I am humbled, overwhelmed and given a chocolate-coated happy by the kindness of the people who've take time to review my plot-bunny expunging. This one is just about done, thankfully, it's been driving me nuts. Yes, Cat, my story 'Balls' is the one about desexing Jimi. It's all about Responsible Pet Ownership, people! (Sgt Cutlack must've been a self-insertion, it's kind of one of my hobby horses, too.) This is a long chapter, but I figure we're all wanting this thing to end, so here we go. Next time, I should try a one-shot. And there will have to be a next time, because, yes, Anya from 'Buffy' had that bit right, IT MUST BE BUNNIES! EVIL BUNNIES! Oh, will somebody pat celeste301 on the back, she's spraying cookie crumbs everywhere...
ETA: It's Monday morning Down Here, and Evil FanFictionNet won't let me update with this chapter - hopefully any server iss-ews will be dealt with soon, so Bartlebead can blame FFN Gremlins for any withdrawal symptoms...
ETA: A marvellous person called SLASHGUY came up with a workaround, so I can update this! YAAAAAAAAAAY! It's server-wide, lots of people are having problems with updates, uploads, new stories, you name it - let's all think chocolate-covered positive waves at the FFN Gurus, because they must be flat out at the moment.
Okay, onward! Follow me chaps! Somebody remember to bring the chocolate, and the biscuits. And the tea.
Chapter 13
"See anything?" asked Dean, peering into the darkness. The moon was well up, a brisk favourable wind was carrying their scent to the Bierman residence, but there was no sign of the werewolf showing.
"Not so far," answered Sam, scanning the house. On the rise where they stood, he could just make out the back of the building, with the boarded-up window. "Maybe Grandma has him on a tight leash... hang on..." he refocused. "The shutters just moved. There, they moved again. From the inside. Looks like he's trying to break out, but they're holding."
"Damn," muttered Dean, taking the binoculars from his brother to get his own look at the shuddering shutters blocking the window. "If I'd thought he'd try to bust out that way, I'd have snuck back there and levered up a couple of boards."
"What's wrong, Dad?" asked Jimi anxiously.
"The Young wolf is trying to break out of the house, but he's barricaded in," explained Sam, "His family are trying to keep him contained."
Jimi considered this for a moment, then drew in a deep breath...
He threw back his head, and howled.
The noise made the hair stand up on the back of the Winchesters' necks. It was a long, wavering sound, containing a challenge, and, Dean thought, a hint of the note of smugness he'd heard in Jimi's howl last night, after he had... yes, well.
"Jesus wept, Jimi," breathed Sam after a moment, "What the hell was that?"
"I have told the Young we are here," Jimi answered.
"I think he got the message," continued Sam, "The shutters are... one of the boards just let go. Wow, he's going nuts in there."
"What did you, er, say to him?" Dean asked.
" 'I am in your pack's territory, I have mated with your bitch, and it was awesome'," Jimi translated from Canine.
"He is just like you, bro," commented Sam with a chuckle, not dropping his eyes from the house, "That's just the sort of thing you'd... shit, he's out!" A grey shape burst from the splintering shutters, and streaked for the wooded area. "Crap, he's obviously feeling better – he's fast, I hardly saw him."
"Let's hope he's too angry to think clearly," muttered Dean grimly. "Go on Jimi," he ordered, "Like I told you. You stay out of the way."
Jimi was not happy about that. "My Pack is Hunting," he said plaintively. Jimi looked to Sam, then gave Dean the strongest glare a Young would dare offer an Alpha. "You divide your attention in the Hunt," he reproached Dean, "Second is Elder. He could take a bitch, den, and be Alpha to his own pack if he wished. You are Alpha. Your attention should not be divided so."
Both brothers heard the unhappy thought behind Jimi's comment. My Hunters are threatened. Protect my Hunters!
Dean smiled at the teen. "And yours wouldn't be?" he teased gently.
Jimi gave him a piercing stare, and streaks of red crackled across his brown eyes. "I am a Hunters' dog," he rumbled, sounding suddenly old and wise beyond his appearance, "That is the way of things."
Dean felt a sudden stab of regret at losing this young man back to his true form. "I am Sam's... Litter-Elder," he explained, smiling fondly, "And for me, this is the way of things. You are so much like your real Dad, your sire," he added.
"He's so much like his human Dad," grinned Sam, scanning the trees.
"You'll Hunt with us all the time, when you are Elder, but right now, we have to keep you safe, especially while you're Upright," Dean finished.
"I am not a Pup! I will be an Elder soon!" Jimi was suddenly all petulant, impatient teenager again.
