Chapter 4
"Dude, what the hell are you... am I... what the hell is that?" demanded the smaller gargoyle, still bristling with annoyance as Bobby led the two Winchester bodies back down the stairs, 'Dean' now subsided to the occasional sniffle.
"It's a shirt," said his body, looking down at the paisley printed garment he had chosen after the man of Knowledge had explained about clothing.
"I think what he means is, why are you wearing that one. It's one of mine," clarified the larger gargoyle from his perch on a chair in the living room.
Tiem looked down at the shirt again. "I like this one," he said, "It has leaves on it. And it's loose."
The smaller gargoyle continued to pace, waving his arms about. "Well, it looks totally sissy," he snapped, "As if you aren't making me look enough like a chick already."
"I hurt my nose," defended the shorter human body, "It's still sore."
"Suck it up princess," growled the affronted gargoyle, "I've... you've... that body has had worse."
The taller human stepped up to the angry gargoyle, and glared down at him. "You leave my brother alone," he demanded, "He hurt himself!"
"Well, he should be more damned CAREFUL," raged Short & Stony, "Seeing as it's not even his own BODY he'd better damn well take care of the merchandise while he's in there..."
"Ha! Like anyone's going to care what happens to this piece of meat," hissed 'Dean', "This useless, long-legged, short-armed, wingless, squishy-nosed limp-phallused thing..."
"That's enough!" barked Bobby. The four other individuals subsided. "Now, I am going to fix coffee, and we are going to talk about this like rational huma... rational beings."
Five mugs of coffee later, they all sat in the living room. The two gargoyles perched on the floor. The two 'Winchesters' perched on the sofa, slurping in amazement at their drinks.
"This is... wonderful!" declared 'Sam'.
'Dean' swished his noisily around in his mouth, smiling, all tears forgotten. "Does this have brake lights in it?" he asked.
"It's called sugar. Now," began Bobby, "I have my suspicions about what's going on here. I just need to confirm who is, er, who, right now. Dean?"
"Yeah/Yes," said the shorter gargoyle and human both at once. They stared at each other.
"No, you've just stolen my body," insisted the gargoyle, "I'm Dean."
"Well, I'm actually Tiem," the shorter human told him.
"But 'Dean' is what the man of Knowledge calls him," explained the taller human. "And he calls me 'Sam', although my name is actually Zan. It's amazing how close he got to our names! He says good morning and good night to us every day," he went on, as both 'Winchesters' looked fondly at Bobby, "He says, 'Mornin' there, Dean and Sam, don't you go scarin' any civilians, ya idjits', and 'One of these days, Sam, somebody's gonna climb up there with a scrubbin' brush and give you a haircut, Mr Moptop', and 'You know, Dean, I'm kinda thinkin' you oughta put some shorts on, that thing frightened the vicar'..."
The larger gargoyle was staring at Bobby. "You named them Dean and Sam?" he asked, his face forming a bitchface/gravelpuss expression that both older brothers recognised. "You named them after us?"
Bobby removed his hat and scratched his head, looking slightly sheepish. "Well," he said slowly, "They are, according to gargoyle reckoning, brothers, and, er, Tiem there is older," he raised his eyebrows, and Dean's body nodded at the correct pronunciation, "And Zan there is a bit bigger, and, he's a bookworm, and, well, you have to admit, there are certain other... resemblances..."
The two gargoyles glared at him more stonily than being carved out of granite would explain.
"The, er, hair, I mean," Bobby stuttered, "Zan's lichen, looks a bit like... and Tiem, well, Tiem has, er, Tiem has, that is, Tiem has..."
"A propensity to frighten the vicar?" suggested the larger gargoyle snidely.
"Fuck my life," muttered the other one, dropping his head into his claws.
"They're not very respectful towards the man of Knowledge," observed the larger Winchester body, his expression also rearranging its settings to bitchface/gravelpuss.
"All right, we need to sort out who's who right here," asserted Bobby. "You are Dean," he pointed to the smaller gargoyle, "You are Sam," he indicated the larger one, "And this is Tiem who is gargling his coffee again, I don't know why, but he's not crying so it's all good, and you are Zan. We all clear?" The swapped identities all nodded. "Right. You two idjits – no, not you two idjits, you two idjits – can call me 'Bobby', because that's how humans work, and I'm human, and right now you're masquerading as human, and frankly I don't think my brain could really cope with being addressed so respectfully by something that looks like Dean Winchester."
"Man of Knowledge," sniggered Dean, and Sam slapped him upside the head with a taloned hand.
"Now, as I was saying, before I had to sort out you chuckleheads, I have my suspicions about what has happened here." He picked up the witch's grimoire that he had been looking forward to reading in a more leisurely mood. "I suspect this may be a hangover from the Hunt Sam and Dean just finished up, but I'll have to do some reading to figure it out. You think you're up to some research, Sam?"
