Over in 'Escapees From The Plot Bunny Farm', this prompt was suggested:

bluroux wrote:

Would you consider writing a bit about Jimi Senior and Crowley's Gedda having a romp through some of the afterlives/underworlds? Maybe they could visit Valhalla together?
Possibly, Crowley would have to team up with Gabriel to collect them and smooth things over with various Supernatural beings?

This little plot bunny jumped out of an autoclave today (so maybe his name is Stewie), and started whispering. I think we might end up getting more than a simple one-shot out of him, so I'll set this up as a new story, write something, and see if that encourages him.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, which is probably good, because if they tried to filch my beer I'd slap them until they cried (does any bloke on he planet cry as prettily as Dean?)

Title: I Love To Go A-Wandering

Rating: T. Because this story is being written on a laptop that is also used to write fics that contain Dean Winchester, and I cannot promise a completely Dean-free story.

Summary: Dogs Go To Heaven. And sometimes, to Valhalla, Elysium, Jannah, Swaga Loka. the Field of Reeds... One of Heaven's most relentlessly cheerful residents has gone wandering, along with one of Hell's most feared It's serious; it could cause an inter-pantheon diplomatic incident. Castiel, Sheriff of Heaven, sends a suitably senior Messenger to join Hell's representative in pursuit of the peripatetic perpetrators, to fetch them. Preferably before Mjolnir gets stolen. Again.

ETA: Now with Frisbee-soliciting dog corrected to Jimi Junior! Well spotted, Gradgirl89.


I LOVE TO GO A-WANDERING

Chapter One

Denariel, Heaven's Guardian of Companions, saw the old man in the simple Franciscan habit waiting for her by the gate to the Garden of Companions.

"Hello, Fra Francis," she greeted him, "Why are you here?"

"Ah, a little bird told me," he grinned at her – the joke never got old for him – "That you might need a little bit of help today, si?"

She looked down the list of her latest arrivals, and was unable to suppress a small sigh.

"Thank you, Fra Francis," she managed a smile, "I would, as always, appreciate any help you can give me with... They."

As the Angel of the Lord in charge of watching over the souls of pets who were Waiting until their humans died and came to reunite with them, she was one of the lowest ranked angels of the Host, but she didn't care about that. She loved her job, and found it to be gratifying, rewarding and fulfilling, full of simple joy and perfect examples of unconditional love.

And yet...

Castiel, her older brother who was keeping order in Heaven until such time as their Father chose to return, had told her that she might look at it as an opportunity to practise Tolerance, Forbearance, Charity and Forgiveness. He confided that this was how he approached the situation whenever Danael, Archivist and Senior Librarian of the Celestial Library, sent one of his documents back, covered in corrections made with her Red Pen Of Fury (which she wielded the same way an archangel would wield a blade against the Ancient Foe). Such thoughts and actions were appropriate for an angel, and would surely please their Father.

And yet...

It wasn't that she didn't love them the way she loved all her charges, even Alphonse the amorous skunk, Juanita the neurotic capybara, Na Li the grumpy albino python, Bong Su the elephant who actually was afraid of mice, and Susie the enormous sow (who, destined to be bacon, had instead become a 700lb pet who sometimes still thought she was a piglet capable of curling up in somebody's lap). It was just that, well, nobody had ever anticipated that dogs with Hellhound blood – let alone one who had once been a full-blood Hellhound – would ever arrive in Heaven to Wait.

It was all just part of the wonder of Father's Creation, Castiel had told her.

In her less charitable moments, she wondered exactly how much paperwork Father had had in mind, or whether administration was something that Michael had tacked on afterwards, what with having a bit of a stick up his bottom, if she was honest.

