...Yep, this is definitely the bunny that's being fed...


Chapter Six

Having helped his thankfully dressed brother to his bed, Sam watched with a sort of horrified fascination as Kaz fussed around Dean, fluffing pillows and straightening sheets and shaking out quilts. "How's that, Dean?" she asked tenderly, running a hand gently through his hair.

"I'm cold, Kaz," Dean answered mournfully, coming very close indeed to trademark infringement on The Sammy Eyes®.

"Well, let's see what we have," she smiled, opening the closet and reaching for a high shelf. "Ah, this should help!" She shook out a blue fluffy blanket with a cheerful motif of yellow duckies holding umbrellas.

"Not that one," pouted Dean, "I want my blankie! That's Sam's!"

"Oh, I'm sorry honey," Kaz apologised, taking down the other blanket, the cherry pink one with the rabbits-having-a-tea-party themed print on it. "Here you go," she spread it out over Dean's bed, as he gave her a brave, wobbly little smile. "Now, you get yourself comfortable." Dean snuggled obediently into the bedclothes, then Jimi jumped onto the bed to do Alpha-warming duty.

"Uh, perhaps I should go see what we got for cold and flu meds," Sam suggested, "That's kind of a nasty cough, and his breathing sounds very congested."

"That's a good idea, Sam," Kaz agreed, pulling another tissue from her sleeve and holding it out for Dean to honk into vigorously.

Bobby's bathroom cabinet and the Winchesters' own First Aid kit didn't yield much: a few paracetamol tablets, a fluff-encrusted bottle of cough syrup of indeterminate origin, and a jar of Vicks that might well have been nearing its hundredth birthday. He reported back with his meagre findings.

"Uh, it's not much," he said apologetically, handing over the tablets, "These look okay, if slightly crushed."

"They'll be a start," she told him, handing two to Dean, "I need to go shopping anyway, we'll pick up some more things for you, Dean," she reassured her patient, "So, you just rest up for now, and concentrate on getting better."

"But... Dierdre..." he said plaintively.

"I'm sure she'll understand," Kaz assured him, "Sam and I will talk to her..."

"Huh?" gawped Sam.

"...So, you don't have to worry about anything except resting and recovering." She flashed him another doting smile, and he smiled back. "So, why don't you try to take a nap?"

"But I'm not tired," Dean practically whined, with a big yawn.

"Well, then, why don't I read to you for a little?" she suggested, tucking the bedclothes up around his shoulders. She picked up the dog-eared copy of 'Hemmings Muscle Machines' that Dean had lifted from a grubby diner they'd patronised somewhere between Bumfuck Somestate and Bobby's, and seated herself comfortably on the side of his bed. "Oh, this sounds good," she commented, scanning the cover, "Listen to this article: 'Together Forever: 20 Owners Who Still Have – And Drive – Their First Car'." She flicked through the pages, then began to read. "Ahem. 'Love at first only happens in fairy-tales. Even the most unrealistically idealistic and chivalric spotty youth finds that out quickly enough, once he's humiliated himself in front of enough girls with his earnest declarations, honourable intentions, and possibly badly written (if somewhat unintentionally humorous) poetry dedicated to the object of his courtly affections. Given enough brush-offs, from the dismissive flip of the perfectly-coiffed ponytail to the threats of stalking charges or bodily rearrangement by her big brother, her father, or herself, if he's been foolish enough to fall for a member of the school martial arts club, he'll learn. It just doesn't happen. Not between humans, anyway. But, like fairy-tales, occasionally a human will fall for a beast, and it will be forever...'..."

Sam withdrew quietly as Kaz continued to read Dean's magazine to him, and headed back downstairs to join Bobby. "She's reading to him," he reported, "She's reading to him from one of his car magazines. Something about guys who still have their first cars."

"Should be right up his alley, then," Bobby commented, turning a page.

"I guess it's not so bad," Sam decided, "It's a car magazine. It'll be about guys who do the maintenance on their old cars themselves." His head suddenly shot up with worry. "Hey, you don't think there'll be anything, you know, unnatural in there?" he asked. "Those magazines have practically-naked women in them. You don't think it'll turn out to be some exposé on a secret network of mechanophiliacs?" He had a sudden terrible flashback to the time he and his brother swapped bodies with the salvage yard's gargoyles, Tiem and Zan. Tiem had a decided crush on Baby, and the sight of his brother's body attempting to consummate the relationship had traumatised him in a way that still gave him the occasional nightmare.

Bobby fixed him with a long-suffering look. "Son," he jerked a thumb upward, "Do you really think he's behavin' in a manner that suggests he'd like to have sex with his car?"

The contented expression on Dean's face as Kaz began to read popped into Sam's mind. Bobby was right; Dean looked less like the Living Sex God sizing up his next enthusiastic worshipper, and more like an elementary schooler hearing a favourite bedtime story from a beloved aunt. "I guess not," he sighed, turning back to the pile of books on the table.

