Epilogue
Janis and Joni curled together in front of the fire.
"I really set off his tripwires, didn't I?" sighed Ronnie ruefully into her coffee. "I tried so hard, I really did…"
"He'd decided to resent you long before he met you," grinned Bobby. "You get points for being polite Above And Beyond The Call Of Duty, though. Mind you," he frowned at her, "When he got your ancestry wrong, I thought we were going to have a, er, little visit from the fang fairy, there…"
"It's Sam I feel sorry for," Ronnie continued. "He just wants what's best for Jimi. He wants to learn. I can help with that."
"So, help Sam," reasoned Bobby, "Just don't let Dean know about it. Of course," he cautioned, "He's the smart one. Notices things. Figures things out. So be careful."
"You held out on me, you old bastard," Ronnie accused him. "You didn't let me ask Jimi."
"Wouldn't have been any point, Ronnie," he told her, "He made his choice the moment he laid eyes on his Hunter." He nodded towards the two pups snuggled together. "Just like the ladies did."
"I asked him, you know, to join my pack, with his sister. They'd be unstoppable as a team... he was very polite about saying no." Ronnie smiled. "I can see him, Bobby, I can see what he's going to be. Gods, I wish I could've met his sire." Her face was suddenly hard. "How the hell did Mr Orgasmatron summon a Hellhound, Bobby? I've been trying to figure that out for years! Almost got one to stay with me, once, but…"
"It was a fluke, a mistake and should never have happened," growled Bobby, "And if I ever find out you've been messin' around trying to adopt your own stray from the Hellside SPCA shelter, madam, I will fill you so full of silver rounds you'll look like a tea-strainer fit for the Queen of England herself."
Ronnie grinned at that. Her eyes went back to the pups. "What about you, Janis?" she asked Bobby's pup, "Getting the itch to travel, or are you happy here with your mum and your old fart?" She directed a short whuffling enquiry.
Janis lifted her head, and the last three inches of her tail wagged a couple of times as she woofed her predictable answer with a fond glance at Bobby. He didn't need to speak Canine to understand her answer. My Den, my Alpha.
"You'll make sure they figure it out, won't you, Bobby?" she asked. "I think Jimi will teach himself, largely, but…"
"You got Sam's number?" asked Bobby.
"Yeah. I can work with the smart one." She grinned. "He wants to teach Jimi the beer trick. He's not matured enough to put it together yet, but I've given Sam some more basic stuff to start with." She fidgeted with her coffee mug.
"Should you be drinkin' that stuff tonight?" he asked her. "Aint you fidgety enough already?"
"It has been a while," she conceded, "It's not easy to find places where it's… safe to, er, let my hair down. Bobby," she said suddenly, "If a Hunt goes pear-shaped and it's only me…"
"I'll take care of your dog," he assured her, "Haven't I promised you that before?"
"Ask the Winchesters if they'd like to take Joni," she finished unexpectedly. Bobby stared at her.
"You'd let her go with Dean and Sam?" he asked incredulously.
"I asked her," she replied. "Apparently, she thinks she could work with the smart one, too. And you know how fussy she is."
"Aint that the truth," Bobby agreed. He looked at his watch. "Moon was up hours ago," he commented, "Why don't you pair of idjits go get it out of your system, and stop wrigglin' like you've got worms or something?"
"We might just do that, Bobby," announced Ronnie, "If I can drag Her Ladyship away from the fire." She barked a short enquiry to Joni, who was immediately on her feet, tail wagging furiously in anticipation.
"Remember where you leave your stuff," instructed Bobby, "Last thing I need is any locals trading tattle about nekkid wimmen runnin' around the yard."
"They'll wink and nudge each other and marvel at your pulling power, old man," she laughed, heading for the door. "Janis? Wanna make this a girls' night out?" She barked another enquiry.
Janis shot Bobby a pleading look, and he waved a hand at her. She followed Ronnie and Joni outside. Rumsfeld declined to join them. Even to Bobby, her expression was eloquent: Somebody has to mind the place while you kids go running off who knows where.
