diclaimer: the only thing i own is an extrodinarily childish sense of humor, an obscene attachment to fictional characters, and a mind which produces fanfiction that gets progressively weirder the later it gets.

this story started taking over my mind when i read this tumblr post (originally by alovething):

"dean winchester and tony stark should start a functioning alcoholic heroes who just wanted their daddies to love them club where they sit around and eat cheeseburgers and bitch about how their boyfriends don't understand any of their pop culture references."

and then it went rampant from there and developed a mind of its own and somehow i ended up with this. please review if you liked it or if you have any constructive criticism!

"Look, Tony, I really don't think we should be doing this—"

"Oo, would you look at that! Banana cream!"

"—we should really be concentrating on the problem at hand—"

"Hey, do you think they have key lime too? I have weakness for a good key lime pie."

"Tony!"

"Steve!"

"Have you been listening to anything I've been saying at all?"

"I don't know, that sounds extraordinarily out of character for me, don't you think?"

Dean's eyes flashed up impulsively at the sound of newcomers, but the slice of warm apple pie in front of him quickly reclaimed his attention. After a couple of seconds, in which the visual parts of his brain politely waited for the rest to catch up, Dean stopped mid-chew and looked up again. He nearly choked as the mouthful halfway down his throat attempted a return to sender. The hell?

It should be said that there is a peculiarity in the structure of the universe regarding small, rural towns in America: they always, without fail, have a Small Road Stop Diner—circa 1950s, preferably, but there is some flexibility allowed—that serves The Best Pie in the World. Usually served by Hey There, Sweetheart, Can I Take Your Order? (Occasionally known as Flo, or in rarer cases, Betty.) The other odd feature of the Small Road Stop Diner is that it, without fail, induces spontaneous car-breakdowns within a mile radius and, more importantly, attracts duos of the adventuring variety. Don't ask me how this happens. The universe has a twisted and ineffable sense of humor.

It can be owed to this sense of humor that Tony chose the seat right next to Dean.

The next part, on the other hand, is purely a result of the fact that Dean Winchester attracts bad luck like a hockey puck draws Canadians:

"Hey, do you know if they serve key lime pie here?"

"Tony…" Steve warned.

Dean's face did a little spasmic dance as his eyebrows battled for dominance, his lips pushing out in confusion. "I, uh…ah…" he tried. It was hard to keep his mouth connected to his thoughts when he kept getting distracted by the amount of scratched metal and spandex right next to him. "Um, well, uh…no, this is…" Spandex. Metal suit. Spandex. Was that a shield? "No, I, uh, don't know."

"Huh, well…excuse me!" The man raised a metal gauntlet in the direction of the waitress. Dean followed it with wide eyes. "Ah, excuse me, miss…"

"The name's Flo, sweetie."

"Miss Flo. Do you or do you not serve key lime pie at this establishment?"

Steve had the sort of pained look on his face that's usually associated with acute indigestion. He was broadcasting "I'm sorry for this one, he's not my fault, I swear" so much it was probably being received by distant satellites and sent down to confused cell phone users.

Flo spared a moment to look them up and down, decided that customers were customers, and said, "Sure do, honey. Is that what you're ordering?"

"Yes." He turned to his companion, apparently oblivious to his discomfort, and asked, "What about you Steve? How would you like…" He paused to squint at the nearest menu. "Some of the 'Best Pie in the World?' How about apple pie? That's your thing, isn't it?" He indicated his friend's get-up with one metal finger.

"Tony, please—"

Tony looked over towards Dean, who took sudden interest in his glass of water. "You've got the apple over there, right? Is it good?"

Dean spluttered, frowned, looked over, lost his train of thought because seriously what the actual hell and finally managed a nod.

"Then my friend here will have the apple pie."

"I'll have that right up for you, sweetheart."

Tony smiled and bat his eyelashes. "Thank you, darling."

The moment the waitress turned her back, Steve leaned in towards him, saying, "Tony, we don't have time for this. We've been launched into an alter—" He noticed Dean's nope-don't-notice-me-I'm-not-listening face and quickly amended. "—strange place and you're taking the time to have some pie?"

"Oh please, sweetheart," Tony said, eliciting a noise from Steve somewhere between a growl and a sigh, and another little choke from Dean, "there's always time for pie." He seemed to remember Dean's existence at this point and cast a curious glance his way; Dean furtively averted his eyes and ducked his head between his shoulders, chasing his straw around the inside of his glass. You could practically see his thoughts flashing across his forehead. In neon lettering.

