We Hunt Demons All The Time…No, Really, We Do!

BANG!

Sam opened one eye, and looked around. He could have sworn he heard—

BANG!

Gunfire.

Definitely, that was gunfire.

Gunfire first thing in the morning, as an alarm clock, was never a good thing.

Pushing up off the bed, he sought out his brother. His brother who was nowhere to be seen. Throwing back the blankets, Sam found some reasonably clean clothes and followed the gunshots. Stride lengthening when he realized the shooting was coming from the kennels. No way would Dean shoot a bunch of animals in cages.

Then Sam's stomach lurched with his next, even more sickening, thought. Maybe someone or something was shooting at Dean.

Rounding the corner, he caught a brief glance once again at the sign over top the kennel door, Above All Do No Harm… Sam felt a twinge of guilt. They'd done harm alright—they'd set the coyote trickster loose and now had to fix their mistakes. Grabbing the doorjamb for balance as he turned wide and sprinted through. Sam stopped fast, sliding a few feet across the floor before backpedaling a few steps.

Dean stood in the middle of the main room, doors to both kennels open so he could be seen from everywhere. The squirrel was planted in front of him, glaring. Dean glared back. Phoenix sat behind Dean, peering around his legs at the squirrel.

The dog kennel was unusually quiet, other than the echoes of gunshots. The cat kennel was exceptionally still, all the cats, including the possessed, evil, attacking fluff-balls, sat in their cages, eyes wide, watching the show.

"This is how it's gonna be." Dean began to pace. "You," he waved the gun around the dog kennel, "will do your business outside where you are supposed to. You'll eat the damn food, not play in it, and you will NOT tangle leashes with any other dog. Absolutely no fraternizing! Especially with my leg!"

"Dean, dontcha think—"

Swinging around so his gun-less hand was pointed at Sam's nose, "Shut it. I'm getting to you."

Sam drew back. Straightening, he arched one eyebrow and gave Dean the dirtiest look he could muster.

"And you pack of fur-covered spikes, will NOT latch onto my brother anymore. Or me! Keep that litter crap in the boxes." The gun aimed down at the squirrel. "As for you, YOU are a squirrel. You belong outside. You do not sleep in my bed, Sam's bed, or any bed. I pick on Sam, not you. Go find your own brother and pick on him. And under no circumstances do you shower with either of us. Find a freaking tree!"

Sam threw an arm up and ducked away when Dean fired at a spot on the floor beside the squirrel. In a flurry of chattering the squirrel darted across the floor and scooted out a window.

Dean turned to face Phoenix. The dog slid to the floor, head between his paws. "You, do you realize you outweigh everything in this stupid kennel put together? I know you lost your first pair, dude, I'm not blaming you. You had no choice, but grow another set and act your size!"

Phoenix rolled on his back, tail wagging, probably expecting a tummy scratch.

Throwing both hands in the air, Dean groaned. He turned to Sam. "Let's go."

"But we have to—"

"Did it." Dean grabbed his arm, ushering him out.

"What about the—?"

"Finished."

Sam stumbled a bit as Dean pulled him along.

Marching up the steps to their room, Dean didn't let go until he and Sam stood beside the small table. Sam eyed the occupants suspiciously and stepped back.

"Oh no." Dean tugged on Sam's arm, forcing him to step back up to the table. "I've had it. I'm done."

"You've had it? You're not the one who has to live with this." Sam waved one hand up and down his torso.

"See, Sammy, that's where you're wrong. I have to live with you. Henceforth, I live with your stink."

"Henceforth? Big word." Sam growled.

"Henceforth, the stink goes away."

Dean shoved the bottle of dog shampoo into Sam's chest. Snatching it away, Sam slammed it back down onto the table. "No." He spun, stalked to the other side of the room.

"Sam!"

Turning, as Dean barked his name, Sam barely caught the bottle of dog shampoo before it smacked him in the face.

"YES!" Dean challenged.

