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So, okay, Dean knows that he should be suspicious when the pie starts showing up. He’s a hunter, and more than that, he is a sane human being. He doesn’t watch chick flicks and think that they’re real life.
Pie showing up at his hotel door with little love notes attached? That just reeks of ‘creepy stalker.’
First of all: Dean lives in motel rooms and the occasional tent. Sometimes he makes his home in the backseat of his car, but mostly it is motel rooms. His secret admirer has got to be keeping close tabs on him if they know where he is.
Secondly: the notes are all typed. Which is still a step up from being scrawled in blood or lipstick on the bathroom mirror or loves notes left in frost on his baby’s windshield… Dean hates frost messages. They’re creepy and nasty and cold. But the point is that all of the notes are typed, which means that Dean knows whoever it is well enough that he would recognize their handwriting.
Or they’re a doctor, and they want him to be able to read it.
Either way, Dean hasn’t left any real enemies alive, and if it is a doctor, well they have to be good for stitches and maybe a few smuggled antibiotics, right?
Besides, it’s near Thanksgiving. And while Dean cannot ever associate the holiday with turkey – real Thanksgivings are served extra crispy with the coleslaw stirred in with the mashed potatoes – he can appreciate the pie that restaurants start serving this time of year. It’s like a few holiday tunes convince them to start making extra flavors and even restaurants that don’t normally carry pie start serving it like it’s going out of style.
Dean loves him some pie, and as a result, he makes it two hours before he eats the first slice.
He does read the note, but it doesn’t say anything particularly ominous like, “I’m waiting for sweet revenge,” or anything like that. It’s just a nice, “Thinking of you,” note, and Dean’s had a few girlfriends and motherly type hunters that he’s crossed paths with that would leave him that sort of note, so he doesn’t worry too much.
Everyday a new slice of pie arrives. They’re mostly Dean’s favorites, but some of the lesser hitters are in there too. He doesn’t blame his secret admirer for it. Most places only stock the traditional options, and Dean isn’t picky about his pie unless there are more pieces available.
The notes start to get mushier, but thankfully the pie crusts don’t. Dean doesn’t mind being told how handsome he is, but the whole thing about what a great person he is – well his admirer is obviously a little of their rocker. If the pie started going down in quality, Dean might have to consider hunting down his stalker and setting them straight.
But the pie is fresh and good, so he just keeps working the case he’s on.
Two days before Thanksgiving, he’s done, and he moves on from the job with a little pang of regret. From the shifty eyed look of the mousy desk clerk, he kind of figures she was the mysterious pie lover. If Dean had had more time, he’d have slept with her.
She was sort of cute, and obviously very observant. Probably had figured out that there was something supernatural going on in the town, but didn’t know what to do about it. Dean doesn’t always sleep with women who have hero crushes on him, but this one had damned great taste in pie even if her choice in people was a little suspect.
But his next hunt is one that can’t wait, so he doesn’t even get to give the girl a goodbye grin that she can swoon over.
It’s a little disturbing when pie starts showing up at his new motel.
Of course, it’s also little irritating how much he’d had to pay for his room. The manager had said something about how people traveling for the holidays just like to stop and sleep and move on at the motels, and their vacancy is all full, but there was a room under renovation that he could let Dean have.
It’s a shithole of a room, and Dean is actually disturbed by the wallpaper in it. There are stains on the floor that are not blood, but they aren’t from food either, and he just refuses to think about it.
Dean eats the new slice of pie out of frustration. His creeper hasn’t killed him yet, and the French silk is awesome.
When Thanksgiving rolls around, Dean calls his dad. Dad says something about a wendigo hunt, and they both avoid talking about Sam. It’s all very unsatisfying, so when a whole pumpkin pie shows up while Dean is in the shower, he doesn’t focus so much on how his stalker probably got an eyeful of the admittedly impressive Winchester junk so much as how hungry he is, and how his feelings can totally be assuaged by eating lots of pie.
And no, he doesn’t care what Oprah says about eating your feelings away. Dean’ll burn it off. Or some fire wraith will burn it off of him – either way he’s going to be a skinny corpse.
He’s halfway through the pie and debating the merits of adding more whipped cream when there is a knock at his motel room door.