"Oh yes, we're having a June wedding," Tony supplied, in answer to the unspoken wondering. Steve pulled up short. Dean sucked his straw halfway down his throat. "Beach theme." He raised his eyebrows earnestly and drummed his metal fingers on the countertop. "You know: Hawaii, palm trees…exotic cocktails…whole enchilada."

"Tony, what—"

"Oh, uh…well um, that's, uh…nice—"

"What about you two?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

A gravelly voice echoed, "What?"

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean exclaimed. The other patrons in the store looked up in annoyance. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"Well, if you remember Dean, several minutes ago I left to relieve myself—"

Tony and Steve each raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind Cas, just an expression," Dean cut in.

"Why does the one dressed in scrap metal assume we're getting married?"

Tony pulled back, offended, and gave Castiel a once-over; his eyes became pitying as he caught the ratty ends of the trench coat. "Excuse me, but I wouldn't be commenting on anybody's fashion, Mulder."

There was a brief pause. And then Steve leaned down a little, whispering, "I don't understand that reference."

"My name isn't Mulder," Castiel said. "I am Castiel, and I am—"

"We're FBI agents," Dean supplied hurriedly, speaking over him.

"So you're partners," Tony said.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, narrowed his eyes. "Agents that happen to work together."

"Partners," Tony corrected, smiling.

Fortunately, at that moment Flo appeared, bearing pie.

"Oh, that is just beautiful. Flo, darling, you are such a sight for sore eyes."

"Key lime for you and apple for Spanx, right?" she asked, unruffled.

"You know, I think I feel a connection growing here—"

"I'll take that as a yes, honey," she interrupted, setting the plates down.

"—now I know that you probably have a man, and I've got someone back home waiting for me too, but the star-crossed lovers thing never gets old—"

"Enjoy," Flo said, scooping up some glasses further along the bar and sweeping back into the kitchen.

"I'll always love you!" Tony called after her.

Dean shook his head to dislodge that particular mental image and squinted at Steve. "Is he always like this?"

Steve sighed and picked up his fork. He stabbed his pie disconsolately. "You have—" Stab. "—no—" Slice. "—idea." He put the forkful in his mouth and frowned. "This is actually pretty good." He sounded almost disappointed, as if the happiness-inducing properties of good pie were interfering with his efforts at righteous anger and annoyance.

"I think she likes me," Tony said matter-of-factly. As Dean, Steve, and Castiel watched, he maneuvered the fork between the fingers of his right glove, and after several careful attempts, tongue between his teeth, managed to get a section of the slice onto the fork. The forkful was halfway to his mouth before he noticed his audience. "What? Never seen a guy in a metal suit try to use utensils before?"

"I've never had the chance to witness that before, no," Castiel answered, puzzled. "You're the only person I've seen in a metal suit."

Tony pursed his lips and lowered his fork slightly. He gestured with it towards Castiel. "Is Sherlock over here always like this?"

Dean gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Just eat your pie, Megatron."

"I will, thank you." His brow furrowed as he chewed. "Oh mah gawd, vhiss is dehissuss."

"Look," Steve said, leaning forward. "This might sound a bit strange, but where are we?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Three guesses," he said, staring pointedly at Steve's outfit.

"Thank you, sir," he returned, face tight with sarcasm, "you are truly enlightening."

"This is Creek, Illinois," Castiel supplied. "Population one hundred and thirty four."

The other three turned to stare at him.

"What?" he asked. "I read the sign on the way in."

"So," Steve said slowly, turning back to Tony and lowering his voice, "we're probably hundreds of miles from the nearest city, which would be the only place where we could get the materials you'd need to build—to get us back to our own…um, home." He glanced up at Dean and Castiel nervously before continuing. "So we need to get on our way, now."

Tony waved his fork dismissively and took another bite of his pie. "Pwease," he mumbled around the mouthful, "oo noh I could git err in five segonds."

"Oh, really? With both of us? The whole way? On low battery?"

Tony swallowed and pushed his lips out, calculating. "Okay, maybe two hours."

"Except, we're in a…" His eyes flashed to Dean and Castiel again. "…strange place, Tony. Somehow I don't expect people around here are used to your method of travel. Maybe we should be a little more discreet?"

Tony looked around the diner, feigning bewilderment. He refocused on Steve with a start. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you must have been talking to someone else, because for a moment there I thought you suggested that I try to be discreet."

"Dean, I still don't understand what's going on," Castiel said, as Steve and Tony continued bickering.

"You think I do?" Dean hissed under his breath. "I've got ComiCon-edition Siegfried and Roy sitting next to me in a diner arguing about travel options. Somehow that's never come up before!"

Castiel paused, thinking. "Who are Siegfried and Roy, and what is a Comi Con?"

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Never mind, Cas, just never mind."