Eyes narrowing, Sam puffed a loud sigh and threw the bottle back at Dean. "NO!"

"Fine. You have another option." This time Dean launched the hair clippers at Sam. "You can shave it or I can."

"NO!" Sam added a harsh grunt to offset the way his voice shot up and cracked. Winding back, he pitched the clippers back to Dean. He stood, fists bunched, blowing fast, hard breaths from his nose projecting pissed off with everything he had in him. Feeling his cheeks burn red, Sam glared his own death ray beams. "Suck it up and deal. It'll go away."

"Okay." Dean relaxed a bit.

That totally threw Sam for a loop. For about five seconds.

Gun coming up, Dean stepped back far enough to get a good aim at Sam. "Shave it or wash it in that shampoo. I don't give a damn which. But, you're doing one or the other. NOW!"

"You want…that's a…shave off my hair!?" Sam sputtered, voice completely not cooperating and bouncing up and down rebelliously.

Dean quirked an eyebrow, smirked and wagged the gun back and forth a bit.

"That's—" Sam's arm extended, pointing at the gun Dean held. "Gun."

"Yes. It is. See, you did pay attention to Dad all those years. I knew it. I'm proud of ya, Sammy." Dean smiled wider and shrugged.

The smug bastard. "I hate you." Sam spat.

"I'm not so fond of you right now either. So, I guess we're even."

Huffing and sputtering, but not actually saying anything, Sam snatched up the shampoo in one hand, the clippers in the other. Spinning on his heels, he threw the clippers at Dean as he stormed toward the bathroom door. He couldn't help feeling a bit of satisfaction that Dean had to twist his shoulders to deflect the blow from the clippers.

Slamming the bathroom door hard enough it rattled on its hinges, Sam turned to start the shower. In the next instant, he was scrambling backwards into the sink. "DEAN!" Yanking the door open, he shouted again, this time nearly biting off his brother's nose in the process.

Dean poked his head through the door, looking over Sam's shoulder. Growling, he shoved Sam far enough to the side to get the pistol in the room and bellowed, "OUT!"

The squirrel was a flash of brown as it scurried across the small bathroom and up the wall to the open window.

"Thanks." Sam shoved against Dean's shoulder, pushed him out, and slammed the door in his face, all in the same move.

Peeling off his clothes and throwing them to the floor, Sam started the shower. Once under the spray of water, grumbling and grouching to the tiles, obscenities muttered under his breath about overbearing big brothers who thought they knew everything about everything, Sam squirted a glop of shampoo into his hand. He scrubbed his scalp, rinsed and scrubbed again, just to say he'd done so. Dean, no doubt, would find some way to criticize Sam's hair washing technique. Sam was so not letting that happen. He had far more hair than Dean. Sam was the expert here.

He sniffed the humid air around him. There was something different from the last time he'd showered. Slowly Sam turned off the water. He sniffed again. Rubbing on hand over his wet hair, he pulled his palm to his nose and inhaled deeply.

"Huh." Sam grabbed a towel and patted stray water droplets from his hair.

He sniffed the towel. Moving a hand over his damp hair, yet another sniff. Deep inhale, sniff, sniff. Snort. "Damn." He wadded the towel into a ball and threw it viciously at the floor. "Damn."

Sam glared at the door. He couldn't live the rest of his life in this bathroom. The simple fact was he was going to have to leave sooner or later. Being hungry was going to make it sooner.

Pulling on boxers and jeans, Sam left the bathroom, dragging his shirt with one hand, the dog shampoo in the other. He jerked to a halt, opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then snapped his lips to a tight line.

"What?" Dean looked up from the bed, at the same time he shoved a magazine into his pistol and stashed it away in his duffel.

"It wasn't loaded?"

Dean waved him off, making a face. "Course not, Sammy. What are you, insane? You'd think I'd point a loaded gun at you? Over shampoo?"

"Bastard." Sam pulled his shirt on.

