OMGWTFBBQ I has teh excitements! So many reviews! The Denizens are teh awesome! No wonder that damned bunny won't stop chattering its little head off now - even more annoying, now that Real Life and that pesky thing called 'gainful employment' keeps getting in the way...

For any Visitors, Lurkers or Droppers-In who might be passing through this story, in the Jimiverse, one of Jimi's sisters, Joni, was adopted by a Hunter that Dean can't stand. She's Ronnie, who happens to be the World's Crankiest Werewolf, and who is peculiar in being able to control her shapeshift. (She's short for a werewolf, just as tall as Sam when she shapeshifts, but she says she makes up for it by being sneakier, nastier and more treacherously vicious.) Andrew is her sometimes beleagered pair-bond. He's a very large werewolf indeed when he changes, but he hasn't learned much control of it yet - sometimes he gets stuck, and is banished to the living room, where he watches television and drinks beer (he has to shotgun them, because the cans are too difficult to handle with enormous clawed paws otherwise) and isn't allowed out until he's human again. Anybody who has read 'Wolf in Wolf's Clothing', the story describing how they met (produced after much pestering from some of the Denizens) - and also how Dean nearly pimped his baby brother out in order to raise money to overhaul the Impala - has met them both before, and is acquainted with Ronnie's crankiness...


Chapter Five

"Another werewolf," Sam echoed blankly, "Another Old North werewolf. Another Old North werewolf, bigger than that werewolf." He jerked a thumb briefly in Andrew's direction.

"Apparently so," Bobby nodded. "The fact that Andrew was on two legs when this thing attacked him on four meant it wasn't that much of a contest."

"Are you sure?" asked Dean suspiciously. "I mean, bigger than him, maybe it was a werebear. Or a weresasquatch. Or a werehippo."

"Dean, there's no such thing as a werehippo," snapped Sam.

"There might be," Dean countered defensively. "Right, Bobby?"

Bobby scratched his head. "Nobody's ever reported a werehippo, not that I know of," he replied doubtfully.

"Well, that could be because they're so deadly," Dean asserted. "They don't leave any witnesses. I mean, ordinary hippos kill humans ever year, don't they? Just by charging at 'em. Imagine how much more dangerous a werehippo would be..."

"That's ridiculous!" Sam rolled his eyes. "How the hell would a werehippo get, well, were-ed?"

"Well, I don't know if you've ever watched one of these guys eat," Dean nodded in Andrew's direction, "But I reckon, if one of they got hungry enough..."

"You really are full of shit," humphed Sam.

"You've obviously never seen Ronnie versus a roast chicken," Dean commented, "It's not for the faint-hearted, not suitable for children, maiden aunts, or the clergy..."

"Anyway, there aren't any hippos in the US to start with," Sam said with finality. "They're native to Africa."

"It could've been a zoo escapee," Dean suggested.

"Dean..."

"Or an escaped pet," Dean went on.

"Have you been chowing down on antihistamines and JD again?" demanded Sam.

"Like, when it started to get too big and aggressive, somebody flushed it down the john, and it lived in the sewers, and got bigger and bigger, and..."

"That's alligators, ya idjit," Bobby interrupted. "And it was definitely another werewolf. I trust what his nose was telling him."

"So, what's he doing here?" asked Sam, before Dean could go on to develop his theory about a rampaging werehippo terrorising an entire county.

"He called me," Bobby replied, "Or, rather, the hospital he was taken to called me. He kept sayin' it was important that Bobby know. I went an' broke him out, got him away from there."

"Why?" asked Dean. "Looks like he's pretty badly torn up. He might've been better off staying there."

"Probably not," said Sam, "Sounds like he inadvertently strayed into a territorial clash with another alpha male. If he'd stayed within sniffing distance, it would've come after him, and finished the job."

"And gone through who knows how many humans to get to him," finished Bobby. "Besides, they're tough to kill. You boys know that. He'll heal up faster than either of you would."

Something occurred to Sam. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"A couple of days ago," Bobby told him.