"Sorry, Jimi," laughed Dean affectionately, ruffling the boy's hair, "But no matter how old you get, every time I look at you, I can still see a Pup I could hold in the crook of one arm. It's a Dad thing."
"I submit," Jimi said unhappily, throwing his arms around Dean for a quick bone-crushing hug. "Be careful, Alpha. Dad." He stepped back, scenting the air. "He's coming," he told them quickly, pointing. "That way." With that, he turned and loped for cover in long, ground-eating strides.
"Trying to flank us," mused Dean, as they shifted position slightly, "He has to break cover to get to us."
There was stillness, and silence – no detectable movement, and no telltale threatening growls.
"Damn," huffed Sam, "Why did we have to get one capable of learning from his mistakes?"
"I should've worn the fishing hat, that worked last time," Dean remarked, sauntering closer to the treeline. "Guess we'll have to make ourselves look more appetizing."
Sam rolled his eyes. "By which your mean 'I'll just trawl myself as bait'," he complained, ready to provide covering fire.
"I'm Alpha, you're Second – this is the way of things," Dean told him, turning his attention back to the trees. "Hey, Carl! You missed a hell of a party last night. Grandma keeps you on a tight leash, huh? It's okay, though, my boy banged your bitch for you. Did you hear him howl? Man, I'll be surprised if she can walk before next week..."
The Young werewolf broke cover, moving impossibly fast – behind him, headed for Sam.
Dean spun around in time to see Sam get a shot off before the thing was on top of him – either he missed, or the thing was so angry it just didn't care. It ploughed into him, backhanding him and sending him reeling like a tossed rag doll.
"Fuck!" swore Dean, "Sam!" Carl had learned from his mistake – he left no opportunity for Dean to get off a clear shot. "Sam! Get out of there!" The werewolf grabbed Sam by the shoulder, bringing its claws up for a slashing strike; Sam managed to put his knife into its shoulder. It snarled in anger and pain, staggering to its haunches, but didn't let go of the younger Winchester.
Jimi watched from the cover of the trees as his Alpha moved to the aid of his Second.
He wanted to be A Good Boy. His Alpha had told him to stay out of sight, so he did, whining to himself with worry as he saw the attack unfold.
The werewolf's stagger was a feint; his canine self could see it plainly...
...And there went his Alpha, his attention on his Second again.
Jimi glanced downward: his body was still Upright, and his Alpha had told him he was weaker, more vulnerable like this, but the dark, hot voice whispering in his mind was implacable.
Your Pack is threatened. You are a Hunters' dog. Protect your Pack.
Protect your Hunters.
"This is the way of things," he nodded to himself, his eyes glowing the red of fanned embers as he burst from cover, moving faster than any Upright should be able to do.
He aimed squarely for the wolf, snarling his challenge.
I Hunt with my Pack! Submit! I will kill!
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Dean saw his mistake the second he got within arm's reach of the werewolf – the fucking thing was sandbagging, he realised with alarm, as it rose to stand on two legs with frightening speed, still using Sam's struggling form as a shield. Its predatory eyes narrowed, and he jumped backwards as razor claws whistled through the air, catching his gun arm and flinging the weapon away. He scrabbled for his knife, but it was moving impossibly fast, dragging Sam with it...
He heard the snarl like an angry chainsaw a bare moment before the werewolf's attention suddenly flicked away from him, a flash of surprise racing across its lupine features, then it was knocked backwards as Jimi, eyes glowing like his father's but otherwise still very human, barrelled into the thing.
The wolf dropped its hold on Sam, as it and Jimi flew backwards under the impact. Jimi rolled to his feet, and was on the wolf immediately, his snarl matching its own.
Dean's right arm was a painful dead weight, not responding to the helm where the werewolf had connected with it. With his other arm, he dragged Sam clear, looking for his gun.
"It's not working!" Sam panted, head still reeling, as Jimi and the wolf wrestled, "He's still human!"
The wolf moved in, aiming a wicked blow at Jimi.
The boy's head rocked back, but he stood his ground, and returned the wolf's blow, staggering it. He snarled again.
I hunt in your territory! I mated your bitch! She will whelp my pups! Submit! I WILL KILL!
"Jimi! JIMI!" shouted Dean, "Get the hell out of the way! Fuck, he's provoking the damned thing! JIMI! What the hell is he doing? He can't beat it like that!"
"Covering our exit, because he's just like you," muttered Sam, staggering to his feet. "And he's still human."
"Fuck this," Dean decided, "We gank the bastard, and work this out at Bobby's. Jimi, get the FUCK out of the way, that's an order!"
