Chapter Nine

Southern Missouri, several hours after the Winchesters' hair repair and further traumatising

They made it to the guest house in the evening, and Ronnie and Andrew came out to meet them, Joni trotting over to exchange fond growl-rassles with her brother Jimi.

"Hi guys," grinned Andrew, "Oh, love the hair, Dean."

"What do you mean, you love the hair?" demanded Dean.

"I'm impressed," admitted Ronnie, "I never would've thought that you'd make an effort for my wedding, but credit where it's due."

"I didn't make an effort!" Dean snapped.

"Well, I envy you, spending so much time in the sun, then," smiled Andrew. "Very surfer dude."

"I was thinking more Def Leppard retro," Ronnie mused. "That's okay, I like their stuff."

"It takes a man secure in his masculinity to get streaks done," noted Andrew. "Kudos."

"I didn't get streaks done!" yelped Dean, "I got bleached by an asshole spirit!"

"They're yankin' your crank, idjit," Bobby chuckled, "You can hardly see your streaks any more, unless you're lookin' for 'em."

"Dean narrowed his eyes at Bobby. "You tattling old fart," he muttered.

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of manscaping," Andrew commented, "What a guy wants to do with his body is his own damned business."

"No matter how gay he looks afterwards," agreed Ronnie. "Did you get your pits waxed too?"

"Hey!" Sam interjected, "Don't you tease my big brother! That's my job."

"I hate you all so much," fumed Dean. He turned as there was a thump, a squawk, then a squeal as Becky extracted herself and her bag from the back of the Impala.

"What the hell's that?" asked Ronnie with her usual discretion and tact.

Becky dropped her bag, squealed again, and rushed over. "Oh – my – GOD!" she gushed, "It's you! It's really you! And you!"

Andrew and Ronnie exchanged bemused glances.

"Uh, yeah," Andrew agreed cautiously, "We're, uh, definitely us. Um."

Ronnie peered at Becky, who beamed at her. "Er, fellas, seriously," she said, "What the hell's that?"

Sam sighed deeply. "It's, uh, kind of a long story…"

"Uh, hello," Andrew smiled in the good-natured bemusement that often seemed to be his ground state when the Winchesters were around, "Do you think you could, you know, tell us who you are and why you're here?"

"I'm so amazingly glad to meet you!" she gushed, seizing Ronnie's hand. The werewolf yipped in surprise, and pulled away. "Wow, you really are a big girl, aren't you? I've known guys with arms smaller than that! I bet you could totally punch out any guy who bugged you! Oh, are those the tattoos of your dogs? That one's Diesel, right? Can I see your others? Oh, hey, can you smile for me, I'm just dying to see the smile, that smile…"

Ronnie Shepherd, the World's Crankiest Werewolf, who had in the past beaten the crap out of male opponents nearly twice her size on two legs and four, shrieked, and darted to hide behind her husband-to-be.

"Uh, look," Andrew frowned, "You can't just go grabbing people and asking to look at their tattoos, especially if you don't know them, it's…"

"Creepy," supplied Ronnie, peering out from behind him.

"…Rude," Andrew finished. "But yeah, creepy too."

Becky was gazing up at him. "Oh, I can see why she finally fell for you," she sighed happily, "You're taller than I imagined. And… bigger…" she put out a hand, not at all tentative, and grasped his arm. "Oh, that's… substantial. You really do hide what you've got, don't you? You know, if I wasn't a Samgirl…"

A low rumbling growl cut her off. Ronnie stepped out from behind Andrew, teeth bared, but thankfully still fully humanoid.

"Becky," Sam put a hand on Becky's shoulder and pulled her backwards, "Manhandling a werewolf's pair-bonded mate while she's watching, not a good idea."

"Becky?" Andrew was still nonplussed. "Do we know you? Should we know you?"

"So what is she, a pet?" ventured Ronnie doubtfully.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Guys, this is Becky. Becky Rosen. Also known to the world, well, to a small perverse desperate and depraved part of it, as samlicker81."

