Part 4 - a change would do you good

A/N: Oops! Forgot that I promised to post this one Saturday. Well it's still Saturday, at least it is where I am. Chapter title from the Sheryl Crow song of the same name. There's Hurt Dean and Hurt Coyote in this one. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I know I don't own 'em. You know I don't own 'em. Must you torment me with that cruel knowledge?

The zombie cows arrange themselves in a circle as Dean and Coyote walk along. Dean sneezes explosively several times. Damn things reek.

"Knew you were gonna make the right decision, Deano." The Holstein grins crookedly. That voice grates on Dean's last nerves, and his hand curls up into a fist. He stops, turns around, and his right hand flashes out like a piston, catching the critter right between the eyes.

"Nobody but family calls me that."

Zombie Holstein staggers a little bit. Dean's fist leaves the imprint of his knuckles in its skull. The tendons in its neck loosen and little, and its head hangs down at a steeper angle.

Coyote rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me, lemme guess. This is the part where you start braggin' about how you're going to kick our asses?"

The dead British white flaps its ears. "Smartass like you takes the fun out of something like this, Old Man."

"Yeah. Whatever," Coyote snaps. "Why don't you come out and tell us to our faces? Quit hidin' behind dead meat and show yourselves?"

The undead Jersey cow snickers. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Dean narrows his eyes. "You really want me to answer that one?"

The Brown Swiss whirls and lashes out with both its hind legs. Dean catches the blunt of it in his chest and the impact slams him back into the side of the nearest Red Poll zombie heifer.

Coyote flinches. He pads over and sits down next to Dean. "Kid. You okay?"

Dean tries not to breathe too deeply as he takes inventory. "Yeah. I'm golden." He's got two busted ribs now. Damn. "Cute and adorable."

The two Red Poll undead heifers snort in derision.

"I know about you two," Zombie Holstein huffs. "You've been casting around trying to find me, and you can't."

Dean holds his hand to his side, as he wills the injury to heal. "Bite me," he snarls as he gets back on his feet.

"Maybe later. If you could find me, we wouldn't be havin' this conversation. Come on, Dean, you're pretty, but you're not as dumb people think you are. We're wastin' daylight here. Think I'm gonna give you enough time to find me? Think again." The Holstein shakes its head. "Here's the deal, kids. There's something I want you two to steal for me."

"What?" Dean stares at him.

"You heard me. I got your attention now."

"You went to all this fuckin' trouble just to have us steal something for you?"

Zombie Holstein inclines its head at Coyote. "Your boy's really not all that bright, is he?"

Dean growls.

"She got taken away from me, and I want her back."

"So it's a she. Someone. We do this or what?" Coyote snarls.

"Or I'll visit all your family, your friends. That little feline girl you're so fond of, Coyote. Thomas and Bertha out in New Mexico. That Cassie Robinson. Oh, she's a sweet one, huh? Lisa Braeden. Another cutie, and her son, Ben."

Dean scowls, and the dead beef thing laughs.

"Lucas and Andrea Barr. Everyone you ever saved. All your friends. And let's not forget Sam and John. Bobby Singer, and Ellen Harvelle."

Dean stands there glaring, and if looks could kill all of those zombie cow bastards would be coyote chow. He could do it. Kill them with a look, but that would only take care of these meatsuits, not the bastard behind the scenes pulling the strings.

"Now if you two crazy kids do this one little thing for me, then I'll go away. You'll never see me again, never hear from me again. I'll leave you and yours alone, now and forever. Well?"

Coyote and Dean say it both at the same time. "Bring it, bitch."

000

"I don't freaking believe this," Dean hisses as they walk along minutes later.

"Hey look, I know this isn't what you signed up for…" Coyote takes a misstep occasionally, nearly trips over his own feet. This body is too chunky, too awkward.

And he hates that damn bell around his neck.

"Oh, it isn't? You really sure about that? Let me recap past events for you." Dean swings his head from side to side. He's having trouble getting used to all that added weight, and it's royally pissing him off.