The wolf fell back as Jimi hit it again, hesitating, considering this new opponent between itself and the Hunters that had killed his Sire. It looked upright, but it was something... darker... It made a decision.
When in doubt, go for the kill.
Jimi sprang forward at the same instant the wolf did, and they met with a sickening meaty thud, the wolf biting into Jimi's shoulder. Jimi screamed in rage, and buried his teeth in the thing's throat.
Dean was in a rage of frustration – even given the half-Hellhound strength the boy apparently retained, Jimi's human teeth would be no match for the wolf's giant canine bite, but there was no way to get a shot at the thing with him so close... he let out a yell of sheer outrage at the injustice of it. He had a brief memory of another dog, his jaws clamped determinedly on an enemy threatening his Hunter even as his life bubbled away…
Jimi's eyes locked briefly, fiercely with Dean's. There was no apology in them as he clung on determinedly while the blood flowed freely from his shoulder.
I protect my Hunters. This is the way of things.
"No," whispered Dean to himself, "No..."
And then, and then...
It started.
Later, he would argue with Sam over what it looked like. To Dean, it resembled a morphing sequence of the sort that might come out of ILM or Weta studios. Sam thought it reminded him of a physics experiment he'd seen once, with two soft plastic toys in a tank of water shrinking and warping and reshaping as the pressure in the tank fluctuated...
Locked together, Jimi and the werewolf... shrank.
Their forms wavered, as if in a heat haze, melted around the edges, shimmering, shifting, until, until...
There was a teenage boy, and a four-legged animal that dropped to all four legs.
The boy did not look at all like Dean.
The animal was a young Rottweiler on the edge of adulthood.
The dog turned to Dean, grinning doggily. His head poked out of one of Dean's t-shirts and he stepped out of the sweatpants behind him. His tail wagged vigorously, his whole back end waggling with it. The overall effect was absolutely adorable.
"That is a picture you could put on a calendar," commented Sam in a dazed voice.
Dean hunkered down, and the dog threw itself at him, woofing excitedly and kissing his nose.
He almost didn't register when the boy sitting on the ground, staring at one hand, asked bemusedly, "What... happened?"
Dean shook himself, and turned to face the teenager. "So, I'm guessing you're Carl?" he asked carefully.
"Yes... Carl Bierman..." the teen seemed dazed, staring at his hand. "I've... changed..." he looked up at the sky, where the full moon hung cold and white, then back at his body. "I'm... I'm me."
"Carl," said Sam carefully, "Humour me here for a moment..." moving slowly, so as not to startle the boy, he took hold of his arm, and pressed the flat of his silver knife to the skin. Carl jerked, but there was no reaction.
"Fuck me," breathed Dean, not bothering to fend off Jimi's enthusiastic and generously slobbery greetings, "Just... fuck me.'
"What happened?" asked Carl. "Did I..." his face was a picture of anguish. "Did I... I changed, didn't I? I broke out."
"I have no idea how it happened," Sam told him, "But I think that you and Jimi here have, um, fixed each other. You're cured of werewolfism, and he's cured of... werehumanism."
"Er, Sam," butted in Dean, nodding towards Carl, "Lend the kid your shirt will you? Naked Guy Kid?" Sam rolled his eyes and shucked out of his flannel shirt. He examined the bite mark on Car's neck as he offered the teen his shirt. "We'll get that patched up," he told the boy, "Then I think we'd best get you home." He turned back to Dean. "How's Jimi?"
"He'll live," Dean confirmed, smiling, as the dog continued to solicit attention, "It doesn't look too bad now he's himself again. Probably no point bandaging it, he'll just eat any dressings." He patted the dog. "At least you can go back to having a b-a-t-h without the bonus additional Special Me-Time."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
The story Carl's grandmother told them between sobs as she hugged her very human grandson was a sad one – Carl's paternal grandfather had been bitten as a young man, and the family had managed as well as they could, barricading him in a fortified room for the duration of the full moon. Occasionally, though, he'd get out, and all they could do was pray he wouldn't kill too noticeably... as a young man, Carl's father had let his curiosity about his father's condition get the better of him, leading to a second generation werewolf, shortly before the Elder wolf disappeared one night. Hunters, probably, she mused philosophically. The same curiosity had seen Carl bitten by his own father several months ago, and the teenage werewolf had none of the limited awareness and self-preservation that the older wolves had learned – his father had tried to accompany him, guide him, but, well, boys would be boys...
"You've dealt with his father, then," she said resignedly – it was a statement, not a question. The Winchesters remained silent. "Inevitable, I suppose... thank you. For bringing Carl back."
"We don't often get happy endings in cases like these," smiled Sam wistfully, "But I think this is about as close as we could get."