Standing, moving closer, Dean paced a circle around him, leaning in to sniff every few steps. "Huh." He jabbed at Sam's shoulder. "Whatyaknow." Another poke. "Say it."

"Stop being so childish."

Chuckling, Dean pinged the top of Sam's head. "Saaaaay it." He chanted.

"Dean! Can we stop the fooling around and get our supplies and end this?"

"Sammy's gotta saaaaay it." Now he was using the sing-song voice he knew Sam hated.

"Fine. You know what, just to prove I'm the mature one, I'll say it. You were right. The dog shampoo worked. Happy now?"

Nodding, Dean grinned. "Yeah. I am." He pinched Sam's sleeves between his thumbs and forefingers, straightening Sam's shirt. "Let's go get some liver and bag us a trickster."

Sam stuck his tongue out at the back of Dean's head before following him out the door.


Dean was a man with a plan. A man needed a plan, and Dean had one. It was a simple, elegant plan. Buy a package of raw liver. Cut it into bite-sized morsels—his machete would work just fine and dandy for that task. Then, he and Sam were going to plant those tasty treats in an abandoned service garage he'd spotted. Once the trickster showed up—bam! More like whoosh. Season the liver with a bit of salt, add some kerosene, and it was going to be coyote trickster barbeque.

Bonus points if one of them remembered the hot dogs and marshmallows. Maybe he was more in the mood for burgers and S'mores. Definitely some corn on the cob. Shiskabobs sounded better. Definitely shiskabobs.

Whistling cheerfully, he pulled the Impala into the grocery store parking lot and ignored the fourteenth snotty glare Sam aimed in his direction. Was it his fault he'd been right…again? Sam was such a sore looser. Dean didn't mind pointing that out to him at every stop light they came to. Grabbing a shopping cart, Sam slouching along behind him, grumbling about how Dean was pushy, they headed into the store.

"You're just pissed because I was right. Stop being such a sore loser."

"You've said that about a million times. It's not like this is some contest. If it was, I'd win."

"Ha! You didn't. I did."

"Whatever."

"I won. I was right, and you hate to admit it."

"Can we just get this stuff and get outa here?"

"After all Sam, it's what awesome big brothers like me are for. I put up with your stink. I got rid of your stink." Dean deflected the package of meat flung at his right temple into the cart. "Want to get some beer to go with this?" The foot he strategically placed at about the same level as Sam's ankle was tucked under the cart quick after Sam recovered his balance and aimed his vile glare at Dean.

Sam threw his hands in the air, rumbled out an aaarrrrrgggggghhhh and stalked away.

"I'll take that as a yes." Dean grinned and headed for the check out.

Shouting from somewhere near the bulk section drew his attention. Rounding the corner, Dean brought the cart to a stop beside Sam. His brother stood, hands on hips, mouth open, watching the spectacle.

A nice selection of nuts, dried fruit, sunflower seeds and granola poured from the bulk bins, mixing on the floor. A few hapless, yet brave, shoppers were trying to cross the expanse of wayward food. They slipped, slid and generally ended up on their rears. Dean studied the sight for a minute.

"That's just—"

"Wrong on so many levels." Sam finished. Eyes sliding in Dean's direction he grinned like a man possessed. "You just hate when I do that, don't you?" His fingers flicked the side of Dean's head.

Dean ground his teeth. "You're a spoiled brat, you know that?"

"Whose fault is that? You raised me. Oh, must be yours."

"Nope. Not me." Dean grabbed the beer and package of liver from the cart just before another cart careened into it and sent it flying. "I place that blame squarely on Dad's shoulders. He was far too lenient with you."

"HA!" Sam dodged to one side, narrowly avoiding collision with a floor buffer. An out of control, unmanned, floor buffer.

Twisting on his heels, trying to get a good look around, Dean turned back to Sam. "It's got to be around here somewhere."

"I don't see it."

