So here we are, back with this one, now that the 'Pregnant Pause' plot bunny has been stomped. For the Deangirls who despaired, I shall try to get Dean back to his snarky, obnoxious, annoying self ASAP. The bunnies are quiet, at the moment - will update again as soon as the little bastards start agitating. Now Leahelisabeth wants Sam in peril - I'll see if I can get to it. The Denizens are a demanding bunch. Anything else while I'm at it? Aliens? Song and dance routines? Floristry lessons?
Chapter 7
They spent two days trying to work out what the dognapper might be intending to do, without making any more progress.
"What do they want that much blood for?" wondered Ronnie, idly scratching Jimi's ears.
"The more I think about this, the less I like it," stated Bobby grimly. "The number of abductions, the amount of blood being collected – you could be walking into something seriously nasty. You could draw a hell of a lot of binding sigils with that much blood."
"Bobby suggested it earlier – blood, and plenty of it, is the basic requirement for the more, er, uncivilised Summonings," Sam said. "The thing is, if you want to call up something unpleasant and try to bind it, usually that demands human blood. Animal blood generally doesn't have enough mojo – not even a minor demon who was bored out of its mind would answer a summons with dog blood."
"Okay, so, if you have to summon something on a budget, can't afford the top shelf red stuff, what can you call up?" asked Dean. "Hey, J-Man!" he frowned at the dog, "What are you doing?"
Jimi gave him a doggy grin and continued to loll against Ronnie's leg. "You stopped scratching," she explained.
"You are a total whore, Jimi," Dean scolded him, as the dog regarded him unrepentantly, "An unashamed pushover who will lean against anybody for a pat and a belly rub."
"Gee, I wonder where he learned that from," mused Bobby aloud.
"Not much I know of," Sam replied, getting back to the question of the missing blood, "The whole point of evil things is that they're, well, evil. A large amount of human blood is generally acquired via murder. The commission of evil acts to get your ingredients is all part of it."
"There are a couple of very specific things that can be summoned with very specific animal blood," Bobby picked up one of his old books, "But they're barely worth the effort. A kitsune, a Japanese trickster spirit, can be invited with a small amount of fox blood, but often they're benevolent, or punish the prideful, anyone who's karmically asking for it. They're like the occult version of the whoopee cushion. A crow can be summoned with crow's blood, but you don't need much, and they impart wisdom about dealing with looming danger, or facing upcoming changes."
"Would taking the blood of top-notch dogs make it more, I dunno, summonworthy?" asked Ronnie, looking puzzled. "Is that even a word?"
"And how the missing body parts fit in, is anybody's guess," humphed Sam. "I've gone back through Bobby's stuff dealing with blood mojo, and there's nothing that gives a hint as to what somebody might be trying to do."
"I'll keep lookin'," Bobby assured them, "But you'll have to do some old-fashioned Hunting leg-work at your end when you get there. Meanwhile, you'd better get Sam and Jimi entered for their classes."
"I've been thinking it might be worthwhile entering Sam as a dual dog," Ronnie suggested. "Showing, and obedience. I've done some checking on the Irish Wolfhound breed standard. Size is important – they're trying to breed back to the really big Irish hunting dogs they're descended from. Sam's a big doggy boy, even for a wolfhound..."
"Of course he is," Dean muttered.
"...And that's deemed highly desirable in the breed," she finished, glaring at Dean. "His conformation and musculature is pretty good, he carries off the height. I think he'd be a bit of a head turner."
"He sure would," Dean commented, "People will point and laugh because you've brought a Shetland Pony to a dog show."
"What do you think, Sam?" Ronnie pointedly ignored Dean. "If you can place in a show class and obedience, it'll make you even more dognappable."
"Yeah, okay," agreed Sam, "What do I have to do?"
"Project presence – stand around looking confidently attractive, like you know that everybody's watching you and the judge just wants to take you home," she told him. "Visualise your brother in a bar, then do that."
"Just so long as I don't have to wear ribbons in my coat," Sam specified as Dean squawked in outrage.
"Nah, that's toy dogs," she told him, "We'll just need to brush your coat out. Maybe thin your ruff out a bit, it's pretty shaggy."
"Some things never change," grinned Dean. "Can you do his human self while you're at it?"
"Jerk," muttered Sam, starting up his laptop.
"Okay," he announced a short time later, "We're in. All we have to do is decide on names. First, what are we going to call Jimi? His Dad, Jimi Senior, was Winchester Ladies' Man."
"Winchester Sex God," smirked Dean, from where he was sharing yet another packet of potato chips with Jimi.
"No, no, you have to have something that sounds catchy, has a hook," Ronnie interjected. "Winchester Ladies' Man was good. Sex God is just stupid." She looked thoughtfully at Jimi. "Anyway, he's not nearly smarmy enough to be Sex God, he's too adorable."
"Winchester Absolutely Awesome," suggested Dean.
"No, no, no," Ronnie rolled her eyes, "Pick something that doesn't make him sound like a complete dick."
"Like what, smartass?" demanded Dean.