"I'm sorry," said Carl in a small voice, looking much younger than seventeen. "I hope your dog is all right."
"He'll be fine," Dean assured him. "Next time one of the family says they want to be alone, just leave them to it, okay?" The boy managed a small smile. "Come on Sam, our work here is done, let's get back to the Batcave."
As they were leaving, Carl had one more question. "Was he really human?" he asked, looking at Jimi, who grinned at him and butted his hand, soliciting pats, and clearly not holding any grudge.
"Yep," grinned Dean, "And he was a great kid."
Carl looked around to make sure his grandmother was out of earshot. "Did he really mate with Angela?" he asked in a plaintive, hurt tone.
Sam, ever the diplomat, stepped in. "I think he said it distract you from us. You should ask her about it." With a reassuring smile, he steered Dean firmly away from the door and back to the car.
"What the hell, bro? Jimi totally banged Angela!" declared Dean as they headed back to their motel.
"Maybe, but Carl can talk it out with her," Sam told him.
"Dude, she did Special Cuddles with Jimi behind Carl's back," Dean pointed out, "He deserves to know."
"Not from us," stated Sam firmly. "And you do not get to brag about the carnal prowess of your 'son' to some traumatised kid who already has enough going on in his head to put him into therapy for the next several years. That would be weird, creepy, and wrong on so many levels."
"It's probably just as well he's a dog again," said Dean, smiling fondly at the happy canine face in the mirror, "Being the son of the Living Sex God, well, poor kid would've had had girls throwing themselves at him constantly. It can be tough."
"No doubt," nodded Sam agreeably. "It would be very aggravating, being pestered constantly for casual sex, when all he really wanted to do was get to his Dentistry lectures on time and work on his stamp collection."
"Bitch."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
The happy strains of The Rubber Ducky Song According To Dean Featuring Oinker Stoinker wafted out of the bathroom as Sam checked his phone, grinned, then fired up the laptop. He'd barely started Skype when Ronnie's anxious face came into view, and she started without preamble.
"Sam! Thank fuck, I've been trying to get hold of you, look, this whole werehuman thing, it's going to be complicated, I'll be there tomorrow and Dean will have to suck it up, because what we have to do is…"
"Get the wolf to bite Jimi without killing him," Sam finished for her, with a smile.
She stared at him comically, mouth agape in astonishment. Joni's head bobbed into view, and she whuffed at the screen.
"No, Joni, your brother isn't here," Sam told the dog, as she cocked her head and looked for the source of his voice, "He's in the, er, b-a-t-h, getting cleaned up after this evening's adventures."
"The… b-a-t-h?" echoed Ronnie. "You mean, he's… he's himself again?"
"Yup," confirmed Sam, picking up the laptop and moving quietly to the bathroom door, "Dean's just washing him." He held the laptop to the door so she could hear the bathtime song, punctuated by the sounds of a squeaky toy being given a workout, for herself.
"Oinker Stoinker, joy of joys,
When I squeeze you, you make noise, whuungk whuuungk
Oinker Stoinker you're my very best friend it's true…"
Sam considered taking the laptop into the bathroom, but decided that the Patrick-Stewart-Look-Like-Donald-Trump-Haircut threat was far too real, and decided against it.
He moved quietly back to his bed, as Ronnie laughed. "Well, don't just sit there," she demanded, "Spill, you!"
He did, including the Lecture, the Party, the Second Lecture (at that point he turned the volume down because she was howling with laughter at the other end of the connection), the Morning After The Night Before, and the final confrontation with the wolf. Ronnie was genuinely pleased.
"That is such a relief," she sighed, stroking Joni's ears. "Whoever would've guessed that he'd de-wolf the Young werewolf?"
"Not me," admitted Sam, "But Bobby will want to get a detailed account of it."
"Well, you'd better prepare a report to the All-Knowing Oracle," she said. "Incidentally, how are you going with, um, Operation B-Word?"
"Pretty good, actually," Sam told her, "Your instructions worked perfectly, although it's been tricky, making preparations without Dean finding out. I was just about ready to, er, deploy the beast when we left for this job."
"I knew he'd learn it quickly," she nodded, "Because" – Ronnie made a pantomimed act of putting her hands over Joni's ears – "Jimi was the pick of the litter. I could've cried when he didn't pick me. But you did, didn't you?" she smiled at Joni, who whuffed happily, soliciting pats. "Let me know how you go. Get pictures, if you can," she added, with a mischievous grin.
