Author's Note: Playlist:Rooster by Alice in Chains, You're a Lie by Slash, It's a Long Way To The Top If You Want To Rock and Roll by ACDC

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Chapter 3: Pie and Demon Bros

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The tattoo's pain was noticeably absent after they left the monk's retreat, though Dean couldn't help but keep sporadically flexing his fingers to see if it would return. They felt numb and stiff, but the mark on his hand lay dormant- neither hurting, or, he assumed, growing. He frowned at it. It lay hidden under the paper strips, but he could feel the thing on his skin. It was an awful sensation, cold and clammy, like someone had slimed him with old jello.

He flexed his fingers again, and the paper crackled.

"Quit messing with it, dude." Sam swatted his brother's hand with the back of John Winchester's journal.

Dean scowled at Sam, but didn't argue with him. "Sorry," he muttered, "Couldn't help it."

"We'll figure this out," Sam said quietly, "We always do."

Dean glanced at him, and then turned his gaze back to the road. He knew they would. At least he hoped they would. They'd gotten out of worse before. Miraculously, but they had always managed to dodge cosmic bullets by the skin of their teeth. In the hunter circles it was always said that the Winchesters seemed to have the devil's luck. Dean wondered how much of that was true. They did get out of a lot of shit, but then again it was also whispered that whoever hunted with the Winchesters managed to knocked off after a while.

His mouth thinned. He refused to think about that one. So many bodies lying in the road behind them: Jo, Ellen, Dad, Bobby. The list got longer and sadder, and they just got older and more beat.

"You know what?" Dean said, pulling off the road into the parking lot of a squat, nondescript brick diner, "I need pie."

"Dean," Sam said, "We don't really have time to-"

Dean cut him off, throwing the Impala into park, "There is always time for pie."

His brother sighed and snagged his laptop. "At least they have WiFi."

Dean nodded. "And WiFi means my pie won't get in the way of you nerding out over obscure lore sites."

"I do not 'nerd' out," Sam muttered. "It's called being prepared. You should try it sometime."

Dean glanced in the rear view mirror to see if Cas was going to object to the diner and wasn't really surprised to see that the angel was gone.

"Wish Cas would actually hang around and not flutter off," Dean griped, locking the Impala and shoving his keys into his pocket. "He's worse than a butterfly in a brothel."

Sam shrugged. "Good luck telling him that. You're either going to have to suck it up, or put a leash on him."

"Do they make angelic leashes? You know, that's actually-"

The diner wasn't too crowded and they quickly found a booth at the back. The whole shebang was achingly familiar: crackling vinyl, greasy food, and a chipped wooden table. All road side diners seemed to blend together after a while, but Dean loved it, for they all had one thing in common.

"Pie," Dean said, when the waitress appeared at their table carrying a pad of paper and wearing a bored expression.

The waitress rolled her eyes and adjusted her apron over her ample chest and stomach. "We got a lot of different kinds of pie, sugar. What would you like?"

"I don't care, pick one. I will eventually eat them all so it doesn't matter which one I start with."

The waitress snorted, and then turned to Sam. "And you hun?"

"Um, water, thanks. And salad if you have it."

The waitress walked off with their orders, no doubt going straight to the back to gossip about the weird dude in booth twelve who claimed he was going to eat all their pie. Little did they know.

"You know," Sam said, setting up his laptop, "One day all of the crap you eat is going to come back around and bite you in the ass. Literally. You will be four hundred pounds, and I will have to haul you around on a special scooter."

"Shut up, Samantha."

Castiel's timely arrival broke up the brewing argument. The was a faint sound of feathers and wind, and Cas slid into the seat opposite Dean, next to Sam. Dean was so busy looking the angel over to see if he was getting any worse that he didn't notice the faint scent of sulphur and brimstone.

A well manicured finger gave Dean's ear a sharp flick and he yelped. "What the hell?"

Meg grinned at down at him rather waspishly and raised her finger to flick at his ear again. "Scoot over."

Dean grumbled and cast an accusing glare Castiel's way, wondering why the angel had thought it a good idea to bring a demon along, but he slid over to the wall so Meg could sit down. "And why is ugly, evil, and smoky sitting at the holy alter of pie?" he muttered.

Meg slapped the back of Dean's head without missing a beat. She shrugged off her jacket, tossing it over the backrest of the booth and sat down, squirming uncomfortably on the crackling vinyl. Cas smiled cheerfully at both demon and hunter, either choosing to ignore Dean's discomfort, or just not noticing.

"I thought Meg might enjoy the pie fest, and I thought it might be helpful if you got a second opinion on your hand," Cas said.

"Over done fruit pastries slammed together by sweaty meat suits," Meg muttered, glancing around the diner with a disproving stink eye, "Yay."

"I thought you'd be happy," Cas said, looking extremely pleased with himself. Either he was ignoring the overwhelming note of sarcasm, or just not noticing.

Meg opened her mouth to say something cutting, but the waitress had arrived with their orders. She set a massive heap of apple pie in front of Dean followed by a sizable boat of vanilla ice cream. Dean practically whimpered with pleasure, and didn't even wait for the waitress to completely set his pie down before he tugged it towards him.

"This is what you do in your spare time?" Meg asked incredulously, watching Dean spoon vanilla ice cream onto his steaming slab of apple pie.

"Do not knock the pie," he warned, jabbing his spoon at her.

"I'm shivering in terror," she mumbled. "Give me your hand, Winchester, so I can get out of here and not have to look at your sad sack face anymore."