"But that would mean..." Sam almost gasped. "The full moon ended a week ago."

Bobby smiled humourlessly. "Yeah, interestin, aint it? Another one with control of the shapeshift. Whod'a thunk it?"

"Oh, shit," groaned Sam. "That's why Andrew wanted you to know, so you could warn anyone going after this thing."

"Looks like it," Bobby observed grimly.

"So, we got a large, angry male werewolf on the loose, staking out a claim, and he can shift from two legs to four, and presumably back again, outside of normal business hours," Dean summarised, "Is that the job you wanted us to check out?"

"Hold yer horses there, boy," Bobby frowned, "You aint goin' anywhere until we figure out what sort of a curse that witch put on you. Besides," he smirked smugly, "I already got a couple of other guys to look into it, when Sam told me you were cursed."

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Et tu, Bobby?" he whined. "Look, I've been through this with Francis, she cursed my pants, but thanks to the magic of modern pharmaceuticals, and the time-tested healing properties of Dr Daniels Medicine That Fixes Everything From Stubbed Toes To Bubonic Plague, the Living Sex God is just about back to his awesome self..."

Thump

The Winchesters both jumped as the impact tremor reverberated through the floor again.

"Bobby, what is that?" asked Sam.

"He's got the werehippo down there," stated Dean.

"Not exactly," sighed Bobby. "I wasn't the only one the hospital contacted when Andrew was brought in..."

Sam's eyes widened. "You've... you've got Ronnie locked in the panic room?"

"It was a necessary precaution!" Bobby assured them hastily. "By the time she got here, she was so angry she could barely stay human! You know how cranky she can be on a good day – her teeth were already out, and those claw marks you must've noticed on the door frame were not from the Amway lady. When she saw Andrew, she lost it completely, and shifted. She was going bezerk..."

"Bobby," Sam asked carefully, "How did you get her locked up in there?"

"I may have indulged in a very small amount of necessary deception, for the greater good," Bobby actually looked sheepish. "In order to keep her from doing something she would regret when she calmed down, I may have told a very small untruth, out of concern for her own well-bein', you understand, she can't think straight when she's that riled up..."

"Oh, God," groaned Sam, "What did you tell her Bobby?"

"I, er, may have given her the impression that I had the critter responsible down there..." Bobby informed them.

Thump

"...Which may have resulted in her bein' just a little... disappointed in me right now," he finished. "In fact, I'd be grateful if you could go talk to her, see if you can get her to calm down a bit. She'll cool off eventually, but I'm worried that she'll hurt herself if she carries on like that much longer. She'll listen to you, Sam. Or your dog – she wouldn't ever hurt a hair on Jimi's head."

"Hey, what about me?" asked Dean a little plaintively.

"She'd probably eviscerate you just to use your intestines as a skipping rope," Bobby remarked.

"Wow – she's that angry?" Dean looked impressed.

"I mean normally; at the moment, she'd probably want to twist your head off and shit down your neck first," Bobby added.

"Oh." Dean looked momentarily nonplussed, then brightened. "Well, I'm sure we can talk to her, and get her to see sense," he said with conviction, "We just gotta appeal to her pair-bonded side, the nurturing female part of her: we tell her that Andrew needs her up here, and she's not going to be much help if all she does is batter down the walls, because then he'll just worry about her and not concentrate on getting better."

Sam stared at his brother. "That's remarkably... sensible of you," he finally managed.

"It's that feminine energy thing, Sammy," Dean smiled, "You just gotta know how to channel it."

Thump

The Winchesters made their way downstairs, Jimi trailing behind them. He pushed past to exchange a brief anxious greeting with his sister, Ronnie's dog Joni, who was pacing back and forth in front of the metal door, whining.

"Hey, Joni," Sam smiled and patted the dog as she came up to them, "Your Alpha's pretty riled up at the moment, huh?"

"Uh, Ronnie? It's us, Dean and Sam," Dean carefully opened the small port in the door. "Oh, man," he grinned, "Has anybody ever told you that you're magnificent when you're angry?"