"There doesn't seem to be much call for undoing this sort of thing," Sam had to agree with Bobby's initial summation. "There's plenty about tackling evil spells, or cursed objects, that turn humans into non-living objects, but, the other way around? Not much."

"Removin' the spark of life from somebody and changin' their physical form to something material and inert takes a powerful practitioner," Bobby reminded him, "But puttin' life into something that never had it to start with? And turnin' it human?" He shook his head. "I got a feeling that it would take more juice than a human could call up."

A few minutes later, Kaz poked her head into the study.

"Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes," she announced, "You have to keep those brains fuelled up."

"How's Dean?" asked Bobby.

"Out like a light," she smiled fondly, "It's just a cold, I think, but it's hit him hard. He's let himself get run-down, and so, whammo."

Sam nodded. "We've been really busy for a number of weeks now," he agreed, "And when he starts to feel tired, he just goes into denial. 'I'm fine', he says, 'There's nothing wrong with me', he says, 'Don't be such a mother-hen, Francis', he says..."

"The boy refuses to recognize his own limits if he thinks there's a Hunt to be finished," Kaz commiserated.

"Tell me about it," moaned Sam, "He thinks he can drive through the night, then hit the ground running, then do a salt and burn, then head straight out of town and do it all again. Even Batman went home to sleep and change his socks occasionally, and he had Alfred to make the bed and do the laundry."

"The amount of sheer junk he ingests, it's no wonder his immune system throws up its lymphocytes in sheer despair from time to time," Kaz tutted. "As far as he's concerned, vitamins just happen to other people."

Sam looked non-plussed. "Er, how does a car know what lymphocytes are?" he asked.

"Oh, Sam," Kaz laughed her wonderful laugh, "The amount of time you spent reading in me, and the number of times you insisted that Dean listen to 'a really good bit', I had to pick up some of it! I remember the model lymphocyte you made for school, once," she related, "You spent weeks researching it, and planning it. You made it out of pink jello, with a green jello nucleus, and purple jelly beans for the mitochondria, and carefully assembled clusters of M&Ms for the polyribosomes..."

"You remember that?" Sam couldn't help but smile.

"I remember that you won first prize for your year level at the Science Fair," she told him, "And I also remember how annoyed you were when Dean came home after he'd snuck out to a bar to hustle pool, then entertained a young lady for the evening, then when he came home early in the morning he was tired and hungry, and he ate half of it for breakfast..."

"Oh, God!" Sam burst out laughing. "I tore him a new one for eating my winning project!"

"But he protested that it tasted delicious!" Kaz reminded him.

"And we finished eating the rest of it before we left there," Sam recalled fondly. "He was right, you know, I made a damned tasty lymphocyte. At least he waited until after the Science Fair to eat my project."

"Just as well," chortled Bobby, "The excuse 'The dog ate my homework' is lame enough, your teacher would've had a fit if you'd showed up to class and said 'I'm sorry, Miss, I can't submit my assignment, my big brother ate it'..."

"So, there will be no delicious model cells for lunch," she informed them regretfully, "But I'm sure I can manage something acceptable."

She insisted that they take a break, and eat lunch at the kitchen table.

"I'm afraid Bobby's cupboards are a little bare," she told them ruefully as she put down their sandwiches, "But we can pick up some groceries when we go shopping."

"Shopping?" echoed Sam, trying not to choke on a bite of sandwich.

"Well, of course!" she beamed, "I have to get some things for Dean's symptoms, and some more laundry detergent too – I am not blind to the state of your linen in this house, Bobby. I think it would be a good idea if you came with me, Sam."

"Er, yeah," agreed Sam hastily, not wanting to think about the trail of havoc a car-turned-human might leave if it tried to interact with the general public. A clueless angel could be bad enough. "I can do that. But, uh, what about Dean?"

"I think we can trust Bobby to mind him for a couple of hours," she nodded smilingly at Bobby, "Although if you really would prefer to stay here with him, I understand completely, and besides, I know what size socks and shorts you take... oh Sam, honey, chew your food..."

"I can definitely look after one sick idjit for a little while," Bobby cut in smoothly, as Kaz patted Sam on the back until his coughing fit subsided. "You can take the truck, since you're, ah, how shall I put it, transportationally differently abled for the moment?"

"Well, that's settled, then," she declared with satisfaction, "So, when you finish your lunch, Sam, and we can go." She began to eye the contents of Bobby's kitchen cupboards. "Don't forget to wash your hands after lunch. And visit the bathroom – we don't want to have to stop for you to pee against my back end. Oh, Sam, honey, chew your food..."


Ah, the blankies from 'Fanservice'. Bobby keeps them nice and clean and fluffy and ready for action.

Reviews are the Winchester Of Your Choice Huddling Under The Fluffy Blanket Of Their Choice for the Naptime Story of Life!