Andrew and Ronnie exchanged a dubious look.

"She'safangirlwhowriteswincest," said Sam as quickly as possible, as if the very sentence tasted extremely nasty.

"I run the site morethanbrothers dot com," Becky announced excitedly, surreptitiously manoeuvring to get in another prod at Andrew.

"Fangirl? Wincest?" Understanding dawned on Andrew's face. "Ohhh, I get it, you're one of those weirdos who writes about… uh… " he waved a hand uncertainly at the Winchesters. "Er, guys, why do you have one of those weirdos travelling with you?"

"Please tell me she's the sacrifice for a sad but necessary blood ritual you intend to perform to thwart the rising of the Great Slavering Hedgehog God Pookie Pricklywickly," pleaded Ronnie in a tone that didn't hold out too much hope.

"Unfortunately, no," sighed Sam regretfully.

"You do know there's no such thing as the Great Slavering Hedgehog God Pookie Pricklywickly," Bobby chided.

"There could be!" Sam suggested. "Maybe we should sacrifice her anyway, just in case."

"Nuke it from orbit," Dean nodded vigorously, "It's the only way to be sure."

"Oh, don't be silly!" Becky giggled, "I'm here to help with the wedding!"

Andrew looked confused. "We don't have to have a blood sacrifice ritual for our wedding, do we?" he asked his fiancée. "You haven't said anything about a blood sacrifice ritual. I'm not at all happy about the idea of killing a person to get married. Exchange of rings is more usual. And less messy. We'll lose our deposit if the chapel ends up looking like an abattoir."

Becky seemed completely unconcerned about any possibility of becoming a midnight snack for a couple of formally pair-bonded werewolves. "No, I'm here to be Sam's date!" she trilled, "And, since you don't have any family here, I'm gonna be your bridesmaid!"

Ronnie gawped at Becky as though she'd just announced her intention to run the Boston Marathon wearing nothing but earrings made from pickled herrings, a coating of peanut butter and an enigmatic smile. In high heels.

"Bwsrgflf?" she went.

"Oh, come on!" Becky enthused, picking up her bag and taking Ronnie's arm, "It'll be great! I've got the perfect dress! And you'll need somebody to do your hair, and your make-up, because I know you're not planning to bother, which is just not right, and you gotta have a hen's night, too, because Andrew will have a buck's night, and we can bunk together, right, because you're not staying with him before the wedding, that's like totally bad luck, oh, this is going to be so much fun!..."

Ronnie was pulled along by Becky's enthusiasm, a bewildered cow picked up and whisked off by a tornado of enthusiasm. As she was half-dragged, half-herded into the building, she threw an enquiring bark over her shoulder to Jimi, who whuffed back.

"Well, that's certainly somethin' you don't see every day," commented Bobby. "It's like watchin' Mr Tumnus take Maugrim walkies – you can't help but wonder why the walkee doesn't just eat the walker."

"Has my wife-to-be just been… abducted by a writer of truly horrific and probably badly composed fan fiction?" Andrew sounded as bemused as Ronnie looked.

"Not so much abducted as… appropriated, I think," Sam suggested. "That's the thing about Becky, she can be very… determined when she decides she wants something." He shuddered. "I suggest you lock your door tonight." He shuddered again. "I know I will be."

"What did she say to Jimi?" asked Dean curiously.

"It doesn't translate directly," Andrew shrugged, "What it means is, 'Is your health good?' Literally, it was, 'Why haven't you eaten that?'."

"And what did Jimi say?" pressed Sam.

"He said, 'It's fun!." translated Andrew.

"Fun," grumbled Bobby. "Oh, yeah, I suspect she's gonna introduce a whole new meanin' to the word 'fun'."

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

Sam was in geeky history paradise as they made their way through the restored residence. Glass cases displayed artefacts and memorabilia from the Civil War, with descriptions of the excavations that had taken place on the grounds.

