a scenario that makes me happy - converging fandoms and terrible writing
On the trail of a new job, Sam and Dean are driving through a quaint little town, and see this huge pie crust on a building. Dean, being Dean, makes them stop. It’s the Pie Hole, of course.
They come in, and take a seat, and Chuck is there with a big smile to take their orders. Ned is happily at work in the kitchen, occasionally pausing to scratch Digby, or take a quick look out at his customers.
In one booth, Emerson and Olive sit discussing the recent, suspicious death of a local man. Olive is talking at high speeds, trying to puzzle out the details, while Emerson wonders if the Pie Maker will consent to helping him out. He seemed unsure of this particular case, for some reason.
Two booths over, Sherlock sits quietly with John. He caught wind of a most intriguing case in America, in the vicinity of the Pie Maker, and decided to pay him a visit. He owed him a great deal. His life, in fact. No one else could have done what Ned had that day at the hospital.
Sitting at the counter, a young flame-haired lady and her husband are enjoying cup-pies and some tea, abroad on holiday.
Chuck arrives at the Winchester boy’s table, with their pie and coffee, and with a winning smile, Dean casually inquires about the murdered man they’re after.
The heads of Emerson, Olive, Sherlock and John whip around to stare at the boys. Eyes narrow as they all realize they are on the same scent, and a few awkward moments of silence fall. Chuck darts a look at the Pie Maker, and as he opens his mouth, the bell on the door tinkles, and an odd-looking man in a bow-tie bursts through the door, a stern man in a trench coat in tow.
The couple at the counter turn their heads, and the woman is first to speak, eyes wide.
“Doctor?”
Dean splutters.
“Cas? What are you doing here? Who is that?”
“An old friend. Look. The thing that you’re hunting… It’s not what you think it is.”
The man in the bow tie pipes up, visibly excited. “It’s most certainly not. In fact, I’ve never seen the like before. Fascinating.”
Ned comes around from the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed, headed straight for the door. Silently, he turns the sign on the door to “CLOSED,” and proceeds to close the blinds.
Removing his apron and dusting flour from his hands, he looks around at the collection of people, and finally speaks, with arms crossed uncomfortably.
“What’s going on, here?”