"During the last eight hours we've had just about every cow-related object known to mankind thrown at us by some psycho nutcase who knows more about us than we do about him. Dad and Sam are back at the cabin surrounded by a group of zombie cows and Psycho Boy picks us for a snatch and grab job." Dean shakes his head and tries his best to scowl. He really has to work at it this time. It's hard to overcome that sweet expression of his. "I just busted my shape-shifting cherry, and not by turning into something cool, oh no. A wolf. A German Shepherd. A black stallion. Even a cat wouldn't have been as bad as this."

"This is worse than that time I shifted into a female and had to wear high heels," Coyote grimaces. He tries not to move his neck so much, but nothing works. Friggin' bell won't stop ringing.

Dean stops and stares at him. "You did what?"

Coyote shrugs. "Never mind. Long story."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean snarls. "We got udders, Old Man." He's bow-legged as a human, but this is freakin' ridiculous. Dean stands there pissed off and awkward and he's uncomfortable as hell and heavy besides and he needs to be milked, and crap, where the hell did that thought come from and he's damn glad Dad and Sam aren't here to see this. "We turned ourselves into freaking cows just to sneak into this damn place."

"You got any better ideas, young'un?" Coyote says mildly.

Dean lets out all the breath in those large lungs of his. "No." His nostrils flare as he picks up a familiar scent. A hated scent.

"No, no, no! This isn't working." Zombie Holstein walks up over the hill right up to them. It looks even worse than it did moments ago. Its neck hangs down twisted at a sideways angle. Looks like some of the tendons and ligaments are about to snap.

"Come on, boys. Sell it! You could put a little more swish in your walk, couldn't you? After all, you're two of the cutest looking black and white Holsteins I've ever seen. Dean, love those eyelashes of yours. Your looks translated, babe."

Coyote and Dean just stand there staring daggers at him.

"Fuck you," Dean growls at him, a very uncow-like sound.

"Well, you better get moving, boys. You got a schedule to keep, you know. You go in, get my girl out of that damn dairy herd, and you gotta do it by nightfall."

"What's this chick's name again?" Dean says flatly.

"Florabell."

"You're a sick bastard, you know that?" Coyote swishes at some flies buzzing around his head with his tail.

"I know. Ain't life wonderful?" the Holstein grins. Its eyes close and it slumps over onto its side onto the grass. Apparently the puppeteer is done with it at the moment.

Dean nudges it hard with one hoof. Nothing. "We better get moving."

"Why?" Coyote watches with satisfaction as he knocks several flies out of mid-air with one swipe.

Dean sighs. "'cause I feel like I wanna lay down in the grass and chew some cud."

000

It's never easy. Of course not. Stroll in, get Florabell, and stroll back out. They move across the pasture, and it's a little easier than before, getting the hang of walking with those damn udders between their legs.

Coyote knocks the clapper out of that damn cowbell. That's one problem solved, anyway.

Then they walk past the bulls and it's downhill from there.

"Hey baby! Do I have a chance?"

Dean grunts angrily.

"Just keep walking, kid," Coyote whispers.

"Aw sweetheart, don't be like that. Heaven must be missin' an angel 'cause you're down here walkin' all over my heart."

"Drop dead!" Dean calls out loudly. His voice comes out higher than usual and he flattens his ears against his skull. "Bein' hit on by cows, for cripes sake," he grumbles darkly. "Friggin' hamburger patties on the hoof –"

"Hey, darlin'! Can I go home with you?"

Damn, there's another one.

"Hell no!" Coyote yells out.

They both catch a glimpse of something large and dark moving at them from the six o'clock position. Dean swings his head in that direction and the bull stops dead in his tracks.

"Bonjour, madames."

"Dude. Could you be any more lame?" Dean deliberately makes his voice lower and smirks as the bull's eyes widen.

Dumb bastard doesn't give up, though. "Enchantèe."

"If that didn't work in the commercial I don't know why the hell you think that'll work now," Coyote snarks loudly.

The bull winks slyly at Dean. "Hey, sweetness. You're a Scorpio, aren't 'cha?"

Dean shakes his head and starts moving again.

