Chapter Twenty-Nine
"I don't get it," Jody cocked her head and watched the group of children cluster around another dead Croat as RJ flourished the wand of the sprayer, then gave it a squirt; he'd been the one to figure out that scooping up some gloop from the zombies that had been found disintegrating after coming into contact with Kerryn's virus-sloshed clothes, swishing it around in some water, then spraying it would start the rapid breakdown of even a dead Croat. Since Tiem the gargoyle went after the bus and the children had returned, they had been following him around, cheering the destruction of each corpse. "It never gets old for them. Grisly little bastards, kids."
"Hey, if it means we don't have to carry 'em outside the fence and build a giant pyre, I'm in favour," Frankie pointed out. "We'll set up another fermentation – if RJ runs out of gloop, he can use that. Then hopefully, if it's spread far enough, they'll soon be back to putting salt on slugs for their morbid amusement."
"I guess we can do some recon, in a day or two, when we've cleared up here," Jody shrugged. "We got off surprisingly lightly. I still can't figure out how nobody was actually killed."
"Uncle Dean and Andrew had us going there for a while," Frankie smiled, "Bobby is still calling him an idjit. And I think Dad might try to kill him as soon as he's healed up enough to pick up a blunt instrument."
"How is your father, anyway?" asked Jody.
"Fic stitched him up," Frankie's voice held a note of relief. "She says he'll be in a fair bit of pain, but he'll pull through okay. Of course, we won't have Fergus – I suppose I can just call him Crowley now – to make tea, so I'll be on houndswort duty. He lost a lot of blood. Like Kerryn. Uncle Dean's with him – Dad keeps waking up every ten minutes and asking if he's really still alive."
"And how is our Evil Overlord?" Jody went on.
Frankie smiled. "Well, somebody will have some explaining to do," she giggled, "But I think it's gonna turn out okay."
"You know, I think you might be right," agreed Jody. "It'll be kinda weird without the zombies. I mean, once the Eggity-Fergus thing spreads, we won't have to stay here. I don't know what to do – do I want to go home, or stay nearby here, or…"
"Aaaaaaaaargh!" they were interrupted by Chuck, who staggered, wild-eyed, out of the mess. "Aaaaaaaaargh!"
"Chuck!" Jody called as they rushed to him. "What is it? What's happened?"
"It's starting again!" he wailed, "It's starting up all over again! I was just working on my next beer wort, and then, suddenly, wallop!"
"Wallop?" repeated Frankie dubiously.
"Wallop!" confirmed Chuck, "It started again! This is so unfair! I had such plans – I was gonna start up a brewery, I was gonna start making toilet paper, they're two things vital to a civilisation, you know, I was gonna be a successful businessman…"
"What started again?" prompted Jody.
"It! It!" yapped Chuck, "The propheting gig! The Winchester gospel! Aaaaaaargh! It's all unreeling, in here," he tapped the side of his head, "And the writing is just as bad! So, no profiting, just propheting! Oh, God, why me? Why me? Why me?"
"Chuck, where are you going?" asked Jody.
"To dig up Crowley's booze," the reluctant prophet moaned, "You think I'd let him stash that stuff without making it my business to know where? It's not fair. It's not fair!" He turned his complaint to the sky. "If Your writing doesn't improve, I swear, I'll, I'll, I'll embrace Islam!"
"That won't help, you know," Jody reminded him, "They worship the same God, and they have prophets too. You'll just have to do your writing without booze."
"Or bacon sandwiches," added Frankie seriously.
They watched him go, lamenting his fate and the lost chance to become obscenely wealthy on the back of a beer and TP empire.
"That's probably a good sign," mused Jody. "After all, if he's, uh, propheting again, about what's going to happen, then that means there's a 'going to happen'. Complete with Winchesters."
"I'm not sure he sees it that way just now," grinned Frankie.
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It didn't matter how many times Dean saw his brother laid up in a medical setting, he always saw five-year-old Sam and felt the stab of guilt that he hadn't been there to prevent whatever had happened.
"Wipe that look off your face," instructed his sister Fic, "This isn't your fault. Demons did this, not you. I know for a fact that Bobby has given you this lecture already, so don't make me repeat it, I'll just get annoyed."
"They wouldn't have done it if I'd been there to have his back," mused Dean.