Sam stretched his wings and fidgeted a little. "I think so," he replied, looking down at his taloned hands, "Although I'm a bit worried about handling your books."
"I can hold books," said Zan, a trifle defensively, his wistful expression looking even more convincing than usual with a human face to express it, "A man of Knowledge taught me, when I was a fledgling. I can help too," he insisted.
"Okay, then," Bobby headed for his study, "I got some books on Transformations that might help." Sam and Zan followed him, both moving a bit awkwardly in their unaccustomed bodies.
"What are we supposed to do?" demanded Dean, wings quivering in annoyance again.
"Make more coffee," supplied Tiem promptly, peering into his empty mug.
"Coffee would be good," Bobby's voice drifted back to them, "Show him how, Dean."
"Great, just great," muttered Dean, "I wake up, fall off a gate, just about break my neck..."
"And my phallus," accused Tiem.
"...Shut up, you, my brother won't stop being a gargoyle, I can't stop being a gargoyle, and now I have to teach myself how to make coffee." He sighed. "Come on them, handsome," he told Tiem, "Maybe I can educate you about some really important things." He waddled towards the kitchen, Tiem trailing behind him. "What do you know about mechanics?"
"I know how a printing press works," Tiem told him, "The brothers at St Birgit had one."
"Wasn't quite what I had in mind," grunted Dean, gloomily inspecting his talons, "My Baby needs a bit of maintenance, and I don't know how the hell I'll manage with these... hands."
"Well, I don't know how I'll manage if a demon shows up, and all I have is this wibbly wobbly excuse for a phallus," snarked Tiem.
"Oh, God, and Sam says I'm obsessed," Dean griped. He pulled himself up onto the bench with his long arms, and pulled coffee out of the cupboard. "Okay," he began, "The Gentle Art Of Brewing A Decent Cup Of Coffee, And None Of That Flavoured Crap That Sam Likes Because It's Not Actually Coffee At All. Step one, first catch your coffee grounds. Step two, fill the pot with water..."
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It was messing with Bobby's head, ever so slightly, to see Sam, perching on a chair at the table in the living room, carefully leafing through a book and delicately holding a pen in his talons, while Zan perched on another chair right beside him, human knees coming alarmingly close to his shoulders. They both sat so still, it was difficult to tell which one had grown up as a gargoyle.
"What I don't understand is, if this is Grandma Gracie's doing, how did it happen?" asked Sam plaintively, as Tiem came into the room, carefully carrying a tray with more coffee on it, Dean following him.
"I've made coffee!" he beamed. "For Bobby, NATO Standard, and for Zan, black with four sugars," he passed out the mugs, "And for me, and for Dean, black, and for Sam, Weak As Elderly Chupacabra Piss With That Vanilla Shit That Will One Day Make You Grow Boobs Because You're A Great Big Frigging Girl," he finished, like a student who's just completed an assignment and is anticipating an elephant stamp.
Sam glared at Dean with Gravelpuss #1™ (Dean, I Don't Believe You Just Did/Said/Ate/Punched/Shot/Had Sex With That!) as he sipped his drink. "Actually," he said, "This is pretty good, Tiem. Better than Dean usually makes it for me," he added pointedly.
"I like coffee," sighed Zan happily.
"Me too," agreed Tiem, after an enthusiastic gargle. "It's like having virgin doves piss on your tonsils."
"Tiem, doves don't pee."
"All right then, it's like having virgin butterflies piss on your tonsils."
"Butterflies don't pee either, haven't you ever watched them?"
"Wretch."
"Fiend."
"So, Team Handsome has the catering covered, does Team Nerd have any ideas on what the fuck actually happened?" asked Dean, perching on the sofa.
"Bobby suspects it's Grandma Gracie's doing," Sam told him, "But I don't understand how – we ganked her, destroyed her altar, destroyed her shop, destroyed all the pies. There was nothing left."
"Maybe there was something outside the place you burned down?" suggested Zan.
"No, she was working out of her shop," mused Sam, "There was nothing at her house to suggest... Dean?" Sam looked hard at his brother, who was managing to look extremely sheepish, and was actually squirming. "We destroyed everything, didn't we?" His eyes narrowed. "Dean, that pie you shared with me yesterday, where did it come from?"
Dean turned the most wistful look ever carved onto his brother. "I just wanted to save one, Sam," he explained in a mournful tone, "And it was just right there, already boxed up, and it was so golden, and so fat, and so moist, and it just looked up at me and begged me to save it..."
"I don't believe it!" humphed Sam, "I do not believe it! You knew she was cursing pastries to work her mojo. You rescued a cursed pie!"
"I didn't think it would still be cursed after we burned down the shop!" Dean defended hotly. "It was just one pie, Sammy, I just wanted to save one. AND it was delicious. You agreed it was delicious!"
"OF COURSE it was delicious!" groused Sam, his wings twitching irritably. "It was delicious to make sure it got eaten! YOU FED ME CURSED PIE, YOU JERK!"