In the next instant Dean was shoved into the breakfast cereals, reflex had him holding the beer safely overhead. The liver he tossed to his brother. Sam tucked it deftly under one arm, pointed with the other before tugging on Dean's jacket.

"I see it. I see it." Dean jerked away. "Get off me."

Giving Sam a shove, to move him ahead, they chased the stuffed coyote, zipping around on his skateboard.

"We've got him now, Sammy!"

"I don't call cornered in the dairy section got him." Sam ducked a carton of eggs.

Dean groaned, shoulders sagging when small tubs of Carmel Delight Yogurt smacked him square in the chest. Yogurt freaks.

"Here. Pay for these." Dean shoved the beer into Sam's arms. He sprinted after the trickster, slipping and sliding through spilt milk, broken eggs and yogurt.

"Dean, where are you—" Sam's words were cut off when boxes of straws launched at him. He swatted them away, making Dean proud. The kid never dropped the liver, or more importantly, the beer.

Racing down the adjoining aisle, Dean grabbed a book stand on his way by, spinning around it to keep his balance. It wasn't as solid as one would think a stand full of romance novels might be. He landed in a heap on the floor, coated with fresh grapes and books with buxom babes on the covers—fully clothed, too bad. Pulling one book to his face, Dean grimaced. "Real men don't look like that." He threw it at the coyote as it sailed by.

The book bounced off the coyote's head, knocking it off the skateboard, which completely surprised Dean. Sam, never one to listen or take any of Dean's suggestions, was scrambling after the coyote. He did a quick stop and tried backpedaling, but it was no use. The thing slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling. The package of liver spiraled across the floor, coming to a rest against Dean's leg.

Up and moving, Dean was at his brother's side at once. Plucking the beer from Sam's chest he grinned and hugged the case. "Sam, I told you to go pay for this!"

"Shut up, Dean!" Rolling to one side, Sam's fingers wound into the leg of Dean's jeans, using them to climb to his knees.

Dean shoved him back down when another volley of yogurt tubs took flight in a nice formation. Holding the beer with one arm, curling his body around it, he covered Sam's head with his free hand. "Shit. That was close."

"Dean." Sam tugged on his arm.

"Dude! What is with you and my clothes? OFF!"

Sam's hand waved as he pointed frantically toward the front of the store. The automatic doors were opening and closing so fast they were slamming into people, trapping them.

"Here." Dean shoved the case of beer into Sam's arms. "Pay for it this time."

"How come I have to pay for your drinking habit?"

Ignoring Sam's grousing—he drank just as much beer as Dean—he took off at a run, or the best run he could get on the slick floor, and headed for the main entrance.

After a few false starts, jumping forward, then back, to avoid the maniacal doors, Dean charged through. The parking lot was in worse shape than the inside of the store. Shopping carts gone wild chased people and slammed each other. Piles of bagged food littered the lot. Car alarms blared. The grocery store doors flapped relentlessly behind him.

Scanning the area proved useless. The coyote trickster was nowhere to be seen.

A hand thudding hard on his shoulder made him jump.

"You lost him, didn't you?" Sam stood behind him, holding the beer in his free hand, the package of liver resting on top.

"I didn't…yes." He sat on the curb, kicked at a stray bottle of sparkling water rolling his way.

Sam shrugged and sat beside him, deftly picking a few grapes from Dean's collar and tossing them to the side. "Here's your beer. We know how to trap it. Let's just go set up. Chasing it isn't working."

"Ya think?" Glancing over at Sam, "You didn't pay for this, did you?"

"I was too busy chasing you. Besides there was no one at the register."

"Sam, you can't go stealing beer and liver. Man, stealing liver, now that's just embarrassing and reflects badly on me."

Rolling his eyes, Sam shook his head and stood up. "Yeah, whatever. I'm going to toast me an ugly-ass stuffed coyote. You in?"

"Oh I definitely want a piece of that action." Pulling up on Sam's offered hand, Dean brushed his jeans off, squared his shoulders and headed to his car, his little brother right beside him.