"If you'd been there to have his back, he'd be dead by now, and you'd be dead, and so would a whole lot more people," she told him matter-of-factly, "Because that swarm outside the gate would eventually have overwhelmed us. Plus, the Eggity-Fergus virus wouldn't have been released. So stop beating yourself up." She nodded to their little brother. "If you think you need beating up, he might do it for you, once he's healed up. He really thought you were gone. We all did. I'm gonna start calling you Herpes Winchester, because you just keep coming back."
"Yeah, I keep messin' with people's heads like that," Dean momentarily grinned annoyingly, then turned back to his brother. Sam had been horribly pale when he'd found him being tended by Fic, but now there was a wash of colour coming back into his cheeks, and his sleeping face was peaceful. "Is he gonna be okay?"
"Yes," stated Fic firmly, checking on the IV set she'd broken out of the carefully hoarded emergency supplies she'd hoped she'd never have to use. "That one worried me," she indicated the slashing wound across Sam's chest, "It went deep, but he didn't lose any tissue. It all went back together again better than I thought it would."
"Nice embroidery," Dean noted the tidiness of the small, even sutures. "Croatoan aint a worry, but what if it gets infected?"
"I've got some antibiotics I didn't realise we had in the super-duper emergency stash in the line, so couple that with his werewolf constitution, and I'm confident he'll pull through." She gave him an exasperated look. "If you're going to insist on sitting here like Mrs Flappity on her brood, you can help by feeding him houndswort if he wakes up enough." Sam stirred slightly, and mumbled, clumsily moving one bandaged arm – Fic carefully took hold of the wandering limb, and steered it gently back to rest by his side. "And don't let him paw at his IV, I don't have cannulas to burn if he pulls it out."
"We could call Kelly, ask her to threaten to tie him up," Dean suggested brightly.
Fic snarled and slapped his arm, muttering dire threats about doing a little veterinary operation often performed on bad dogs that made them better behaved. "I gotta check on my other patients," she said, "You know the drill."
"Better than you know," sighed Dean. "How are the others, anyway?"
"Beverly is like a six-year-old at Christmas," Fic rolled her eyes. "When he came in, he was covered with so much blood I couldn't tell how much he'd lost – and he still wouldn't let go of his axe – but he was lucky it was the last night of the full moon. The bite worked; he can't wait to heal up enough to try out his shapeshift. I caught him doing his teeth already."
"What, the permanently huge teeth aren't part of the werebeaver deal?" asked Dean.
"Nope, those choppers are just Arjan," grinned Fic, "But he's got good control, so we're hoping that Beverly will have too."
"And what about your other patient?" Dean asked.
Sister Fic smiled. "She's doing remarkably well," he answered, "Taking it in her stride, really. I explained that it was an emergency – she really was dying, and to tell you the truth I thought it was too late – and that it can be undone, so she has a lunar month to think about it. But there was no hysterics, no screaming; I think she's just considering her options. It's a scientific approach, really. Exactly what I've come to expect from our Evil Overlord." She chuckled. "Her son Todd is determined to learn to make houndswort tea for her. You should see the face he pulls while he's doing it!"
"He's a good kid," Dean nodded. "Hey, that reminds me, we might need your obstetrics skills again soonish."
Fic glared at him. "You idiot!" she hissed, "Who have you got pregnant?"
Dean let out a laugh. "Not me! Zeus. He knocked up Lottie, Todd's dog. We're gonna have more puppies of the Blood. You hear that, Sam?" he turned to his unconscious brother, "Your dog has entertained beautiful, natural acts with a willing female. Take inspiration." He turned back to Fic. "And what about…"
"On the mend," she replied, still smiling. "They did a real number on his arm, but I don't think there's any permanent nerve damage. He's gonna need some time to adjust back to… well, you know."
"The demons are back Downstairs, the Croatoan virus is dealt with," Dean shrugged, "He's got all the time in the world."
"I don't think it will take quite that long," remarked Fic cryptically as she left.
Dean sat with his brother, watching his chest rise and fall quietly, until Sam winced, and his eyes cracked open.
"D'n?" he mumbled sleepily.
"In the flesh," Dean plastered his cockiest smirk onto his face to hide his worry, "You just lie there, and bask in the healing light of my awesomeness."
" 'Splos'n," Sam slurred, "Thought you 'ere dea'…"
"Think again," Dean sniffed disdainfully. "You aint Alpha of this pack just yet, bitch. Hey, leave that," he grabbed at Sam's arm as his little brother pawed ineffectually at one of the dressings. "Stop it, Mr Handsy, you touchy-feely freak. Or I'll get Kelly over here to tie you to the bed. Don't worry, I'll ask her to wear somethin' lacy while she does it."
