A/N: I do not own Supernatural.
Dean examined the young woman in front of him. She was a mess—yet she stood there with her hands on her hips and a determined look in her eye. Addie reminded him vaguely of Jo, but maybe less savvy. Either way, the kid had a case that needed solving and damn it, he and Sam were going to solve it.
"I've tried some of the classics like strawberry and rhubarb and pecan, but they didn't turn out well. Then I tried some new age-y ones like banana cream and…some sort of tart, I think? But those didn't turn out either." Addie ran a floured hand through her hair, leaving a streak of white amidst the auburn.
"What do you mean, they aren't turning out?" Sam asked.
"Exactly what it sounds like," Addie retorted. "They have either no flavor, or no texture, or no…'wow!' factor." Upon saying the word "wow," Addie's eyes popped open wide and she did some sort of jazz hands move. Sam raised and eyebrow and glanced over at Dean, exchanging one single thought between themselves, "Yikes."
"Oh, come on!" Addie said, her cheeks flushing crimson. "You know what I mean! Haven't you ever had a pie that when you take one bite of it, you can't help but say 'wow?'"
Dean chuckled and sighed heavily, "I know what you're talking about, kid. Sam over here is a health nut, he doesn't understand the heavenly joy that is pie."
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head—the sound of Dean laughing was something he hadn't heard in a while. It was a good sound, one that brought a spark of hope to the whole Mark of Cain situation. "Okay, so what do you think would be the best plan of action?" Sam asked.
Addie looked thoughtful for a moment. She vividly remembered the pie that won last year—it was a Boston crème pie and apparently it was to die for. Since Boston crème is less traditional than say, apple or cherry, she figured this year would place the focus on more traditional pastries.
"I think we should go with an old favorite," she said slowly, eyeing her kitchen counter that was covered in dry ingredients and mixing bowls. "But give it a little twist."
"I think I've got an idea, then," Dean said, clapping his hands together.
"Sam, how is that crust turning out?" Addie called from the kitchen. Sam was hunched over a table in the dining room, rolling the dough out into a circle. He felt so young in that moment; recalling some of the things he and Jess had made together while at Stanford, while she was still alive. Sam also acknowledged how therapeutic rolling out the dough was. The pin glided over the light tan substance, smoothing it out and removing any air bubbles or dents and bumps.
"It's looking really good actually," Sam replied, smiling. "How's the filling coming?"
"Eh…it's coming! I've been chopping apples for eternity though," Sam heard Dean's voice followed by the rhythmic chopping of a knife on a cutting board.
"I actually think that we almost have enough now to start the pie," Addie said, wiping her hands on a dish towel and checking on the pie crust. She took an index finger and pressed it gently in the middle of the circle of dough. "Sam, that's perfect! That's just thick enough to make a nice crust."
"I'll take it over to the pie pan then," Sam said, carefully picking up the round dough. Making his way into the kitchen, he did not expect for Dean to come bounding around the corner, arms filled with a giant mixing bowl of diced apples. It was as if everything moved in slow motion from that point on. Sam watched the bowl of apples fly out of Dean's arms as his brother stumbled backwards. Likewise, the dough Sam had been holding slipped out his hands and made a straight line for the floor.
Sam prepared himself for the crash, but it never came, mainly because both the crust and the bowl of apples were hanging suspended in mid-air. Wide eyed, Sam looked from the crust and apples to Dean and then over to Addie who was standing in the threshold to the kitchen, hand outstretched, trembling slightly.
No one spoke.
Dean felt a surge of energy course through his veins at the sight of Addie. When he spoke, his voice was harsh, "What the hell? What are you?" His hand went subconsciously to his gun holstered at his side.
"Wait, wait, please, I can explain," Addie said, her voice high, blue eyes darting from Sam to Dean. "Please!"
"You have thirty seconds before I put a bullet through your head!" Dean shouted, drawing his gun and aiming between her eyes.
"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Shit, put the gun down!"
"Sam, she's a witch! For all we know she's the one killing all these people for their freaking pie recipes!"
"No! No, I would never! Please, let me explain!" Addie was shouting. She put her hand down and both the dough and bowl of apples landed undisturbed onto the kitchen counter.
"What could you possibly have to explain? You're a monster. We've seen your type before and they're all the same! What's bad about having one less witch in the world?" Dean snarled, cocking the gun.
"Dean, stop!" Sam yelled, jumping in between his older brother and Addie. Dean grunted in frustration but lowered the gun.
"Sammy, get out of the way. Let me do my job."
"No, not until we hear what she has to say," Sam replied sternly, then adding quietly, "besides, if she wanted to kill us, wouldn't she have tried by now?"
Dean's eyes narrowed as he stared at Addie. He hated monsters. They were unnatural and represented all that was wrong with the world.
"You really should hear her out," a voice said from behind Dean. The older Winchester whipped around and seeing no one but a large, orange tabby sitting behind him. To Dean's horror and surprise, the cat, washing his whiskers nonchalantly, eyed him up as if he had seen him before.
"I'm Apollo, Addie's familiar." The cat said.