"Holy fuck this is expensive," I muttered to myself, picking up the ornate glass bottle. "Forty bucks for raspberry flavored liqueur? Jesus, he'd better appreciate this." I tucked the bottle safely into my shopping cart and started pushing it down the aisle again, consulting my list. Bittersweet and semisweet chocolate? Check. Heavy cream? Check. Confectioners' sugar? Check. And now I had the liqueur. That was everything.
I wheeled my cart around a corner and nearly ran into Sam with it. He stopped me just it in time and held up a small basket of his own. "Chocolate coma? Check."
I laughed. "With how wired he's been lately, I'd say a coma would do him some good."
"I've never seen him so eager for his own birthday in his whole life Katie. It's like he can sense that you're making him a pie," Sam said as we meandered toward checkout. I smiled to myself, muttering something about Dean's pie senses.
Dean's birthday was tomorrow, and for once, Sam and I had a plan. We'd made sure there wasn't a case, nobody dying nearby we'd feel compelled to help out, nothing remotely supernatural in the area or the eleven surrounding states. Hell knew Dean would drive across the country for a case, even if it was his birthday. I'd convinced the younger Winchester to finally buy cable for the bunker, and one very awkward cable provider visit later, we had television. We'd never let him into the bunker of course, so the boys had had to mess with the system for a few hours, but they'd finally gotten it to work. So while we were out "buying dinner" Dean was most likely cooped up in our room, finally streaming Casa Erotica in HD.
Tomorrow, we'd put our plan into action. Sam's gift was a new, deluxe tool kit for Dean to work on the Impala, plus a care kit that included wax, polish, microfiber towels, and who knew what else. He'd been mildly complaining about Baby's dull shimmer lately, and we both knew if he got his hands on that kit, Dean would be out in the bunker's massive garage working on his Baby for hours. That's when I'd start on the pie, since with the crust and filling being homemade, it would take me somewhere around three hours to get it all done and ready for candles.
Once we'd made it through checkout, we dumped all the pie supplies in the backseat of the Impala and headed to Biggerson's for take out. It had been about four years now since that Leviathan incident, so the boys were finally convinced there wasn't any primordial ooze in the restaurant's food anymore. In and out twenty minutes later, we were headed back to the bunker.
"I'll go get him, you go hide the stuff in the kitchen somewhere," I said to Sam in a hushed tone. He smiled that smile of his that said, "I'm so glad he has you." and went off to the kitchen with the shopping bags. I smiled back at him, my cheeks going a bit red. Sam always had that silent way of telling me he was happy for me and his brother. I'd been with Dean for about a year and two months now, and Sam had always been very supportive of us. Considering the way we met, it surprised me but it also gave me a feeling of gratitude. From what I knew about the boys' past, they'd never had much luck with relationships or happiness in general.
My knuckles rapped on Dean's door and I heard a sudden crash come from within, followed by a lengthy string of curse words. "I'm coming in!" I announced, turning the knob and letting the door swing wide.
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing when I saw the position Dean was in, but it didn't help. He was still in his pajamas, just a gray v-neck t-shirt and a pair of black boxers. I spied one dark gray slipper on the floor across from the bed, the other still hanging off Dean's foot. He was halfway off the side of the bed, face mushed in the carpet, one arm trapped under him, the other desperately crawling toward the remote he'd flung off the bed by accident. The bedside table lamp was on the floor, shade lying about a foot away from it. The sheets had slid off the bed with Dean and his de-slippered foot was the only thing still holding him on the bed. His other foot was in the air, somehow trying to add balance to his situation. The sounds coming from the television told me exactly what I'd predicted he'd be doing when we got home.
"Need some help?" I asked, trying to stifle a laugh, but failing miserably. I threw my head back, cracking up instantly. To have my wonderful boyfriend, this man, react like a little boy caught watching porn was just the greatest thing. I idly wondered if he thought I'd be angry with him, I didn't even know if he knew I was aware he still watched Casa Erotica in the first place.
Dean's foot slipped from the edge of the bed and he came fully tumbling off of it, his legs folding awkwardly over him as he slumped off of the mattress. His hand finally grasped the remote, and with his neck twisted away from the TV his arm flailed, violently mashing the mute button, trying to point itself in the right direction.
I walked forward at this point, unable to handle the hilarity of Dean's state of affairs any longer. I grabbed the remote out of his hand and pointed it at the TV, successfully silencing the howling woman on the screen. After helping Dean to his feet I began fixing the bedsheets. He busied himself with the lamp and once the room was relatively back in order he stood there, his face glowing red.
I cocked a playful eyebrow at him, waiting for him to say something. I wasn't helping him out on this one.
"Are you mad?" he finally asked, eyes feverishly darting between my face and the floor.
"That was Casa Erotica, wasn't it?" I asked, folding my arms. It took all that I had not to let myself smile at this point.