The enraged werewolf within snarled at him.

"Oh, yeah," he kept grinning, "There's something really attractive about an assertive woman..."

"Er, Dean," Sam ventured, "Provoking a werewolf? Maybe not a good idea..."

"It's all that feminine cosmic energy you got going on in there," Dean went on with an infuriating grin, "It's making me feel all tingly from here..."

The monster threw itself at the door again.

"Whoa! And here I was, almost believing you when you told me werehippos didn't exist, Sam..."

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam hissed, "Whatever happened to appealing to her nurturing side?"

"Okay, okay, I'm getting to that," Dean flapped a hand dismissively, "Look, Ronnie, this isn't very becoming – anybody who saw you now might wonder if you were actually a werewolf, or something..."

He jumped backwards as long, clawed digits reached through the slot in the door.

"Look, the thing is, your pair-bonded mate is upstairs, and he really needs you to get it together and hold his hand while he gets better. He needs you, but not like this." The wolf subsided, glaring at him. "You're no use down here, bouncing around sounding like a elephant trying to krump – I mean, you gotta have a nurturing side somewhere, under all that hair..."

The wolf let out a ferocious roar.

"Dean, I think you should go upstairs," stated Sam, giving his brother a dose of Bitchface #11™ (I Am Appalled, Dean, I'm Pretty Sure One Of Us Was Actually Adopted), "You're making things worse here."

"No I'm not!" Dean was adamant. "I'm appealing to her feminine nature! Although I'm starting to wonder if you have one, Ronnie," he called through the door. "Or if maybe that's the problem. You need some Midol and a wheat pack, or something? Chocolate cookies? Three pints of ice-cream? A DVD player and 'Beaches' or 'Thelma & Louise'?"

Sam was pretty sure the hinges shook under the next impact.

"Dean!" he snapped at his brother. "You are SO not helping! Go AWAY!"

"Well, it's not my fault if she's being unreasonable and hormonal," sniffed Dean disdainfully.

"Just... go back upstairs, and, and, and, help Bobby with something," Sam instructed. "I'll talk to her."

"Fine," Dean muttered, "Fine, one unreasonable bitch can talk to another one, that makes sense..."

When Dean was gone, Sam turned back to the door, and scrubbed a hand across his face.

"It's okay," he said quietly, "Mr Sensitivity is gone. You can talk to the responsible adult now."

A pair of grey eyes gazed narrowed at him.

"Yeah, I know, Dean, being his usual irresistible and charming self," Sam huffed. "I think he had his tact surgically removed when he was a small child..."

The monster barked in amusement at that.

"And he's never forgiven you for your dog being a quicker learner than his. He's a jerk. But the thing is, he's a jerk who's onto something," Sam went on, "Andrew is going to need you, level-headed and thinking clearly. Please don't be angry at Bobby, he only did this because he was worried about both of you. You know his motives are pure. So... is it all right if I come in and talk to you?"

A canine face can be extremely expressive. The one behind the door said, The lock's on your side, pal, it's your call.

"Okay." Sam slid the bolt back. "But honestly? I'd be happier if you were shorter than me. And wearing clothes."

...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...

Ronnie followed Sam back upstairs ten minutes later.

"How you doin' there, madam?" asked Bobby carefully. "Do I gotta wear my silver chain mail shorts to bed tonight?"

"Oh, God, Bobby, you kinky bastard," leered Dean.

"All is forgiven Bobby," Ronnie said, trying for a wan smile. "Dean might want to borrow them, though..."

"I can't help it if you're completely immune to the suave charm of the Living Sex God," shrugged Dean, "It must be a werewolf thing."

"Sam, can I bite him?" she whined.

"Please don't," he told her. "We get enough dog hair in the car already."

"How about claw him?" she asked hopefully. "Just a little bit?"

"Not on Bobby's rug," Sam instructed. "Blood is very difficult to get out of natural fibres."

"How about slapping him?" she persisted. "Slapping a man who's insulted you is a very female thing to do. Pleeeeeease?"