Fantasising about their human keepers coming to collect them was a guilty pleasure for her in the quieter moments. Chances were, the old man would arrive first, still wearing his trucker's hat, and announce without preamble "I'm here for Rumsfeld, Rumsfeld, Rumsfeld, Janis, Patch, Rumsfeld, Rosie, Rumsfeld, Shiloh and Rumsfeld." Or possibly the wolf woman, who wouldn't bother to ask, she'd just howl a summons, and it would be farewell to Diesel and Mako and Arko and Joni and Lita and Ares and Chopper (although she thought she might miss Mako a little; free of his crude physical body, his spirit manifested as one of the most handsome and sweet-tempered dogs she'd ever encountered). And then, and then, oh, she hoped it would be the elder Winchester, with his irrepressible smirk, and he'd saunter up to her, and announce in that cocky drawl, "I'm here for the Jimis, Senior and Junior..."

It would never end now, of course: the bloodline was as established as the Wildhunt line, and for the foreseeable future, there would be dogs carrying the Blood of the Pit to the Hunt alongside their Hunters. Which meant that there would be an ever-changing pack of them under her care in the Garden of Companions. Which meant there would be a never-ending stream of curt notes from Danael, and gentle reminders from Castiel, and apologies for her to write, when they were at their most boisterous. She muttered her thanks to Father once more that at least she had Fra Francis of Assisi and Bruder Gerlac of Valkenburg to offer their endlessly cheerful help. And of course, Fra Antonio could do double duty, as a patron of animals, and also of helping find lost items.

And so...

She put on her most welcoming face, and went with St Francis to greet her newest arrivals.

And there they were, front and centre. Not one, but two. Brothers, who had given their lives in the Hunt, to save their Hunters, which was what Hunters' dogs did. The larger one beamed happily at her, his big floppy ears pricked up and his tail wagging, while his smaller brother eyed her in a calculating manner, sizing her up, clearly contemplating the best way to try to solicit treats.

"So then," she began cheerfully, "Lemmy and Lars, here you are! I suppose you'll be wanting to join your..."

The rapidly approaching barking of a large pack presaged the arrival of They.

She wasn't sure exactly when the term had been coined and acquired a capital letter to describe the rambling pack that included all the dogs descended from Heaven's first Hellhound and assorted associates; it just grew out of dealing with them, as in, "Fra Francis, could you see what They are doing over there?", or "Denariel, are you aware that They have been digging holes in the Firmament – again?" (from Danael), or "What in Father's name are They up to now?", or "You know that They require constant vigilance" (Danael again). Grammar was sacrificed on the altar of collective nominatism ("It would be prudent to count They again, just to make sure"; "Denariel, will you please come and fetch They from the Throne Room, the Choir are standing on their stalls and screaming"; "Danael wants some information about Earthly satellite tracking, and wonders whether a celestial version might work on They") to the point where even the Senior Librarian no longer corrected the capitalisation or the use of the word as an object.

The canine chaos of They swirled around her, tails wagging and eyes dancing, greeting the new arrivals to their ranks. Lars and Lemmy engaged in a happy growl-rassle with their sire Jimi Junior, and nuzzled affectionately at Patch, the unusual dog who had whelped them. Denariel found herself smiling in spite of herself. These welcoming rituals played out every time one of them came to Wait, and the unalloyed joy and affection was like the most devout human prayer unto her Father.

"Er, Denariel," began Fra Francis, scratching Jimi Junior under the chin as the big happy face butted at him in a hint that he would love a game of halo-frisbee, "I believe we may be one short."

"What?" She did a quick head count, and failed to suppress a small groan. "Oh, no."

With a sigh, she trudged back to her cosy work space to write a notification to Castiel, to keep him informed. Then, on the off chance that somebody might spot him, she summoned a Flitter Herald, who fluttered away, distributing her Flit via the short message distribution system that some of the younger Heralds had come up with:

"Denariel says, Jimi Senior has wandered from the Garden of Companions again - all Heralds please take care, and keep your liver treat distractions handy - and notify me if you see him! Jimi Senior has wandered from the Garden of Companions again - all Heralds please take care, and keep your liver treat distractions handy - and notify me if you see him! Jimi Senior has wandered from the Garden of Companions again - all Heralds please take care, and keep your liver treat distractions handy - and notify me if you see him! Denariel says, Jimi Senior has wandered from the Garden of Companions again..."


Go Stewie! I bet he likes carrot-flavoured reviews. Feed him some and find out!