"You liked it, bitch," scowled Dean, "You even licked the plate, don't think I don't know..."
"If I could just interrupt these Hallmark moments of brotherly bonding," interrupted Bobby, "I don't think she was pulling off Transformations," he suggested, checking his own notes. "That takes a hell of a lot of talent, and occult mojo. I don't think she had it in her, looking at this book – she wasn't packing enough juice to pull off something like that. Looks more like she pulled some sort of switch, with pre-existing statues or ornaments."
Zan looked thoughtful. "What would happen if you tried to... put a person into a, well, just a statue?"
"I don't know for sure," said Bobby grimly, "But I suspect what you'd get is one dead body, and one completely unaltered statue." He frowned. "Maybe she just set 'em to swap with the nearest piece of statuary. Go to sleep human, wake up... dead. Statues are just inanimate rock. I'm guessing, she never anticipated that one of her pies would target a couple of guys who'd go to bed within shoutin' distance of a couple of honest-to-Murgatroyd gargoyles. You two got real lucky, coming back here."
"Yeah, I feel sooooo lucky, right about now," groaned Dean, peering glumly into his coffee.
"Well, if we can figure out what she did, we can tackle figuring out how to undo it," reasoned Bobby, "So Team Nerd here will get on with the research. Right guys?"
"Yes, Bobby," chorused Sam and Zan, turning back to their books.
"What about Team Handsome?" asked Dean.
"There's a couple of gates outside you can sit on," Sam told him, "You'll have to explain how to use a ladder to Tiem."
"And keep the coffee coming," suggested Zan without looking up. "More sugar next time, please."
"Bitch/Wretch," Team Handsome scowled. "Come on, Tiem," humphed Dean, "You can help me with my Baby."
"I don't know anything about human babies, other than they're noisy and they smell bad," said Tiem, following the gargoyle out of the house.
"She's not that sort of baby," grinned Dean.
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"We just gotta let her warm up before we drain the oil," explained Dean, as the Impala rumbled gently at idle, "Ordinarily I'd take her out, but that's not really an option at the moment. You might have to give me a hand, I don't know how I'll manage with these wings... Tiem?"
Tiem was standing, barely daring to breathe, staring at the car. He looked like he might be about to burst into tears again.
"Er, Tiem, are you okay?" asked Dean.
"Her name is... Baby," whispered Tiem, not taking his eyes off the Impala.
Dean grinned. "Yeah, I call her that. My Baby, my girl."
"She is... magnificent," Tiem said, awestruck, "She is... beautiful."
"You like Classics, huh?" smiled Dean.
"I have admired her from afar from the day I first saw her," sighed Tiem. He looked at Dean with wondrous hope in his eyes. "You want me to help you with her?"
"Yeah, another pair of hands – well, a human pair of hands – might be useful. At least, you can hand me stuff."
Tiem put out a hand hesitantly.
Dean laughed. "It's okay to touch her, you know," he said, amused.
Tiem laid a hand reverently on the hood. "I was always too worried to touch her," he explained, "Worried that I would damage her."
"Nah, she's tough," Dean reassured him, "You wouldn't believe what she's been through."
"She's warm," noted Tiem, smiling, trailing a hand along the paintwork to the front pillar, "So warm, and smooth."
"It's the black paint, absorbs heat," Dean told him, "And she'll warm up quick, just sitting at idle... er, Tiem?"
Tiem stretched both arms along the tops of the doors, and laid his cheek on the roof. "Hello, Baby," he whispered, "I am so happy to meet you, Ferrous Goddess, fellow creature drawn from the Earth..." he closed his eyes, feeling the low, rumbling vibration through the car, through the strange, soft body he occupied. It felt... good. It felt... really good.
"Er, Tiem," Dean tried again, "Are you... are you, er, communing with my car? Seriously, are you... talking to my car?"
Tiem had a beautiful smile on his face, eyes closed, and was whispering to the Impala in some language shared by things brought forth from the Earth's crust and mantle, and he was moving, oblivious to anything else. It felt really, really good.
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Team Nerd were dragged from their discussion of a possible counter-spell when they heard Dean yelling in the yard.
"What the fuck? Dude, that is just fucking WEIRD... Hey, stop, oh my God, are you... You are! You are! Stop it! Stop... No, no, no, nonononoNONONO STOP HUMPING MY CAR!"
There was a surprised cry, then running footsteps, and the sound of the door opening. Tiem burst into the living room, a look of happy relief on his face.
"It's all right, Zan, I shouldn't have worried," he reassured his brother, pushing his pants down to his knees, "Look! It works after all!"
Ah, G.W.N. is always so well received. I'll see what else I can do. Should they have to go back to the place where Grandma Gracie's shop was? How would the two pairs of idjits cope with a road trip? Would Bobby be reduced to banging heads together? Whaddyareckon?