"I don't know... Winchester Iron Fist. Winchester Highwaytohell. Winchester Vee-Eight. Winchester Prime Suspect. Winchester Rambling Man. Winchester Perfect Crime. Winchester Love'emandleave'em."
"Love'emandleave'em, I like that one," mused Sam. "Kind of like you, but sounds better than Sex God."
"Winchester Ace Of Spades," decided Dean. Sam did a quick scan of existing entries, then tapped it in.
"Okay, that just leaves me."
"Winchester Little Bitch?" suggested Dean thoughtfully. "Winchester Gocryemo? Winchester Touchy Feely? Winchester Icanhassalad? Winchester Bonny Bitchface? Winchester Lettuce Leaf? Oh, oh, I got it – Winchester Chick Flick!"
"Ha ha," snarked Sam, "Don't give up your day job."
"Winchester College Boy?" posed Ronnie. "Winchester Sleek Geek?"
"Vaguely gaelic is good for a wolfhound," Bobby put in, "A bit mystical. Like, Winchester Dark Druid. Or Winchester Red Adair – vaguely Irish, but all American."
"Hmmmmm." Sam frowned at the screen, then smiled, tapping in an entry.
"There we go. Winchester Ace of Spades, in the Open Dog, Working Group, aaaaaand Winchester Blood Magic, dual entry Open Dog, Hound Group, and Obedience UDX."
"Blood Magic," chuckled Bobby, "I like it."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
"You'll make somebody a great husband one day, Francis," called Dean cheerfully, watching as Sam walked through some obedience drills under Ronnie's direction. "Sit! Stay! Fetch your pay packet! Give it to me! Mow the lawn! Take the garbage out! Massage my feet! Down boy! Roll over! Beg!"
"Will you shut up, jerk!" Sam yelled back. "And for your information, 'Roll Over' is classified as a 'dead dog' and is instant disqualification."
"Ah! Watch!" Ronnie snapped at him, using The Voice.
"Hey! Don't you start," grumped Sam.
"Oops. Sorry," she apologised sheepishly. "Force of habit. But you have to be able to work without being distracted. There will be plenty of distractions: bitches in heat, other males snarking at you, people trying to sabotage you…"
"Sabotage?" Sam repeated.
"Oh, yes," Ronnie told him, "Some people take this whole thing far too seriously, and will try all sorts of tricks to knobble the opposition. They'll have a bitch walk past your ring, use dog whistles, have helpers walk past with pockets full of raw meat…"
"That won't get Samantha's attention," Dean commented airily, packing another bag into the Impala, "But if somebody walks past with a pocketful of lettuce, you are so screwed."
"Can I bite him?" growled Sam.
"Not in public," sighed Ronnie regretfully.
"Just a little bit?" Sam pleaded.
"You could always piss on his boots. Feel free to keep distracting, Dean, we'll practise ignoring the unsavoury elements while we work. Now, Sam, back to the box, and remember – no anticipating…"
"That's right, Sam, back in your box," Dean gestured imperiously. Sam muttered something uncomplimentary about big brothers as he stomped back towards the rectangle marked on the ground.
"Hey, no sulky stomping," Ronnie called after him. "Eager to work and attentive to your handler, remember?"
"I hear and obey, I am yours to command, O She-Alpha," Sam dropped to his knees and began salaaming in Ronnie's general direction.
She dropped her face into her hands. "I cannot cope if you two are going to double team me, I really cannot," she sighed.
By the time Bobby was ready to doggify Sam, Dean was prancing up and down beside the makeshift ring, calling "Yoo hoo! Sammy-pup! Look what I've got! Yes! I've got some lovely bean sprouts here for you, yum yum! Ooooh, look at this, I just found a whole bottle of lilac-scented shampoo! And a director's cut DVD of 'Beaches'!"
Jimi sat watching with his sister Janis.
Is he possessed? she queried, cocking her head. Should I call a Warning to my Alpha?
I do not think so, Jim replied cautiously, sniffing carefully just to make sure. He is at play with Second.
This is how your pack plays? She regarded him dubiously, with the expression that girls have been giving their stinky brothers since brothers were invented. Our Dam would not have tolerated such play from us as Elders, she added, with a hint of disapproval.
This is how they play. It is the way of things, Jimi humphed. I think for some of them, their heads may become younger as their bodies become older. Uprights are… complicated.
Uprights are complicated, Janis agreed readily.
"Do I need to get the holy water?" asked Bobby dryly, emerging from the house and eyeing Dean's performance with an expression remarkably similar to Janis's.
"Just givin' the doggy dude some practice at ignoring distraction," explained Dean.
"Doin' a fine job, I'm sure," Bobby said, "Seeing as you could annoy for America at the next Olympics. You lot ready to go?"
"Just gotta fit Sammy's great big shaggy obedient ass into his great big shaggy obedient fur coat," Dean told him.
Fifteen minutes later, they regarded the two vehicles in the yard thoughtfully.