Castiel frowned and went back to staring at Steve and Tony. Tony, looking up momentarily, caught his eyes and said, "Yes? Can I help you?"

"No, I do not require assistance."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering.

"You know, your eyes are amazing," Tony said abruptly, "Really, the only other person I've seen with eyes that blue is a demi-god. You don't happen to be one, do you?"

"Excuse me?" Dean said.

"Excuse me?" said Steve.

"I am not a deity, I am an ang—"

"Agent,"Dean said, annoyed. "He's an agent. Look, what do you guys want?"

Tony grinned. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not edging in on your game. June wedding, remember?"

"Tony—look, honestly, we're not—"

"Cas isn't…we're not…" Dean stuttered.

"But since you asked, if you could give us a lift to the nearest bus station, that would be…simply marvelous."

"What? No!"

"Oh, come on, do we look like crazy serial killers? No, never mind, don't answer that."

"I don't want to know…what you are, I'm not letting you in my car."

"We can pay you. Well," he amended, "I can't really get to my pockets, but Steve can—oh wait, Spandex. No pockets. Never mind. Can't pay you. But I can definitely make it an entertaining car ride."

"Perhaps we should assist them, Dean."

"I agree with president of the Trenchcoat Brigade."

Castiel sighed. "How many times do I have to tell people, it's an overcoat—"

"No," Dean insisted. And, as if to make sure he was understood, he added, "Hell no!"

"Please, I know it's an intrusion, but it can't be very far," Steve said. "There must be a place with a stop close by."

"There's one just twenty-five miles up the road," Flo interjected, passing by with a pile of dirty dishes.

"Would you look at that!" Tony said, spreading his hands. "She really is a miracle worker. You know, darling, I knew there was I reason I loved you." His voice grew louder with each word as she continued walking. The kitchen door swung shut behind her. There was a moment of silence, screaming with second-hand embarrassment. "Yep, she definitely likes me." He turned back to Dean expectantly.

"So?"

Dean frowned. "So, what?"

"So it's only twenty-five miles, and we're clearly in distress, and you have a car." Seeing Dean opening his mouth to refuse again, Tony leaned in and added conspiratorially, "Look, if you help us, I promise you get invited to the wedding." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh my God…" Steve groaned.

"Look, Dean," Castiel interjected, "if we just give them a ride and get it over with, then they'll stop bothering us."

Tony brightened. "Excellent point! So what do you say?"

Dean looked between Tony and Steve, who were both staring at him expectantly, and then turned to Castiel, who tilted his head in admonition. "You've got to be kidding me! You're siding with the dynamic duo over here?" Dean jabbed a hand at the other two.

"Dean…"

"Fine. Ok! You happy? Jesus." He dug a five out of his wallet and tucked it under the side of his plate.

"Oh, you think you could cover my tab, too? No pockets, remember?"

If looks could kill, Dean's eyes would have reduced Tony to a puddle of brimstone-scented molten metal. He tore another bill out and slapped it onto the counter. "I'm going to go start the car." He stormed out, muttering something about crazy humans. The bell on the handle jingled happily as the door slammed shut.

"You hear that, Cap? We're going on a road trip with Scully and Mulder."

"I don't understand that reference," Steve and Castiel said in unison. They turned and stared at each other suspiciously.

Tony puckered his lips, looking between them, and nodded slowly. "You know, I think you two will be very happy together."

"But I thought you and him were getting married. In Hawaii."

Steve smiled in a quick, short jerk that hinted towards homicidal passions. "When we get back, Tony, I'm going to kill you." He joined Dean outside, shaking his head.

Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion. "Does this mean you two are…not getting married?"

Tony hauled himself upright and gingerly clapped him on the shoulder. Castiel still staggered a little under the force.

"He just gets a little moody sometimes. His sleep cycle's all screwed up, you know—I'm sure he'll get over it. Come on, Mulder, let's get out there before they leave us behind." He patted him on the back again, and Castiel stumbled forward.

"My name is not Mulder," he corrected again as they walked towards the door. "It's Castiel."

"Right." As they reached the door, he said, "Don't expect me to remember that."

The bell tinkled at their exit.

And at the far end of the bar, another pair of men sat, also enjoying some of the Best Pie in the World. The blonde one delicately dabbed at the whipped cream in the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Well, that was a tad…ah, out of the red, wasn't it?" he said, in the sort of accent that was so English even the English were impressed.

His companion sighed and straightened his sunglasses. "Out of the blue, Aziraphale. The phrase you're looking for is 'out of the blue.'"

"Oh." He folded his napkin and set it down beside his plate. He patted it gently. "Well, it was bizarre, all the same. Humans, eh?"

"Ame—I mean, ah, damn straight."