"Oh my God," he breathed, reading the booklet in their room, "They have a library here with a whole lotta books that were here before the war broke out! And journals! And I can go and look at 'em!"

"My brother the party animal," scoffed Dean, "The crazytimes mayhem just never stops with you, does it?"

"Jerk," muttered Sam, "There could be some really interesting things here – this is the sort of place where we can find stuff that's useful for us. I bet Bobby is already there."

"Well, don't let me hold you back, wildman," Dean flapped a hand at his brother, "You go and paint the library red. Remember not to resist when the riot squad arrives, I don't want you gettin' shot."

"What about you?" Sam asked, "It's too early to turn in."

"I'm kinda tired," shrugged Dean, "I might get an early night."

Sam eyed his brother dubiously. "Dean, are you feeling okay?"

"Sure, Sammy," Dean grinned reassuringly, then yawned. "Just tired. Becky is enough to drain the energy of any almost-sane man."

"Amen to that," Sam agreed glumly. "At least she's not likely to find me in the library, she'll be too busy trying to do girly stuff with Ronnie."

"Look on the bright side, then," Dean said cheerfully, "There's a real chance that she may be nothing but a bloody smear on the carpet by morning."

He gave his brother a cocky salute as Sam left. The moment his brother was gone, he turned to Jimi, who had made himself comfortable on his blanket.

"Can you see the streaks in my hair?" he asked the dog, turning to check his reflection in the mirror. "I can see the streaks in my hair. Bobby says you can't see the streaks in my hair, but those assholes could see them. Although Bobby told them." He turned his head from side to side. "I don't look, you know, do I?"

Jimi let out a contented sigh, and farted.

Oh, gross, dude," Dean screwed up his nose against the lavender scent of Hellhound flatulence, and opened a window. Thoughtfully, he returned to the mirror.

"Yeah, I can see streaks. Damn that Flaming Gary!" He paused. "You don't think he told Gary to leave me still streaked, just to get at me, do ya? He wouldn't do that…"

Jimi yawned, and burped.

Dean frowned at the mirror. "I can definitely see streaks. I can't go out tomorrow lookin' like this! The Living Sex God cannot show himself, looking like an extra from a remake of an 80s classroom sitcom!" He looked around, at a loss. Another home dyeing attempt was definitely not an option, and no salon would be open this late to try another cover up job.

In desperation, he knelt by his bed, and put his hands together.

"Now I lay me down to rest,
I'm worried sick and so distressed,
I beg for aid from Castiel
My world's about to turn to hell,

There's a problem, so severe
I really am in trouble here,
I've tried to deal, but couldn't fix it -
There's no countercurse that kicks it.

When we did the salt and burn
The angry ghost, we were to learn,
Interrupted one more gig
Because she'd left behind a wig,

So we went to burn that hair
But something awful happened there.
An evil potion, foul and vile
Has poisoned me, and so now I'll

Be tainted, ruined, I'll be nixed
Unless this awful curse is fixed.
I tried myself, to no avail,
And even Bobby's help did fail.

I beg you, buddy, on my knees,
To come and make this better, please,
I've reached the end now of my rope:
Help me, Obi-Wan Castiel, you're my only hope.

And if I die (it's not my preference)
I hope at least you get the reference.
Amen.

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

Although he was well and truly an adult dog, Jimi had never lost the puppyish boisterousness he was born with. Despite his size, he liked to sit with his Alpha, wherever Dean was. (Just about the only place he would not willingly follow was into the bathroom, in case he was seized by The Bath, and dragged into its evil soapy clutches.) As he grew from a roly-poly puppy into a very large Rottweiler-shaped dog, his preference for snoozing on Dean's bed did not diminish; if anything, it seemed to increase. However, at his adult size, if Dean was sleeping in a single bed, sometimes he would have to wait, hovering patiently at his Alpha's pillow, until Dean moved, turned or rolled over to leave enough space for him to get a pawhold. And so it was not at all unusual for Dean to wake up in the morning with his Hunter's senses telling him that there was a large shape right next to him, awaiting the opportunity to find a small space to enjoy proximity.