"You aint back by sunrise, I'll come looking. With a weapon," Bobby cautioned her.
"Yes, Dad," Ronnie whined melodramatically with much theatrical rolling of eyes and heaving of sighs. Flanked by the two dogs, she made her way out into the yard.
A few minutes later, Bobby heard excited play-barking, and a short howl. He smiled to himself, and looked out the window.
If he saw three shapes heading for the trees, two black outlines accompanying a larger, lupine form loping on all fours, it could've been shadows cast by the full moon and his imagination.
He went back to his reading. He really hoped he'd never have to make good on his promise; Ronnie was a good Hunter, but, well, she was Hunted, too...
Still, he had to smile at the idea of Joni joining the Winchester pack – she would be brains to Jimi's brawn. An unstoppable team. And if Dean was jealous of Joni's quick progress now, what would it be like if she attached herself to his little brother?
Oh, and the look on his face if Sam was adopted by a dog that could bring him beer?
That would be priceless.
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Sam suddenly paused, and realised that he was positively cackling over his haul from the Fardlehaus Hall sale. He took a moment to compose himself. He couldn't help it, really; there had been some amazing finds, and he'd spent a very enjoyable day browsing through the tables. He'd snagged the Baring-Gould, the Pliny, and quite a few other volumes, including a handwritten journal describing the history of Fardlehaus Hall. In thanks for the Winchesters' help with putting his old school friends back to rest, Doc had done him a very good price on them. He retreated to a small coffee shop just across the road from the old school, to browse through his haul.
That journal intrigued him. It was more than a hundred and fifty years old, with sketches and notes about the history of things from the desk in the Headmaster's office to the gargoyles on the roof. They were imported from Germany, by the founder of the school, Herr Doctor Fardlehaus, and were already at least a couple of centuries old then. The stone that had once stood between them had been lost early on, shortly after the author of the journal documented the strange inscription in Greek, when it was dislodged and crumbled during a gale.
He pored over the inscription – yes, it was written in Greek, but it didn't, well, look like Greek... a bit of transcription soon established that it was in fact Latin, rendered with the Greek alphabet. Curious, he thought, reading it out to himself. He'd show it to Bobby, see what the old Hunter made of it.
He sipped his coffee, and looked up at the gargoyles. It didn't seem fair, really – they'd been there for so long, and now they'd be demolished along with the rest of the building. They were almost identical; the sculptor had known his stuff, and had an eye for detail. He had a sudden mental picture of them perching on the gates of Singer Salvage.
"The things you must've seen...You guys would be right at home on Bobby's gates, guarding the yard," he smiled up at them, "And I'll bet Bobby would enjoy the company."
Sam checked his watch; it was early afternoon. It was probably safe to return to the motel. Dean had, eventually, stopped threatening to sit on him and shave his head, modifying his revenge plan to threatening to cut the seat out of every single pair of pants that Sam owned. He hadn't taken the whole being grabbed, pantsed and examined by a dead proctologist very well. Still, Sam didn't really blame him. Hopefully, when he returned from his latest visit to Kara the budding masseuse, he'd be in a better mood.
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"No glass in the spa bath – house rule," Kara explained when Dean gave her a quizzical look as she handed him his beer in a plastic cup. "It's my nephew's," she apologised.
"Hey, that's okay, Batman is cool," he grinned at her with the Killer Smile, and took a drink of beer as he slid further down into the hot, bubbling water.
"It's so sweet of you to let me practise on you," she told him, slipping into the water behind him. "How's are the, er..."
"Glutei maximi?" he finished. She smiled. "They are, as ever, awesome. I even have an official medical opinion to confirm it."
She laughed, and put her hands on his shoulders, kneading. "Wow, you're very tense," she commented, "Have you been working hard?"
"Digging," he told her, sighing and sinking further. "And, of course, my little brother is a pain in the neck."
"We're doing the trapezius and its insertion points this week," she told him. "Your trapezii are nice. Very anatomically well defined. Mmmmmm, you'd make a marvellous teaching model," she purred.
