Confetti it's a Parade Book 2

Whipped Cream

Pounding the freshly made dough onto the counter, you sprinkled more flour onto it than necessary. Grumbling under your breath, you began kneading the pie crust. Probably harder than it needed, but you couldn't help yourself.

Your phone lay on the counter beside you, annoyingly silent. You had been waiting for a phone call for hours, and it still hadn't come. To keep your mind away from the chance that something bad had happened, you turned to baking.

One cake had turned into cinnamon rolls. Cinnamon rolls had turned into your favorite cookies, which you had already eaten two or three of. The rest were sealed away in the cupboard, hidden away from Dean's roving fingers.

You had turned to pies, even though you weren't sure you would let Dean close to them now. Not since he had decided to take his time coming back from today's hunt. Glancing back up at the clock, you were dismayed to see another hour had passed. Dean had promised to be home two hours ago, and you were beginning to fret.

Reaching for the rolling pin, you tried to calm the swirl of emotions running through your system. Fear that something had gone wrong. Anger that he hadn't called to tell you he was running late. That's all you needed. Just a little phone call or text message to calm your worries, but your phone sat there, lightly dusted with flour, completely silent.

Back and forth you pushed the rolling pin, hoping that the repeating motion would calm your nerves. But it only gave your mind more time to think. More time to worry. By the time you had the pie crust nice and even, your hands were shaking, your heart racing. Placing the dough carefully in the dish, you covered it with the already made apple pie filling. Adding the top crust, you placed it in the oven, dusting off your hands before taking yet another cookie from the cooling rack.

"Hmm, chocolate cream pie," you mumbled to yourself, needing to keep moving. Keep working even though you knew another pie wasn't needed. But yet you took out the ingredients, easily whisking together the chocolate pudding mix while you picked your phone up. Checking to see if the volume had been turned to silent. You fears worsening when you realized it hadn't. "Dean, where are you?" You quickly texted, hoping that at any moment Dean would be walking through that door.

Dropping your phone onto the counter, you went to the fridge, pulling out the heavy cream. Pouring it into the metal bowl, you turned on the electric mixer, making the whipped cream topping for the pie. With the mixer on as fast as it could go, you didn't hear the Bunker door open, the stumbling footsteps coming down the stairs.

It wasn't until Sam went walking past the kitchen door that you happened to look up. Just in time to see him push Dean through the door, rolling his eyes at you before walking away.

Slowly you turned to look at Dean. Hoping that he wasn't covered in blood.

What you hadn't expected was him swaying where he stood. His shirt was damp, but as he took a step closer to you, you could immediately smell....whiskey? "Dean, have you been drinking?"

"Just a little," he slurred, smiling at you, almost falling over in the process.

Reaching out, he took another step closer, and it was then you could see the red lipstick on his collar, some of it smeared on his skin. "Dean, what the hell?" You exclaimed, taking a step back, shutting the mixer off when some of the whipped cream splattered on your shirt.

"Hmm? I missed you," he said, reaching out to hug you, but the counter was between the two of you, and for once you were grateful.

"It doesn't look like it," you mumbled.

"What? Oh, this?" He asked, trying to look at the lipstick stain on his shirt, turning around and around in the attempt. It would have been funny if you weren't curiously furious with him. "I swear sweetheart, it's nothing!"

"Is that why you're home so late? Without even a message," you grumbled, leaving the bowl of whipped cream in your hands, trying to calm your rage.

"Hunt was easy," he boasted. "So I wanted a drink. And another. And another. And...,"

"I get it. You wanted to drink instead of assuring me that the stupid werewolf hadn't eaten you."

"Are you mad?" He asked, attempting to pull the puppy eye look that Sam had down so well. But with Dean being drunk, it came out more crossed eye and ridiculous.

"I don't get mad. I bake," you muttered, your hand tight on the rim of the metal bowl. And before you knew it, you were throwing the bowl across the counter, right at Dean's head. If he hadn't been so intoxicated, Dean would have easily been able to duck the bowl. Instead it hit him right in the nose, whipped cream flying through the air, covering his face with the fluffy white mixture.

"You know what? I am mad!" You yelled, your hands on your hip. "I've been waiting nervously all day for you to come back from the hunt. Hoping that you would be safe and sound when you walked through that door. But I could do nothing but wait, my phone quiet while you went and drank! And had some stupid girl all over you. So yeah I baked! But I'm also freaking mad as well!"

All the worry and unease you had felt while Dean had been gone turned into anger. Grabbing the bowl of chocolate pudding mix, you tossed it at him as well, the pudding landing on his red flannel with a flop.

"I'm sorry I didn't message you," he told you, ignoring the pudding mix as it slid down his chest, most of it landing on the floor. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, and you could immediately see the cracked screen. "Sam's is the same as well."

"That doesn't mean why you couldn't call at the bar. I was worried," you told him. "And it doesn't explain the lipstick!"

"Drunk lady at the bar attacked me," he tried explaining. "Threw her arms around me, wouldn't listen to me."

"You expect me to believe that?"

Just then Sam stepped into the kitchen, freezing at the sight in front of him. Dean hadn't wiped off any of the whipped cream or pudding, and you knew from the look on Sam's face he was trying not to laugh. "Is this a bad time?"

"Yes," Dean yelled just as you said no.

"Sam, did a lady really throw herself at Dean?" You asked him.

He chuckled lightly before nodding. "Yes she did. Literally unbuttoned her shirt until she was almost indecent, threw herself into his arms, and kissed him before Dean could push her off. Is that what this is all about?"

"And our phones!" Dean exclaimed.

"Damn it Dean, I thought you had called her!"

"The pay phone was broken," he pouted.

Suddenly all your anger seemed to fade away now that everything was explained. Taking a deep breath, you caught Dean peering around the kitchen, his eyes wide as he took in all the baked goods. "No pie?"

"Besides the one you're wearing? There's an apple pie baking in the oven."

Awesome!" He exclaimed, pulling you in for a hug, forgetting the pudding covering his shirt, his face pressed against yours, covering you as well with the whipped cream.