detectivedeathmachine:
More Superhomo scribbles. I’m still halfwayish through Season One and drew these out of deprivation from getting to watch more.
Dean watches Oprah made on the couch with pies in hand on lost and rainy winter nights, crying and watching it. That is my theory derived from lengthy character speculation thus far.
In fact, suddenly Dean/Pie:
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He saved key lime for the darkest nights.
When the cases hit brick walls of not enough information and nowhere to look for it. When his brother’s body was slumped in some chair in front of the keyboard, insomnia not enough to hold him up.
Dean would wake up at some point and find Sam there and not even have to look at the clock to know it was somewhere in between four and five. He’d get up to the barely working mini fridge of whatever cheap motel they were staying at and pull out a tray with a neat, thin slice.
His tongue flicked out automatically, pie-instinctively. The smell of the lime and gleam of it’s surface against the light of the fridge did it. He didn’t need a fork. Or a table or a chair. He had his pie and his appetite for it.
Sliding on the ground, he slipped it in his mouth whole. Tasted the smooth rush of sugar as his tongue slid along it all, teeth moving up and down against the crust. He knew he was crying and that was fine. The pie was hope. Some kind of confirmation that they’d figure out the case and put it past them and move onto the next, just like they’d always done. Just like all the other cases had been wrestled with, solved, and done away with - never without pie.
His mouth finished it’s work on the key lime and he swallowed. And he knew, suddenly, the solution to the problem. Why they’d hit a brick wall, how to get past it, and exactly what page to look at in their father’s notes. He had the pie to thank for that. He stood to put a hand on the edge of Sam’s chair and push it to the ground to wake him up. And under his breathe, he thanked the key lime.
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Source:
detectivedeathmachine