When he looks out the peephole, all he can see is grey sweatshirt. It’s annoying as all get out, but he keeps his gun behind his back as he yanks the door open, unhappy scowl on his face.
Only it’s Sam standing on the other side looking all stupid and sheepish with his floppy, bunny hair and dumbass outfit.
“Tell me you aren’t wearing those,” Dean says as he gestures as Sam’s very college boy sneakers.
Sam’s face instantly morphs into the annoyed, petulant scowl that Dean knows and loves. “Dean…” he whines.
“They’re sad,” Dean tells him confidently.
“That’s what you have to say to me?” Sam asks. The bitch asks it like he’s surprised, and Dean just can’t dignify that with a real answer.
“Well, I’d say something about your hair, but I know what a girl you are about…” Dean’s super funny statement is cut off by Sam’s lips.
More specifically – Sam’s lips crash down onto Dean’s, and it’s a good thing that Dean thumbed the safety back on the gun, because he squeezes the trigger automatically as his hand flail.
Sam’s fingers bury themselves in Dean’s hair, and they body shuffle back into the room, crossing the salt line as they go. Needy, impatient noises are coming out of Sam’s throat, but they’re all muffled because of how Sam’s lips are trying to win a wrestling match with Dean’s.
Eventually, Dean’s hands find their way to Sam’s shoulders to push his little brother away. “What the Hell, Sammy?” he gasps as he stares at his brother.
“I missed you,” Sam starts out, his too big hands reaching for Dean again.
And Dean had used the last of his holy water to make coffee because he didn’t like the look of what was coming out of the faucet, so he throws that on his brother’s body and says, “Christo!” as loud as he can.
“Dean,” Sam whines, “this is a new shirt.”
Okay, so Sam isn’t possessed.
How’s college,” Dean snaps, and that gets him the flinch that the ‘Christo’ did not.
“I missed you,” Sam says again, hauling his coffee scented carcass closer.
“Yeah, sure,” Dean replies as he tries to remember where he stashed his silver knife in his duffle bag.
“You know, you were the one who didn’t want me to leave in the first place,” Sam huffs, annoyance coming out full force.
Dean smiles placatingly at his brother and starts inching towards his weapons bag.
“Dean,” Sam says, “your silver knife is by the pie. You used it to cut it earlier.”
“Watching me, Sammy? That’s creepy,” Dean says as he glances over his shoulder to see his knife covered in whipped cream and orange colored pie remains.
“Yeah. So creepy that you kept eating all those pies,” Sam’s tone is disbelieving, and Dean pauses in mid step to his knife.
“You sent the pies?” he asks.
It’s the wrong thing to say if the storm cloud that covers Sam’s face is any indication.
“You didn’t know? And you still ate them?”
“They were anonymous!” Dean protests.
“And I say again, you ate them?”
The expression on Sam’s face is downright insulting to Dean’s manhood. “What?” he says irritably.
“Dean, do you know how reckless that was?”
“Oh, you’re one to talk. You kissed your own brother!” Dean shouts back. He didn’t die. Nothing bad happened, and the notes were anonymous. How was he dream up the conclusion that his Sammy was sending him creepy stalker gifts? Sam was supposed to be at college doing college boy things and being normal.
Normal is not spying on your big brother and sending him love notes.
Sam’s face is flushed, and he’s scowling. “Well it didn’t work out so great because I missed you. Although right now I don’t know why, because you’re being a jerk.”
“You kissed me!” Dean thinks that’s a pretty good reason for being a jerk.
“You never needed that excuse before!” Apparently Sam doesn’t think Dean’s logic is good, not that there is anything unusual about that.
“Hey! I wasn’t the one sending myself love notes and pie!” Dean points out.
“Well if you had, maybe you would’ve noticed the camera that I’d smuggled into your rooms to keep an eye on you! Do you know how many times you’ve almost bit it recently?” Sam asks.
Dean grinds his teeth together. “Sam, if you’re going to go off on your spiel about hunting again, I’m not interested, okay? I’ve been doing pretty good for myself on my own, and…”
“And you don’t miss me at all?” Sam’s voice wavers a little, and Dean hasn’t ever been able to say ‘no’ to that tone or the eyes that go with it.