They're halfway across the pasture, and things seem to be on the upswing. The other bulls lose interest and move away from them and that's just as well. Dean tries for that gunslingers' strut of his, but it's no good. He sways, he swishes, and it's fucking weird and he can't get it out of his head that he wants to be milked. By a sweet looking, fresh-faced busty Asian farm girl wearing pigtails, a tight red and white checked gingham blouse and painted on blue jeans.

He shakes his head to clear it. That doesn't work very well. He wants to find this Florabell heifer and get the hell out of this place.

He never would admit it, but he misses his Dad. He misses Sam.

He misses being human, and he misses his boys.

He senses something directly above their heads, and he doesn't even have time to react. It's fast and heavy, tons heavy. It blots out the sky and the sun and he doesn't even have time to warn Coyote.

Dean smells rubber, metal and gasoline. He looks up and sees two words: RED BULL.

And everything goes pitch black.

000

Score!

Oh, this was good, too good to send one of those dead cows over to check it out. The shadow is so thrilled he damn near vibrates in place.

Two birds with one stone, and the stupid sonsabitches don't even know what hit them.

The shadow walks over to the delivery truck and it's a damn beautiful sight. Makes everything he went through worthwhile. All the pain, all the suffering, and now he just gave it all back.

The truck's half buried in the green pasture land. The doors crumpled on impact, exploding cans of Red Bull all over the landscape. The wheel on the driver's side spins slowly on the axle.

Red Bull might give you wings, but not this damn time.

The shadow magicks the truck away without any effort. It's nothing now, but it was pretty damn solid a minute ago. All that metal and steel shimmers away like a mirage in the desert, but the crater's still there, and the shadow giggles with glee as he catches a glimpse of the two twisted bodies half buried in the ground at the center.

Dean Winchester's eyes are half open, and he's still breathing. He's buried halfway, lying on his side. Dean's not looking so good. His skin's gone pale. The kid's eyes are glazed over, a washed out looking greenish brown color with a faint golden glow in the center of his pupils. He's bruised and bloodied all over. It's a beautiful sight.

Coyote lies half buried several feet away. The only sound in the crater is their labored breathing, hoarse and unsteady. They're both still alive, for the moment, and he doesn't intend for them to stay that way.

The shadow walks down into the crater and kneels directly between the two of them.

"Oh. Oh yeah. This is sweet. They said you look real pretty bruised like that, Dean. They were right."

Dean groans aloud, broken, defeated. His fingers twitch uselessly, and the shadow laughs.

"Now, here's the deal, fellas. I lied, okay? There is no Florabell. I just wanted to get you out here so I could drop the hammer on you. Now I want you to listen carefully. You're gonna die from this, but you won't stay dead. I know that. But, and here's the thing, if you two decide to stay dead, that would suit me just fine. I'd drop this rampage of mine, you know? Your family and friends will be safe. Yeah, I lied before, but I'm not lying now."

It crouches there for a moment, listens to the slowing heartbeats, the breath fading in each body.

Dean's lips move. "Who…who…are…"

"Who am I?" It laughs. "We never had the pleasure, Deano. Hell, I wouldn't have even come over here if it hadn't been for that old dog of yours. See, I did a number on another Dean Winchester, in another place, another time. Killed him dead for one hundred days, just to teach the Sam Winchester over there a lesson about hanging on and letting go. Your dog there saw it and decided he'd do onto me the way I did onto that other Dean. Wasn't any of his damn business." It lifts its head and glares at Coyote. "Nobody does that to me. Nobody."

The shadow falls away, and Dean stares dully at the face of the trickster he and Sam hunted at Crawford Hall two years ago.

"Alternate Universes, Deano. The Old Man should have explained that to you before now. No hard feelings, kid. I don't dislike you, but if he goes you go. Too bad."

The trickster gets up, goes over to Coyote as he lies there gasping his last breath. "How you like me now, Old Man? Who's your Daddy?"

He gets an answer, but that arm around his throat isn't what he expects.

"Hello, dumbass," Dean snarls. "Who's your daddy now?"

000

A/N: Well, one more to go. Will post the final one early Monday morning.