The earliest daylight was finding its way tentatively through the curtains when Dean stirred. It was a comfortable bed; he was in no hurry to wake up, but the nearness of a presence, which his instincts let him know even in his sleep was a friendly one, made him grin to himself.

"Hey there, mister," he drawled with a yawn, "You lookin' for somewhere to sit? Here ya go." He shuffed sideways, reaching out to pat the shaggy head that would no doubt try to force its way into the bedclothes to give him a good morning kiss.

His hand landed on a trousered leg.

"Hello, Dean. Thank you."

"YEEEEEEP!" went Dean, scooting across the bed in a tangle of blankets, where he walloped solidly into Jimi, who was in fact already stretched out on the other side of the mattress. The dog whuffed at him fondly, and when Dean emerged blinking into the morning light, kissed him on the nose as usual.

Dean glared up at the angel. "Holy crap, Cas!" he yelped. "Personal! Space!" He sighed. "Seriously, you knock five years off my life every time you do that."

"That cannot be correct," replied Castiel, looking confused, "If you were to lose five years from your life span every time you yelled 'Personal space!' at me, you would have been dead for some considerable time. In fact, you would have run entirely out of life span, and would have to be ageing backwards, which is impossible for humans although Sam has theorised that it is in fact happening to you." He tilted his head, and looked hard at Dean. "I received your message, and thought it best to get here as soon as possible, since it sounded as though the situation is serious. I am unfamiliar with the appellation 'Obi-Wan', and was concerned that the curse you have been afflicted with might be so severe that it was making you speak in tongues."

"Yeah, yeah, it's really severe," Dean disentangled himself. "I'm sorry for yellin' at you, it was really good of you to come so quickly. I really do have a serious problem."

Castiel gave Dean his most penetrating MRI Diagnostic Stare. "Your message implied that you were in a dire situation," he said.

"I am!" Dean stood up, "We're talking life-or-death, world-in-crisis, dividing-by-zero here..."

The bathroom door banged open, and Sam emerged, drying his hair. "Dean, are you talkin' to… oh, hi, Cas," he said, "What's up?"

"I received an urgent message from Dean, intimating that he required my assistance with a curse, incurred during the Hunt you are pursuing," replied the angel. "Whatever diabolical affliction he is suffering from, I cannot detect it."

Sam gaped at his brother. "You sent a p-mail to Cas, telling him it was an emergency, because of your hair?"

"Absolutely!" nodded Dean emphatically. "I can't go out looking like this, Cas! I'm disfigured! I'm tainted! It's… an abomination!"

"I don't believe this!" snapped Sam, giving Dean a searing Bitchface #11™ (I Am Appalled Dean, I'm Pretty Sure One Of Us Was Actually Adopted). "We had a bit of hair trouble on a salt and burn, but it's been fixed…"

"No it hasn't!" Dean indicated his own hair. "Look at this!"

Castiel peered at Dean's hair. "Your hair has been bleached, then overdyed," he stated.

"Exactly!" stated Dean. "And it's desperately important that you fix it!"

Castiel blinked. "You wish me to… undo the cosmetic alteration of your hair?"

"Yes," Dean nodded. "It's vitally important."

Castiel turned to Sam. "Can you explain to me how hair colouring represents a life or death situation?" he asked, apparently bewildered.

"No," Sam said evenly, "No, I can't."

"Will it interfere with your Hunt in some way?" pressed the angel.

"We're not on a Hunt, Cas, we're here for a wedding." Sam told him.

Castiel cocked his head and looked at Dean. "I was unaware that you were to be married," he said.

"No, it's not his wedding!" Sam spat, exasperated, "It's Ronnie Shepherd the werewolf, and her pair bond! This idiot has called you, so he looks his best in the photos!"