Dean just nodded.
"Thirteen or fourteen? 'Cause I'll be mad if it was thirteen, that one was terrible," I said, finally grinning at him, pinching my tongue between my teeth as I laughed.
Dean's face turned from one of embarrassed shame to one of shock and sarcastic outrage. His jaw just dropped open and he playfully punched me in the arm. "You little shit!"
I grinned at him again. "I had you going, didn't I?"
"Freaked me out worse than fuckin' Rock Ridge, Colorado," he muttered, squeezing my fingers gently as he passed me, heading toward the door. I laughed, recalling the case Sam had almost lovingly recounted involving Dean's ghost sickness and a very nasty Buruburu. I clicked off the TV and followed him.
Dinner passed and soon Dean and I were both back in our room, getting into bed.
"Happy birthday," I whispered, my arms snaking around Dean's middle as we settled under the covers. I gave him a long, slow kiss and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see him smiling up at me when I pulled away. "It's past midnight."
"Awesome."
"Happy birthday Dean."
I watched eagerly as Dean eyeballed Sam, trying to gauge what was in the box in front of him. It was wrapped in three newspaper's worth of Sunday comics, and if I hadn't known what it was I would've been as clueless as my boyfriend. I focused my camera on Dean, ready to snap the photo the instant he realized what Sam had given him.
"Oh just rip it open already," I blurted out, more than ready to see more joy on Dean's face.
"Fine, bossy," he said, smirking at me. I could feel the blush rising in my cheeks, but I kept my camera steady as Dean started to tear open the newspaper wrapping. About three seconds later I clicked the photo, capturing the child-like smile that settled on Dean's lips.
"Wow, thanks Sammy," Dean said after a moment, finally able to speak. He stood up and hugged his brother, and I snapped another photo. Sam caught me and glared at the camera lens. Another click. Sam had never liked being photographed much, but I always seemed to catch him at moments where he wasn't really allowed to protest.
Dean opened up the box of car care supplies and started talking to Sam about all the amazing stuff he was going to do for his Baby and I started gathering the wrapping paper. Once Sam had oh so expertly directed Dean toward the garage with his plethora of supplies, I snuck off to the kitchen to start on Dean's pie. Hell knew I'd need all the time I could have to get this pie perfect.
"Holy mother of sin that's hot!"
My hand flew away from the glass bowl, searching for the cup of ice water I'd prepared for this very occasion. I sunk my fingers in, feeling a little relief. I never knew cooking custard could be so difficult. It was my third try, and without much help from my recipe I was swimming in a deep ocean of burnt chocolate.
Distracted by my burn, I looked back at my eggs and realized they'd turned into scrambled eggs. I let out a rather nasty curse word and dumped the eggs in the sink, the disposal whirring to life as I switched it on. I sighed, shutting off the water and the blades, looking around my messy kitchen. There was flour, cocoa powder and confectioner's sugar everywhere. One tiny mishap with the food processor and bam, giant plume of potential pie crust all over the counter, and me.
I rolled my neck around, cracking it. It was time to go into work mode and crank out this damn pie once and for all. So help me, it was going to be delicious if it killed me.
About an hour later I'd finally been able to assemble the pie crust. It was cut to the perfect shape, crimped, and chilling in the fridge before I popped it in the oven. I was so proud of it I'd almost taken pictures. But if I wanted this pie done today that'd have to wait. I was now feverishly whisking my eggs and sugar on a double boiler, determined not to let them curdle again. Music blared in the kitchen, the loud noise somehow helping me concentrate. I sang along to Def Leppard's Pour Some Sugar On Me and focused on my custard, slowly reducing the heat as it came together.
"Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet. Little Miss Innocent, sugar me, hey yeah!" I sang, setting my successful custard on the counter. I began the next step of whipping the butter, salt and sugar together in a bowl, still singing. Once that was finished, I added the melted chocolate. As soon as it was all combined I added my finally successful custard and started folding it in, nearing the end of the song.
"You got the peaches, I got the cream. Sweet to taste, saccharine. 'Cause I'm hot, say what, sticky sweet from my head, my head, to my feet. Do you take sugar, one lump or two?"
As I finished my line, the pie filling finally coming together at last, I spun around, bowl in hand and met the eyes of my boyfriend, leaning in the doorway. Dean had a greasy red rag in his hands, wiping the dark oily stains from his fingers. His mossy green eyes were trained on me, a smirk ghosting across his lips. He had a sheen of sweat on his face, mingled with transfer grease from his hands. It was all over an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt and his ripped jeans as well. I could see the sweat stains on his shirt, but as he stood there my stomach lurched just the same as it had when I'd first met him.
"D-Dean. What are you doing here?" I asked, setting my bowl down and quickly turning the volume dial on low. "I thought you'd be in the garage-"
"Oh I was." He smiled, tucking the rag in his back pocket as he sauntered toward me. "But then I thought, why not grab a beer? And look what I found instead."