"It sounds like the beginning of a joke," decided Bobby. "This guy, a Rottweiler, an Irish Wolfhound and a werewolf go on a road trip. But first of all, they have to decide who's going in which car…"
"Sam's welcome to ride with me, seeing as I speak Canine," Ronnie offered.
That might be a good idea, Sam agreed, More room that way. Jimi kinda likes to stretch out on the back seat, and I don't think both of us can do that.
"Sam says he thinks that might be a better arrangement, more room," Ronnie translated. Sam nodded.
"Okay, well, stay in sight," instructed Dean, letting Jimi into the Impala.
"That spell will last until midnight on the Sunday, unless you pop the emergency catch," Bobby told them as Ronnie opened the rear door of the cab for Sam to climb in, "So make sure you're indoors, with a pair of pants handy, come twelve o'clock, or if you decide to pull the pin."
Sam whuffed an acknowledgement, then the two vehicles pulled out of the yard.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Sam made himself comfortable on the blanket in the truck's back seat. It was thick, and soft, and held the remnant of a scent that his canine aspect found reassuring. Hey, this is comfy, he noted, settling into it.
"It was Joni's," Ronnie told him, and he saw her sad smile in the mirror. "I washed it, afterwards. But it still smells like her."
Yeah, it does, he agreed, dropping his nose to the blanket. Pack, his dog brain supplied, this blanket smells of your Pack. Family. I could sleep on this.
"You will be," she told him tartly, "You will not fit on the bed. Unless Dean gets a twin, and you share with him. I get the feeling he may kick you out."
Yeah? Why? Sam asked.
"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, you now have a canine digestive tract," Ronnie said in a pleasant voice, "And right now, it's doing what canine digestive tracts often seem to do the minute they set foot in a vehicle."
What? I don't… oh. He sniffed. I hadn't really noticed. He sniffed again. Oh. Is that really me?
"Afraid so."
Sorry. Oh, God. Er, yeah. Sorry. It is kind of… pungent. I'm used to Jimi fragrancing the car with his delicately lavender-scented farting.
"Me too," laughed Ronnie, "Joni and her Bouquet de Bum." She wrinkled her nose. "I haven't had a smell like that since Arko, it'll take some getting used to."
Was Arko you last dog, before Joni? asked Sam, pawing at the window switch.
"Yep," Ronnie's smile became fond, as she lowered the window a little for him. "Wildhunt Arcturus Rising. Holy crap, that dog could generate enough gas to power a small Third World nation."
You had a Wildhunt dog? Sam pricked his ears up.
"I've had two," she said fondly. "Before Arko, there was Mako, Wildhunt Shark Attack. Big dose of Arcadia's bloodline, that one, a real throwback. They considered putting him down, before he chose me. Too savage. Wouldn't listen to a human." She glanced at him questioningly in the mirror. "I'm surprised you've heard of Wildhunt."
Bobby took in a friend's dog, a Wildhunt bitch, after he died, Sam told her. She was really old. She died saved Dean and me from a demon when we were kids.
Ronnie's eyebrows rose. "She didn't predecease her Hunter? That must've been bloody hard for her." She looked wistful. "Dogs are supposed to Wait for their Hunters, not the other way around. It must've been very hard, poor old thing."
Sam cocked his head. Are Wildhunt dogs really descended from a Hellhound?
"That's what they tell each other," Ronnie shrugged. "Having looked at Arko and Mako with wolf-eyes, I'm inclined to believe them."
Bobby said it was just a story, Sam said, putting his nose to the gap in the window, And Arcadia was probably a feral dog with a bit of wolf in her. He panted happily. Can you put the window down some more?
"Maybe she was that, too," suggested Ronnie, lowering the window further. She gave him an intrigued look. "Er, having fun, there?"
This is great! He whuffed enthusiastically. The wind rushing past brought an amazing procession of rapid-fire scents to his nose, and it breezed through his fur, and ruffled his ears. Seriously, this is really great! He pawed at the window switch again, managing to lower the window further. All right! He yapped happily, poking his whole head out. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!
"Sam, you're blocking my mirror," she chuckled at him. He ignored her, letting his canine self enjoy the simple time-honoured pleasure of riding in the truck with his head out the window.
Awesome! he barked joyfully, as the breeze flapped his ears around, This is just AWESOME! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
"It could be better, you know," she told him thoughtfully.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
"Ah, here they come," said Dean to Jimi. Ronnie had dropped back then called him, saying she had a minor problem with stowing something, could he give her a couple of minutes…
Her truck was soon in the rear view mirror of the Impala, travelling too fast for him to pull out in front.
"What the…?" he frowned in puzzlement.
As the truck approached, Jimi's ears pricked up, then he pressed his nose to the window gap, and began barking enthusiastically.
Dean's expression of confusion only intensified as Ronnie's truck flew by, horn beeping.
Sam stood in the tray, head gazing at the road over the roof of the cab, ears and flews flapping in the wind, muzzle lifted in a howl that embodied sheer delight in life.
Dean might not have understood Canine, but right in that moment he knew exactly what Sam was saying.
YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
