The plot bunny made me do it. I guess I'm some sort of crack addict.

Epilogue

It was several months after The Croydon Incident before the Winchesters had cause to go to Montana again. Dean insisted that they go and visit Andrew, to see how he was managing the werewolf thing. Sam accused him of prurient interest in other people's private lives, but acquiesced. In fact, he privately considered his suspicions about the 'Spotter's Fee' confirmed when he saw the new pickup in Andrew's drive.

Dean's smile became even larger when they knocked on the door, and Joni ran straight through it to greet them, and wrestle with Jimi, before the dogs ran back inside through the door, barking happy greetings. When the door opened, Ronnie stood there.

"Gday fellas," she greeted them, ushering them inside, "What brings you to Montana?"

"Here on business, thought we'd get in a visit while we're in the area," Sam told her.

"So, you're still here, then?" leered Dean.

"Yep, still here," she agreed.

"Where's Andrew?" asked Sam.

Ronnie seemed to consider the question for a moment, then finally decided on her answer: "Stuck."

Both Winchesters blinked. "Stuck?" they chorused.

"Stuck," she confirmed.

"Um. Where is he, er, stuck, exactly?" asked Sam, not sure if he wanted an answer.

"In the living room," she replied nonchalantly, sticking her head out into the hallway. "An-DREW!" she bellowed. "The Winchesters are here!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a bemused look. "Er, if he's... stuck, does he need some help?" prompted Sam. "Is there something we can, um, do?"

"He needs to learn to do what he's told," she replied brusquely. "Not during the new moon, I said, but would he listen to me, noooooo, Mr Know-It-All knows it all. Go on through. You want beer?"

"Er, yeah," answered Dean, thoroughly mystified.

They headed for the living room. The sound of a football game on the TV drifted to them.

"Hey, Andrew," Dean began, "Ronnie said you might have a bit of a... oh."

"Um, I don't think we can help, here, Dean," suggested Sam.

Joni and Jimi sat on the sofa. Between them sat a seven-foot, 300-plus pound male werewolf, slouched in a picture of utter defeat, with the most despairing expression either of them had ever seen on a canine face.

They sat on the other sofa.

"So," started Sam, "Ronnie says you're, er, stuck."

The werewolf humphed sadly. Jimi sat up and licked consolingly at his ears.

"Okaaaaay," said Dean, "But, um, apart from, well," he waved a hand generally in Andrew's direction, "How's it going? You know, with Ronnie, and... everything."

A small doggy grin crossed the monster's face, and he let out a short whuff. The clawed gesture was clearly a thumbs up.

"Here you go," Ronnie said, coming into the room with beers, "One for you, Sam, one for you, Dean, one for me, and one for you Andrew. Oh, what's that? You can't manage a can, because you got yourself stuck? Surely not, after I warned you not to try? What's that? You decided to try anyway, because you thought you knew better? Silly me. I've only been doing it for more than twenty years, what would I know?" She smiled, and patted Andrew on the head.

They'd never seen a werewolf roll its eyes before, but there's a first time for everything.

"So, er, how long will you, er..." Dean gestured at Andrew, who held his beer carefully in one huge clawed hand.

"Oh, he'll snap back spontaneously, eventually, in his sleep, probably," Ronnie answered dismissively. "If you're going to watch this, I'm doing something else. Two different teams on the one side. I'll never understand it. Your football is ridiculous!" she snapped, stalking out, as if they had personally invented the game themselves for the express purpose of confusing her.

"You, er, need some help with that?" Sam asked.

Andrew regarded his beer thoughtfully, then popped the end of a claw through one end, bit into it, and shotgunned it.

"I guess not, then," Sam grinned.

"She's still cranky, then," observed Dean. The werewolf shrugged.

"For what it's worth, I think she's only cranky when she's happy," decided Sam.

"You must make her really happy, then, Andrew," grinned Dean.

They ended up spending the evening there, watching football and eating pizza. Sam took a picture of Dean and Andrew playing cards later to send to Bobby, who sent back a message consisting of a single word: idjits

Dean submitted the picture to an online special effects contest some time later, but was disappointed when he was told that his werewolf looked totally unrealistic: too big, too heavily muscled, and the trucker's cap on its head looked ridiculous. Sam put it down to what he called The Twilight Effect. Bobby said it was probably not such a bad thing if the general population had no idea what an Old North wolf actually looked like. Dean was disappointed, but not that surprised. Like he always said, demons he could understand, but people, they were just plain crazy.

REALLY THE END

It's finished! It's finished! *pulls jumper over head and runs around in circles* It's finished!Sneaking in just under 60,000 words. Holy crap! It's Frankenstory! Don't forget to blame Leahelisabeth, it's largely her fault for sooling the plot bunny onto me. And the various Denizens who insist on encouraging me. Well, that one was a marathon effort. If you're still reading after this long, award yourself some chocolate-covered internets. I'm sure we're all sad to see the back of DDD&SSS, but I'm hoping the bunnies will give me a rest (there's still the ones from Paralesky and Bartlebead, amongst others, lurking, but I think I'm safe for now). It's that pesky Real Life, it does get in the way... Anyway, I'll be back next time the bunnies bite and the Winchesters need laundering, tata for now.

Reviews make the plot bunnies have secks and produce more bunnies. It's true. Ask a biology teacher.