"I am gonna kill your brother," I muttered as Dean's hands rested on my waist, pulling me toward him. I put both hands on his arms and looked up as he chuckled, clearly seeing what I had been planning. "He's terrible at keeping track of you."
"I am the older brother you know," Dean laughed, dusting a bit of cocoa powder out of my hair. "What're you doing Kit Kat?"
I pressed my lips into a thin line, looking around. It was obvious I was baking, so there was no weaseling my way out of that one. I sighed in defeat, slumping my forehead into his chest. "Baking you something."
Dean leaned back, looking down at me. "What kind of something?"
I smiled up at him. "A pie." I pressed a finger to his lips before he could speak again. "It was supposed to be a surprise."
"I gathered that," he smirked. His hand left my hip and he reached for the bowl that held the finished pie filling. I grabbed him by the wrist before he could get to it.
"What do you think you're doing? It's not done yet you hooligan," I said, gently pushing him back from the bowl. He looked down at me, a sad, longing look on his face and I laughed. "Stop it with the puppy face, we both know Sam's better at it."
He narrowed his eyes but took a seat at the table I led him to. "But... pie."
"Yes, pie Dean. Chocolate pie, with booze in it," I said, talking to him as though he was five.
His eyes now widened and I laughed, but went back to the pie. I managed to get the bowl of pie filling into the fridge before Dean was on his feet again. I had a bowl of whipping cream going with the electric mixer when he came up behind me, wrapping his arms around me. He kissed my neck slowly and I nearly dumped the whole cup of sugar I was holding into the bowl before it was ready.
"Fuck, Dean. Do you want whipped cream or not?" I asked, craning my head away from him a little. He just kept kissing me, nuzzling his face into my shoulder a bit. I clenched my teeth, determined not to give in. I knew he was just trying to convince me to let him taste practically half the pie filling before I even got to put it in the pie crust. Thankfully, the whipped cream was finished and I switched off the mixer, setting it down and turning around in his arms.
"Dean Winchester, I know it's your birthday but good fuck," I said, giving him a pointed look.
He shrugged at me, his eyebrows rising in that classic innocent fashion of his. "I just want some, that's all."
I looked at him, my eyebrows raised now. "Yeah. Uh-huh." I dipped a finger in the finished whipped cream and held it up to him. "Can I bribe you to wait?"
He licked the whipped cream off my finger, trying to keep himself from laughing. I was doing the same, but failed miserably. He'd had to crane his neck in such an awkward position that he almost couldn't reach the sample I was giving him. I smiled at him once he'd gotten his small prize and wasn't prepared for what he did next.
His hands pinched down on my hips, effectively causing me to shriek and jump away from him. He gave me a little extra push, pinching me again as he dove for the fridge. I looked up at him and nearly jumped on him, as he swung open the refrigerator door. My hands locked around his neck and we both went tumbling into the table, barely staying upright.
We stood up, and I blocked his path to the fridge. He was half-fighting me now, I could tell. Dean could pick me up and move me if he felt like it. "Calm it down birthday boy, you'll get your pie."
One combative hour later, the pie was finally finished. It sat gracefully atop the glowing map table in the foyer, and Dean was staring at it like a hunter stalking his prey. Sam was sitting next to him, silently laughing himself into oblivion. I gave him a look and he cleared his throat.
"Okay, on three..." He counted up on his fingers and we sang in unison.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Dean, happy birthday to you!"
Dean blew out the single candle he'd requested in the pie and Sam and I applauded. It felt so good to just have a normal day in this bunker. Let alone a birthday. I don't think the boys could remember the last time one of them had had a real, actual birthday. One with dessert, special favors, gifts, and that happy birthday anthem. My heart ached for them both, but I reminded myself there was nothing I could do about the past.
I served Dean the largest slice of pie I'd ever seen in my life, and before I could even start cutting Sam's piece Dean had shoved a large forkful into his mouth.
"Oh my god," he mumbled through a mouth full of pie. "Oh. My. God."
"I'm glad you like it."
Dean just shook his head, eyes wide and took another bite. Now his eyes slid shut and he slumped back in his chair, a satisfied moan escaping his throat. Sam laughed, taking his plate from me. Once we'd all gotten our pie, Dean was going in for seconds.
"I'm going to eat the whole damn thing, even if it kills me. Prepare my eulogy Kat," he said, lifting out another slice from the pan.
I just shook my head. "Happy birthday sweetie," I said, smiling at him.
He just smiled at me, mouth still full, and kissed me on the cheek. I laughed, wiping away the whipped cream that had transferred from his lips, and he continued to dig into his pie. I was glad, for one day at least, I had given him some happiness. A happiness he'd come to never expect.