely."
Dean thanked her and handed her a $10 dollar bill, far more than enough to cover the coffee and the dessert. He slid off the stool and cradled the box in his hands. He was almost at the exit when Marie called out, "If you change your mind, there's a motel down the road—the Moonglow. I'll admit—it isn't much to look at, but Fred keeps a clean place."
Dean waved and pushed through the door. Settling in the Impala, he sat the pie on the seat next to him, ignoring the twinge of regret that he wouldn't be sharing such a treat with his kid brother.
Pulling out of the parking lot, he briefly considered taking Marie's suggestion and searching out the Moonglow Motel. Then the rhythmic hum of the tires caught his attention and he shook his head.
Nope. I'm good for another hour or two.
FIN