It was a running gag at this point.

Every single time Dean planned to eat pie, some disastrous event happened that stopped him. It angered him to no end, but it never failed to make you laugh.

But when Dean stumbled into the bunker after a long solo hunt, disoriented, blood and mud everywhere, you knew what you had to do.

You left the bunker and returned twenty minutes later holding a pie tin from a nearby bakery. You walked up to where he sat in the bunker's war room, nursing a beer. You plopped the pie tin in front of him and offered him a small smile. "Apple pie. Your favourite."

He looked up at you exhaustedly, mid-sip, with puppy-dog eyes. "Really?" he asked hoarsely. "...Why, {{user}}?"