“Of course I miss you. I miss you like breathing. That isn’t the point,” Dean says, cursing his inner girl for having to share.
“It is,” Sam disagrees. Of course Sam disagrees, Sam always disagrees.
“You’re confused. You tried smoking some stuff out in California, and you’re confused,” Dean reasons.
“I did not!” Sam sounds offended.
“It’s okay,” Dean assures his brother. “This kind of thing happens to young, impressionable…”
Sam interrupts with, “Do you really think I’m ‘impressionable’?” but Dean ignores him to say, “I won’t tell on you. You know I won’t, but Sammy, you need to get off whatever you’re on because…”
This time Sam interrupts him by pushing him against the wall and pinning him there. “I need to get off alright,” he growls as he pushes his skinny, pointy hips against Dean.
“Dude!” Dean says as he shoves back, “Manhandling is for wrestling and porn!”
“I’m in love with you,” Sam tells him earnestly. “I’m so in love with you that I can’t stand to be away from you. I can’t have normal because, because if I have that then I’m never going to have you.”
“You’ll always have me,” Dean replies. “You’re just lonely and feeling out of place.”
Maybe that is all this is, Sam feeling homesick or whatever. Dr. Phil said that college students displayed that in different ways, didn’t he? Or was that some other psychiatrist that Maury had on?
“Don’t say that,” Sam argues, “Don’t pretend like you weren’t planning on dragging me off with you when Dad finally decided to split up.”
“That’s different,” Dean protests for Sam’s sake. He can’t let him throw away that shiny future he wants. “You wouldn’t have been happy with Dad. The two of you can’t get along for more than an hour at a time.”
“You aren’t happy without me,” Sam tells him.
“Nice ego there, James Cameron,” Dean scoffs. So what if it’s true? Dean has always tried to do right by Sam, and he’s not about to start being selfish now. Maybe someday in the future he won’t be able to stop himself, but that day isn’t today.
“It’s true,” Sam insists. “I didn’t just send you all those pies and notes because I was too chicken to talk to you. I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to mess your life up if I came back.
“Not my life I’m worried about here,” Dean tells him gently. It isn’t like he wants Sam to go, but he already bore the pain of it once, and if Sam walks away in the next hour or so, Dean can just chalk it up to a nice visit. But if Sam stays and then decides to leave again, it’s going to hurt worse – especially given what Sam’s saying he wants from Dean.
Sam looks like he wants to hit Dean, and Dean kind of expects him to follow through on that impulse, so he’s surprised when Sam shakes his head and takes a step away.
“I’m not leaving. I made my choice, and I’m not leaving,” Sam tells him with that stupid, stubborn tilt of his chin that he’s been using on Dean since he was three and realized that he had Dean’ wrapped around his tiny, chubby finger.
Dean opens his mouth to protest, to tell Sam he’s wrong, to tell Sam that he isn’t worth this, be Sam doesn’t let him.
“Shut up and eat your pie,” Sam orders.
“Now wait just one…”
“Dean, if you don’t, I’m going to start talking about all of those very heartfelt notes I sent you. Because I meant every word, and I know that you hate it when I talk about my feelings.”
A few shuffling steps is all it takes to get back to the pie, which is tasty and awesome and needs to be eaten, so Dean isn’t really caving to his pushy younger brother. He’s half way through his next slice, making tiny grunts of enjoyment when he looks up to see Sam avidly watching him.
“Not cool, Sam,” he says around bites. “You cannot keep that stalker staring thing up if you stay with me.”
Sam beams at him, and Dean feels stupid indigestion kick up in his stomach. It isn’t bad though, all light and fluttery, so it’ll go away with a beer or two.
Tentatively he smiles back before issuing an order of his own, “Eat some damn pie.”
“You’re sharing?” Sam sounds aghast at the notion.
“It’s Thanksgiving, and I guess my pain in the ass brother is coming home to write me dirty love notes,” Dean replies with a shrug.
“They weren’t dirty!” Sam protests even as he grabs the silver knife and cuts himself a piece of Dean’s pie.
Dean leers back at him, “Well they better get that way, because I have a reputation to uphold.”
Sam’s head tilts as he overanalyzes Dean’s words, but before he can spout some more words about his feelings, Dean says, “Shut up and feed your pie hole.”