He turned around, smiling wickedly again. "So, wanna check out my insertion point?" he asked innocently.
Splashing and frolics ensued.
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His visit to Kara did improve Dean's mood considerably, thought Sam.
"Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face..."
Or, it could have been their visit to the Jim Bean distillery in Clermont, and the following visit to the bar that served fifty different types of bourbon.
"Stars to fill my dream..."
Sam wasn't certain exactly how many Dean had sampled in the process of offering adequate obeisance unto the Gods Of Whiskey, but it was enough to have him dancing around their motel room with his shorts on his head.
"Sing with me, Sammy!" he insisted, "For I, the Living Sex God, am not too haughty to sing praises unto the Gods Of Whiskey with my little brother."
"Look, Dean, it's late, I don't know if we should be singing at this hour..." Sam started.
"Silence, heretic! Raise your voice unto the Gods, lest you incur their wrath!" intoned Dean, in a voice laden with portent. "I am a traveller of both time and space..."
Figuring he wasn't going to get any sleep until Dean passed out anyway, Sam refilled his own glass, and joined his brother in song.
Admittedly, not the same song, but Dean didn't seem to mind...
In fact, the only person who did hear them wasn't so much disturbed as perplexed.
A middle-aged businessman, travelling for work, was in the unique position of being able to recognise both songs. He was of an age to recognise the Zeppelin, and his father had been in the Navy, so he was familiar with the hymn.
Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace/Eternal Father, strong to save
Like thoughts inside a dream/Whose arm hath bound the restless wave
Heed the path that led me to that place/Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Yellow desert stream/It's own appointed limits keep
My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon/Oh hear us when we cry to thee
I will return again/For those in peril on the sea...
Why the two slightly off-key male voices chose to sing 'Kashmir' and 'For Those In Peril On The Sea' simultaneously was anybody's guess. From the sound of it, there was alcohol involved.
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"I don't believe it." A voice, grown harsh with disuse, rasped into the light breeze high above the town. "I do not believe it."
Another voice, with an edge of excitement. "Finally, FINALLY, somebody works out that damned inscription! I thought we were royally screwed when that stone fell in that storm. We'll be stuck here forever, I thought..."
"Well, not any more. He worked it out, and spoke it." A strange grating sound, like a slide of shale fragments, accompanied a stretching of limbs. And wings. "Not only have we been released, we have another job lined up. We've been invited. That makes it official."
"Imagine – a human who wants to talk to us!" The second voice could hardly contain its enthusiasm. "A bright lad, that one. I wonder if there will be much guarding to do? Do people even know about demons and the evil things that walk the world any more? So, where are we going, exactly?"
A snubbed snout lifted into the air. "One thing at a time. First, we find and follow the scent. He's not far from here..."
"Look! Look!" A taloned hand grasped eagerly at a hard arm, and another talon pointed excitedly. From their vantage point so high above the town, a large black vehicle could be seen rumbling its way along one of the roads leading... away. "There he goes! That's him!"
"So it is!" A grin, and an affectionate touch. "Well spotted, little brother. Come on, then." A heavy, dull thudding presaged the stretching of two pairs of wings, long unused, but eager now to travel. "Are you ready?"
"Follow that car!" Cried the younger of the two. The older brother smiled. It was wonderful to see his little brother so happy, so excited.
With enthusiastic purpose, and hearts full of hope, the two gargoyles pushed off from the roof of Fardlehaus Hall, and flapped off towards their new life.
THE END.
Finally, after being derailed by a bigger, meaner and better-armed plot bunny, we have finished this one. Ta-dah! (Complete with gargoyles off to start a new life at Singer Salvage, for PaulatheCat.) Thank you to all the regular Denizens of the Jimiverse, and any casual visitors who decided to pop in. Thank you especially for the kind reviews you left, even if I am desperately worried about some of you and your obsession with seeing Dean in a state of undress. I'll be back next time a plot bunny pesters me. Meanwhile, if you MUST shoo the wretched things in my direction, as I've asked before, please get them to form an orderly queue.