"J'rk." Sam's eyes drooped shut briefly, then opened again. " 'Drew?"
"He's good," Dean smiled. "In fact, I think he might be better than good."
"R'nnie," Sam became agitated, "Kev'n said… R'nnie…"
Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Hey, hey, take it easy," he ordered, "It's all good, okay? For now, just trust me on that. I'll fill you in when you're more awake. But it's all good. You want some houndswort?"
Sam nodded slightly, so Dean carefully helped him to take a few sips. The effort of drinking seemed to exhaust his little brother, so Dean tucked the bedclothes around him. "That one's gonna leave a real impressive scar," he commented, indicating the wound on Sam's chest as he carefully arranged the blanket, "Chicks dig scars. You'd be amazed at how many women like to lick 'em. In fact, once you're healed up, I'll bet Kelly just can't wait to kiss it better…"
"Y'r a jerk, Dea'," Sam mumbled, but he managed to crack a small smile and rumble Throwback.
Runt, Dean retorted with a grin, as his baby brother's eyes fluttered closed and he slid back into sleep.
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I wonder if this is some sort of pack thing, Kerryn mused, waving off her latest visitors – a group of Todd's class who had done her a collective painting reading GET WELL EEVEL OVERLARD – as they left. She'd hardly had any time alone since she'd released the Eggity-Fergus culture, as word of the project had gotten out around the camp. As soon as she was well enough, everybody wanted to visit her, congratulate her, thank her. Beverly had dropped by, the day after the attack, and shared his news like an excited kid. She'd realised at that point that she'd been able to smell it on him before he told her.
She'd never win a Nobel Prize, she thought, but she couldn't complain that she was unacknowledged.
It was going to take some getting used to, she thought, looking down at Lottie. The dog had stayed by her side since she had woken up feeling strangely alive for somebody who had nearly bled to death, a constant presence of wordless moral support. She'd been a bit surprised at her own reaction when Fic had explained exactly how she'd come to be still alive, or rather, her lack of reaction. After all, there was a whole month to think about it. And Todd was beside himself with excitement to the point where she'd threatened that if he used the word 'cool' once more, she'd ground him from using the metalwork workshop for a week (that had grown to be a very useful threat in the parenting arsenal).
She'd felt ridiculously happy when Dean explained the scent coming from Lottie; she'd thought that Todd's chatter about his dog having puppies had been wishful thinking, but now it was clear that in three months' time, there would be a new litter of part-Hellhounds. Bobby had dropped by, called her an idjit as he carefully hugged her, and explained that they would be Hunters' dogs, but she didn't care. The whole idea of more new life just thrilled her.
The gentle whuff from Lottie broke into her thoughts. She understood the tone: another visitor was approaching, somebody well known, and definitely not any threat. She turned to the door, and tried to let her nose tell her what was happening. Male, she recognised, a scent redolent with strength and capability, an alpha male. She was pleased; she hadn't had a chance to thank Dean properly for saving her, because if he hadn't found her and bitten her, she'd be dead now…
There was a knock at the door, and when nothing happened, she called "Come on in."
The door of the small cabin creaked open, and a head popped hesitantly around it. "Um, hi."
"Hi yourself," she replied, somewhat confused, but then deciding that she'd just made a mistake; after all, she'd only been using her wolf-nose for a couple of days, and she had a lot to learn. Lottie thumped her tail on the floor, and woofed in greeting, so he came in.
Kerryn didn't recognise him, but that wasn't strange; she hadn't had a chance to get to know everybody before Operation Croat-Fuck had cranked up and occupied her every waking moment, and there had also been a few people dribbling into Camp Singer Salvage, from smaller hold-outs, with reports that the Croat zombies had just vanished. But as he sidled hesitantly into the cabin, she thought she might like to know who he was: he was about Dean's height, but his pale blonde hair was pulled back into a pigtail, his left arm was in a sling, and as he gave her a shy smile, she suddenly wished she'd had a chance to brush her own hair.
"I, uh, I thought I'd come and see how you're doing," he said eventually. "I brought these." He held up a bunch of dark green foliage with some unimpressive pale flowers; it reminded her of the time Todd had found a bunch of flowering weeds outside the fence at kindergarten, and proudly presented her with the 'bouquet' when he got home.