"But now you're here, you can fix it, right?" Dean beamed winningly.

"Dean, I wouldn't blame him if he sat on you and shaved your head," muttered Sam. "Cas is the Sheriff of Heaven! He's got important things to do!"

"And yet, a wedding is an important event," Castiel mused thoughtfully, "A public declaration, in the sight of my Father, of two people pledging themselves to each other in obedience to His highest Commandment, that His children love each other."

"There! You see?" declared Dean, "This is totally important! I mean, Temeriel said that Cupids were involved, so they gotta be an important pairing, right?" He turned an appealingly vulnerable expression to Castiel. "We don't want anything to go wrong on their big day," he wheedled. "I'd never forgive myself."

"Very well." Castiel waved a hand as Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean's hair reverted to its pre-Daisy-Bell natural colouring.

"Hey, thanks Cas!" enthused Dean, checking himself in the mirror, "You're awesome!"

There was a sudden flurry of knocking at the door, and out of long habit, both Hunters reached for weapons.

"Yoo-hoo!" They both groaned as Becky hailed them from outside. "Guys! Are you coming down to breakfast?"

"Yeah, just let us get dressed," called Dean, reaching for his jeans.

There was a little squee, and the door knob rattled. "Are you dressed, Sam?" asked Becky.

"I'm not answering that!" yelped Sam, clutching his flannel around himself protectively.

When they opened the door, Becky's eyes widened.

"Oh – my – GOD!" she squealed, "I'd recognise that coat anywhere! You're Castiel!"

"I am Castiel," he confirmed, "I am an Angel of the Lord, a Warrior…"

"Of Heaven, I totally know!" she gushed. "Oh, it's so exciting that you're here too!" He face suddenly lit up. "Oh, I've just had the best idea! You've already been a 'bridesmaid' for Ronnie, right?" When Dean was cursed, and they had a fake wedding to break that curse?"

Castiel's expression indicated that he remembered. "Having my vessel's hair braided was extremely uncomfortable," he recalled, "And I smote that shirt afterwards. Also, the matter of the 'chicken fillets' was never fully explained to me…"

"Well, if you're here, you can be on her side of the bridal party again!" Becky enthused, "You already have experience! Oh, come on," she looked at the Winchesters' horrified faces and Castiel's bemused one, "It'll be fun!"

"She used that word again," Sam said in a worried voice, "Why do I get worried when she uses that word…"

"I must admit a certain curiosity about human marriage rituals," the Sheriff of Heaven admitted, "The minimum amount of research I have done into the traditional associated activities raised more questions that it answered. For example, I do not fully comprehend the cultural connection between the groom's pre-nuptial socialising, and the adhesive known as gaffer tape..."

"Come on!" she grabbed Castiel's arm, "We'll go tell Ronnie that you're here, she'll be so excited to have a bridesman as well, except I'm already Sam's date, so I can stand with you in the photos, but I can't sit with you at the reception, well, we can sit on the same table, obviously, and you won't need to braid your hair this time, although we might have to straighten your tie…"

The Winchesters blinked as Becky started to tow Castiel down the hallway.

"First a werewolf, now an angel," remarked Sam. "Is she goin' to be appropriating non-human beings until she has a whole set?"

"You better watch your ass then, Sasquatch," sighed Dean, shutting the door behind them. "Well, let's go see if there's bacon."

There was a brief mention in 'The Consultant' that Cupids were involved in pairing Ronnie and Andrew up. Dean and Ronnie went through a fake wedding to break a curse on Dean in 'Prince Charming', in which Castiel was roped in as bridesmaid and required to wear a shirt that he did not like at all.

Now, Bruce the plot bunny has dictated a nice substantial chapter, so feed him reviews to fuel him up for the next one! After all, Reviews are the Winchester Of Your Choice Appearing At The Breakfast Table Of Life!*

*Be careful with the syrup. Or at least put down a tarpaulin before you deploy it with extreme prejudice.