"Only if you put on a corset first," Dean stipulated with one of his Olympic standard leers.

"I've got a better idea," Bobby interrupted. "No, on second thoughts, it's not a better idea than slapping Dean, but it is a different idea..." Dean let out a small squawk of outrage. "It's late, we're all tired, tomorrow Team Human has to figure out what the witch did to Dean – boy, if you mention those pants again, I will slap you myself, corset be damned – and Team Wolf will have its hands full with wound care. So, I suggest we all turn in, and resolve not to annoy, insult, provoke or disembowel anybody else. At least until breakfast."

"Sounds like a plan," Ronnie agreed with a yawn. "Me and Joni will bunk down with Andrew. As soon as he's fit to travel, we'll be out of your hair." Joni jumped onto the end of the sofa-bed, and made herself comfortable. "I reserve the right to fantasise about pulling a certain person's kidneys out through his ears."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep at all, knowing that you're fantasizing about me," moaned Dean.

Bobby slapped him upside the head. "It's really come to somethin' when the dogs are the only people in the house with any manners left," he griped. "Go on, bed time for everybody. Shoo. Don't make me come patrollin' with the wooden spoon."

"Ohhhhh, you dirty old man..."

"Git," was Bobby's final frowning instruction before he stomped up the stairs to his own room.

"You really can have all the subtlety of a charging rhino, you know that?" Sam scolded his brother as they turned in.

"She must have a feminine energy deficiency or something," shrugged Dean. "She probably needs her kundalini raised."

"Whereas you need your inhibitions raised, you jerk," Sam observed tartly, reaching to turn out the light.

"Good-night to you too, bitch." Sam could hear his brother grinning in the dark.

The beds at Casa Singer were familiar, and they knew that the place was safe. All three Winchesters were soon asleep, snoring gently until the warm light of a clear morning made its way tentatively through the curtains...

Sam yawned and stretched, letting himself wake up slowly. He peered at his watch; it was 7:00. On the other bed, Jimi curled contentedly at the end, while Dean was an indistinct lump under the covers.

"Hey," called Sam, not too loudly, "I'm gonna go downstairs, put on coffee."

A non-committal grunt emanated from the other bed.

"You awake enough to want breakfast yet?" Sam asked.

Dean sat up, yawned hugely, and scratched at his hair. "Morning, Sammy." He burped for good measure. "Yeah, breakfast sounds good bro, just none of your emo vego crap – serve yoghurt at your own peril, dude..."

...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...

Ten seconds later, Bobby was rudely awoken by the screaming. Instantly awake, he headed for the Winchester's room.

"God's tits," he wheezed, bursting in, "Which one of you is murderin' the other... HUH?"

He stared, as bug-eyed as Sam.

"What the fuck's the matter with you two ladies?" demanded Dean, wondering why his hair felt so... scritchy.

Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and he screamed too.

Because the face staring back at him was not the handsome, devil-may-care visage of the Living Sex God.

It was Ronnie Shepherd.


Aaaaaand a great big box of chocolate-coated internets to Darla, who saw this coming a couple of chapters ago. Huzzah! Yes, yes, lots of people have written girl!Dean, but (girl!Deanstuckinawerewolfbody)!Dean seemed like it would be present more scope for shenanigans. No silver chainmail underwear for you now, Deano... there may still be a requirement for custard poulticing of his rash by the end of this story, and no doubt Sam will be completely traumatised by whatever his 'big sister' does...

Oh, yes, could I just take a moment to say to all those Denizens who keep sending me plot bunnies: curse you, breeders of evil rodents! *shakes fist*. Quite a few of you seem to want the Winchesters to head Down Under, plus or minus Ronnie, which could be quite a feat, since Dean hates flying and it's 24+ hours in the air. They'd have to go at least business class. And feed him lots of antihistamines. But he might think it was worth it when he got here, and discovered meat pies and Vegemite...

Reviews are the Bewildered Winchester Of Your Choice at the Breakfast Table of Life!