"Oh, er, thank you," she stuttered, trying to find something nice to say about the bunch of greenery as he handed it to her. "They're very, um, very…"
A scent wafted to her nose, and she buried her face in the leaves, sniffing deeply. It was intoxicating. "Ohhhhhh," she went, "Oh, that's, that's…" she gave up looking for a suitable description and shoved her face back into the bunch.
"Hountswort," her visitor grinned, "It's in flower. They don't look very spectacular, but they're worth it, when they're fresh, just for the scent."
"Mmmmmmm," she hummed, getting a sudden urge to throw it all on the floor and roll around in it. The very idea shocked her back to herself. "Well, Dean has called it 'wolfnip' before. And the tea sure smells a whole lot better now…"
"You want tea?" He suddenly looked anxious. "It's good for you. I can go get tea, if you want tea." His eyes fell on the pot Todd had brought her earlier, making faces and using language she didn't know he knew to describe the smell, and he grabbed up the pot with his good hand. "Yeah, tea, you need tea, I'll go get tea…"
"Uh, I don't need tea right away," she said quickly, for some reason not wanting him to go just yet. "Later, yeah, that'd be good, but…"
"Tea would be good?" he echoed uncertainly.
"Yeah, yeah," she nodded, "Tea would be, um, good."
"Okay," he let out a long breath, and put down the pot. "I'm sorry," he went on, "I, um, I can tend to ramble when I get nervous. I've done it since I was a teenager, I guess. I'm not good at this. Not the tea, I'm good at that. I, um, I'm sorry. I wanted to see you, and say I'm sorry."
"For making tea?" queried Kerryn, feeling just as confused as he felt.
"Well, no," he rushed to reply, "I mean, well, yeah, about making tea because you like ass tea now, but no, not for being able to make it, I'm sorry about… I did look," his expression was anguished, "I did check for the tattoo, but you were nearly dead, and I thought, I thought, actually, I don't think I thought, but, at least you're alive, and I'll do the countercurse for you myself, since I got all the ingredients right here, would you believe pulling a whisker out is even worse than losing a tooth, so… yeah. Kerryn, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It can be fixed. But I really am sorry."
She sat gawping at him, mouth hanging open in bewilderment, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about, as she stared uncomprehending into his worried blue eyes…
Realisation dawned.
"It was you," she breathed. "You found me, and bit me. You're Andrew."
He looked as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. He was such a picture of abject contrition that she had to laugh out loud. Then she laughed some more at his expression when he looked up again, and kept laughing until he ended up laughing with her.
"I have an idea," she said, picking up the pot, "Why don't you stop apologising for something that I'm not upset about, and go make tea, then bring back two mugs - can you manage that? - then sit there, let me thank you for saving my life, and saving my son's, and we can talk."
He frowned momentarily, then gave her a hopeful smile that made her want to see him smile more often. "Okay," he took the pot, "Uh, what would you like to talk about?"
Her eye fell on the occult knife sitting on the small table. "That," she said, "Tell me about that. And tell me about Ronnie."
He gave her a smile that made her heart skip. "That could take a while," he chuckled.
"Well, we won't be interrupted by Croats," she pointed out, "So, go make tea, Andrew."
"Doesn't have the same ring to it as 'Go make tea, Fergus'," Andrew reflected ruefully. Something occurred to him. "Oh, er, do you want me to get somebody? You know, to be here with us? I mean, I've just kind of barged in here, and you don't even know me…"
"Are you suggesting a chaperone?" she asked, and he looked sheepish. "Well, if Lottie's not worried, neither am I." The dog thumped her tail on the floor again at the mention of her name. "You know, technically, I have already seen you naked."
"I'm never naked," he said firmly, "Sometimes, I just don't have any clothes on."
"Well, go on," she made shooing motions at him, marveling silently at how easy he was to talk to, "Go make tea. I'm getting out of bed, to get dressed. What Fic doesn't know won't hurt her. I'll be done by the time you get back."
"Okay." He turned to leave, then looked back, giving her a cheeky grin that she thought was just about the most adorable expression she'd ever seen on a guy's face. "But you do realise that next full moon, technically, I'll get to see you naked?"
He dodged the pillow she threw at him, and she heard his laughter as he headed for the mess.
Nearly there now – Ulfric tells me there's a last chapterlet to go, and then possibly an Eppy Log of some sort (which is probably like a Yule Log, but it's made of Eppies instead of wood). So, onward, werebunny! Tell you what, if you lot agree to review both chapters, I'll put the next one up too ASAP. Do we have a deal? Yes? Great. No kissing required, I don't know where you've been (although for some of you depraved beldames, I have suspicions).