"Will do. Ronnie, before you go…" Sam paused, wondering how best to phrase the questions that had been pestering him since their previous conversation, "When you spoke to Jimi when he was human, you used words… Young. Elder. You called Dean and me his Alpha and his Second when you told him to look after us."
She gave him a thoughtful, calculating stare. "I did, didn't I," she agreed slowly. "Bobby said you were the smart one. Notices things. Notice notice notice, you go."
"Have you encountered anything like this before?" asked Sam, "Because anything you can tell us that might help with Jimi… we might meet one of these things again, God knows how we'd arrange a non-fatal bite to switch him back if it happened again, and who knows what he might get bitten by when he's Hunting with us…"
Ronnie let out a long breath. "Sam, can you keep a secret?" she asked seriously.
"If it means you tell me something that can help Jimi, yes," he answered.
Not taking her eyes off him, she held a hand out in front of her. Joni watched entranced as her Hunter extended her fingers, the digits lengthening, roughening, the nails extruding as claws, while her smile widened, accomodating the pair of curved, yellowed canine fangs that protruded over her bottom lip…
In a blink, she sat back, smiling, completely human. Sam stared at the screen.
"A certain amount of… self-awareness," she reiterated, "And… control. Not easy. But possible. For an Old North werewolf... guru."
He sat, dumbfounded. "How… when?" he asked finally.
She grinned at him, all trace of the wolf gone. "It's a long story," she told him, "Maybe one day you'll get me drunk enough to tell you. Yes, Bobby knows. No, hardly anybody else. One or two I trust."
"You really do speak Canine," Sam nodded to himself.
"How else do you think I got Joni trained so far so young?" she asked. "Hey, try this on Jimi…"
She coached him in a gruff whuffing sound for a few minutes, until they were both laughing.
Do me a favour," she said wryly, "Don't tell your brother. He has a tendency to see things in black and white. I'd hate for him to come Hunting me – having to break his neck would vex me, no matter how damned annoying he is. But if you ever have any, er, difficulties with Jimi, get in touch. I can dole out a little love-bite to Bobby's favourite grandfurkid."
"Thanks, Ronnie," Sam said, looking thoughtful. "It's been… educational." She waved as the connection ended.
"It looked worse than it is," Dean said of Jimi's wound as the emerged from the bathroom shortly afterwards, "It must be the whole Hellhound connective-tissue-of-steel thing, huh, J-Man?" Jimi wagged his tail, and headed for his blanket to dry off. "We can head out tomorrow," Dean continued, getting dressed, "Bobby will want to hear all the details of this one. Who were you talking to?"
"Ronnie," answered Sam, smirking at the grumpy look that crossed Dean's face, "She left me a message, wanted to make sure we didn't kill the werewolf, because she'd figured out we needed to get him bitten to switch him back."
"Huh, well, turns out, we didn't need her help, did we?" Dean sounded smug as he pulled a shirt on. Sam waited until he was dressed, then used the whuffing snort that Ronnie had taught him.
Jimi got up, eyes dancing, and threw himself at Dean for an enthusiastic, and damp, doggy hug.
"Gah!" yelped Dean. "Wet dog! Wet dog! Yes, I love you too, Jimi, now get down," Jimi dropped to the floor. "Jeez, he's happy to be himself again."
"I think it's best for everyone," agreed Sam, making the whuff-noise again. Satellite Jimi launched Deanward once more, tail wagging, tongue licking, and damp fur shedding.
"Jimi!" Dean returned the dog's affection, but looked at him with a bemused expression. "If you dare try to get any friendlier, I'll remind you, I don't bat for that team…" he sat on his bed, inspecting his damp, fur-covered shirt. "This was clean, too, I'll have to change it…."
Snuffle-whuff went Sam.
Jimi gleefully jumped onto the bed, butting enthusiastically at Dean. The elder Winchester looked suspiciously at his brother. "What's that noise you made?" he asked, trying to fend off Jimi's increasingly boisterous advances.
"What, this noise? Snuffle-whuff," replied Sam innocently.
Jimi body-slammed Dean flat onto the bed, sat on him, and kissed him enthusiastically.
"Saaaaaaaam! Help!" howled Dean, trapped under 125-odd pounds of tail-wagging, affectionate, devoted, and damp dog, "Whatever you just did, stop it!"
Sam laughed, and fished out his phone, resolving to try it on Rumsfeld and Janis with Bobby sometime. Ignoring Dean's pleas for help, he readied the camera, and said it again.
Your Alpha loves you.
Just one more weeny leetle (for me, anyway) chapterlet to go, I promise. Because you want to know what Operation B-Word is, don't you? Chocolate-coated internets to anyone who guesses what Sam's been up to with Jimi behind Dean's back...