Dean glowered at her but he held out his paper wrapped hand which Meg took between her thumb and forefinger, gingerly, like she was holding a fresh bag of dog doody. She carefully moved the paper aside so that she could read the Kanji underneath.

"Hand of vengeance swift, birthed from the deepest darkness- rise and heed My call. " Meg's voice grew a lilt as she read, and it was oddly pretty. "That's the rough translation, and it's repeated over and over," she said.

Sam grinned. "You fixed the haiku so that it made sense in English and still kept the syllable scheme? Never figured you as one for poetry."

Dean jumped on that one like a hawk. "Meg likes poetry? Aww!"

"How would you both like to have your entrails pulled out through your noses and wound around your heads like hats?" Meg snapped, bristling.

Castiel laid a hand on Meg's arm, which was resting on the table, and the demon surprisingly deflated like a small angry balloon. "Would you like some of my pie?" he asked.

Dean cocked his head, shrewdly watching the demon and the angel's subtle body language. For a moment he wondered just how crazy 'crazy Cas' was. For an angelic being with his marbles not all in the box, he was oddly persuasive at heading off Meg's demonic anger. He wondered what would happen if he poked at the bee hive with a metaphorical stick.

Unfortunately his brother knew him well.

"So," Sam said quickly, heading off whatever filthy comments Dean had brewing, "I didn't really have to do any digging. A search of the local newspaper brought up all kinds of stuff."

"Yeah, like what?" Dean asked, "Anything to do with this?" He waved his paper covered hand.

"Kind of. The obituaries for this town are bigger than average, and they're all weirdly related."

"Our kind of weird?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

"Trust you humans to always make things entertaining for the rest of us," Meg said.

"Be nice," Castiel told her.

Meg rolled her eyes, but the rest of them were shocked when she actually shut up.

"So, weird deaths," Dean prompted. "God I say that a lot."

Sam shrugged. "Well, if they weren't weird, we wouldn't be here."

"True enough. What's it say, Sammy?"

"All the obituaries I've read seem to have an Asian flair. Let's see, Paul Rogers died last week in his hot tub. The responding officers noted plants and pond scum growing in the water. Cornor's report says the muck and bacteria up the victim's nose is native to Japan, specifically areas around Kyoto." He tapped at his computer again. "And Nathalie Bustillo died last month in her home along with her bodyguard. Cat paw prints everywhere, and again, dirt had particulates native to Japan. Maybe a Kappa?" Sam mused.

"Bustillo, Bustillo, why do I know that name?" Dean muttered, glaring at dwindling pile of pie like it could tell him the answer.

Sam pursed his lips, "Well, she is one of the Ambassadors for France, and a high ranking member of the French government." At Dean's blank look Sam sighed. "And she was in the People Magazine's list of hottest figureheads of world government."

Dean snapped his fingers. "That's it!"

"Didn't figure you for a political activist. That actually involves thinking," Meg said, chuckling, "I think a pig just flapped past the window."

"Hah hah," Dean said, "I only know it because I listened to Frank rant about a government conspiracy involving poisoned chocolate mousse and hairspray, and she was one of the main offenders. And also, ya know, she's hot. Or was. For a cougar anyway."

"You are unbelievable."

Cas flagged down the waitress and pointed at Dean. "I'll have what he's having."

Dean swallowed the last of his pie. "And I will have the next piece in line."

"And I repeat," Sam said, "Four hundred pounds. Motor scooter."

"Not everybody will have your weirdass hippie rabbit food, but pie is forever," Dean snapped.

"Whatever."

Conversation lulled, and Dean took the time to devote himself fully to his pie. The next slice was a chocolate cream monstrosity with a hefty dollop of whipped cream and chocolate shavings with a smashed oreo cookie crust. He closed his eyes in almost orgasmic pleasure.

"It's going to be hard," Sam said finally. "These are all high government officials. It will be more difficult to just walk in and ask questions than usual; the FBI will be involved, and their bullshit radar is generally higher than the people we usually deal with."

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, with Frank gone, we're pretty much up shit creek with our normal ID's. Maybe he could've come up with something that would have stood up to scrutiny, but now?" He trailed off.

"Meg could help." Cas swallowed half his chocolate pie. "She was very helpful at the hospital."

Meg glared at him. "You offer my services pretty damn quickly, Big Bird. What's in it for me?"

He smiled serenely at her around a mouthful of pie and offered her a second fork. Meg rolled her eyes but she took it, scooping all the whipped cream off of Castiel's pie and shoving it into her mouth.

Dean had an answer for that one. "Remember? It's cold out here and you're here to help me? Friends, right?"

"Ugh, that's not-" Meg started.

"You made friends?" Cas said happily, "That's nice of you."

Meg glowered and ate another massive forkful of Castiel's pie.

Dean grinned. "Well, a not-friend might forget about the deal, but we're pals. Right? Pals have no problem with favors every once and a while."

"Ugh, fine!" Meg threw up her hands. She slid out of her seat and raked a hand through her wavy dark hair. Snagging her jacket, she yanked it on. "For the record, I hate you all."

Dean raised a forkful of pie as Meg stalked out the door of the diner.

"Don't hurt anybody," Sam called after her.

The dirty diner door slammed behind her, shaking the windows of the place.

"I think we annoyed her. Do you think she's annoyed?" Sam mused.

"Nah. We're awesome." Dean shoved aside his empty plate and flagged down the waitress. "Pie!"


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To be continued, please review!