A/N: And apparently the site doesn't like those little periody thingies, either. Oh well. Yeah, I was supposed to post this Monday, but I decided to add a little more, and the chapter kept growing. And growing. As Maxwell Smart would say "Missed it by that much." I have no excuse. Also: Bear is a kachina who was in Dog Eat Dog. Bear also looks exactly like actor Michael Clarke Duncan ("The Green Mile").
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story, and I'm not very happy about it, either.
Part 5 yeah, but…but…it's PIE!
The back lot's a piece of land that Bobby decided to hold onto all these years. It's warded, just like the rest of Bobby's place. The lot's surprisingly uncluttered, about half an acre all total. A tall wooden privacy fence shields it from the outside world, not that Bobby has any neighbors who are near enough to complain about the noise anyway. "I use it for special occasions," Bobby said slyly when asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He's got three wooden picnic tables back there, and a handmade brick grill large enough to barbeque a buffalo.
"Dude's a regular Martha Stewart. Who knew?" Dean gives Sam a brotherly poke in the arm as they sit on the grass, their backs against the fence. "Go on over there, Sammy. Use those patented Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes of doom and get Bobby to give you a sample. I dare ya."
"Nope. You go." Sam says warily.
"Nuh uh."
"Nuh uh? Ya big baby."
There's fire, smoke and steel all around Bobby right now. He looks determined, dangerous even, and God help anyone who gets in his way.
Coyote comes trotting out of the salvage yard. He heads unerringly for Bobby's table, smirking, happy, totally unsuspecting, drawn by the smoke and smells.
"Uh oh." Sam shakes his head.
"Watch this," Dean says confidently. "Bet he'll make off with half a rib at least." The Old Man pricks his ears as he sits down in front of the table. "He shoots--"
Bobby turns around and fixes the Trickster with a withering glare that could peel paint.
Coyote backs away. He makes a conscious effort not to put his tail between his legs, but his ears are pinned back and his mouth is drawn into a tight line. He's one dejected looking pup.
"-- he misses," Sam drawls.
Dean groans. "Damn."
"If your better half couldn't make it, what chance do you think I'd have?"
"Better half, huh? Hmph."
The Old Man slinks over to the table where John and Ellen are sitting. Ellen has some kind of snack bag on the table, and she smiles and gives Coyote a piece of whatever's in the bag. Coyote wolfs it down and his tail lifts up slightly. He gives a slight wag as he stands there and he eats about four more pieces before Bobby glances up and Ellen hurriedly folds the bag in half and slips it into her pocket.
Dean sniffs.
"What?"
"I smell bacon," Dean says, frowning. His eyes glow soft golden for a moment. Dean fills his right hand with this brightly colored bag. He sniffs the air as he takes a piece of whatever the hell this is out of the bag, looks at it and bites it in two.
Sam's eyes widen as he leans over and looks at the logo on the bag. "Dude. You do realize that you're eating Beggin' Strips, right?'
Dean's eyes get kind of vague and unfocused as he very clearly savors the taste. "Uh huh. Yeah." He comes a little more alert and his expression brightens. "It's bacon, Sammy."
"No, it isn't."
Dean shrugs. "Whatever." He offers the bag. "Want some?"
"Ah, no. No." Sam shakes his head. He's really not that surprised. Back when Sam thought Dean was "normal" Dean was a bottomless pit anyway. Peanut M&Ms, burgers, eggs, bacon, cheeseburgers, Dean would eat practically anything that wouldn't try to eat him first…well, except for that fiasco in that French restaurant that time.
Snails? Oh hell no.
Nothing's changed all that much. Really.
Coyote makes a somewhat dignified retreat for the back gate leading into the salvage yard. Dean knows the furball's actually had a pretty rocky relationship with his fellow canines sometimes, that whole "hunted by dog packs" thing back in the day, but as usual, that doesn't stop Coyote from being friendly with Bobby's dogs, especially Condie and Rumsfeld2.
Dean hears this high-pitched, Stepford-cheerful female canine voice ("Absolutely. Yup, yup, you betcha!") and he doesn't even allow himself to wonder what Roamer has gotten himself into.
Sam leans back against the fence. "Did you, uh, take care of Rebecca? With the thing about the cow, and the damage to her house?"
"Yep. Place is as good as new, just like the parking lot at the Roadhouse." Dean looks at Bobby and shrugs. "Everything's fine. Bobby had cleaned up most of it before I could get to him."
"Thanks."
"De nada. Hey, Sam, you wanna invite Rebecca to our little soireè here?"
"No." Sam shakes his head, careful not to look Dean in the eyes.
"Why the hell not?"
"I…I just don't want to."
Now that the thing with the cows is over with Sam can feel himself trying to go for a little Sammy angst, and he decides against it. He's not normal. Turns out, never was. His family's not normal either. He missed out on normal back in Lawrence, Kansas. That was a limited time offer, boys and girls. That boat has sailed. Permanently.
Sam didn't miss that brief flash of what -- hurt? disappointment?-- on Dean's face when he turned Dean down about inviting Rebecca. If Sam had said "yes" Dean would have been gone to get her in a heartbeat, but there'd be too much to explain. Sam could see it now:
"Hi, Sam." Rebecca looks around all wide-eyed. "Uh…so how've you been?"
"Oh, fine."
"Uhm, you never told me that Dean could, umm…"she does a handflap with her right hand. "I really don't even know how I got here, Sam."
Sam shrugs. "It's a long story, Bec."
"Is that your Dad over there?"
"Yep. He was down south for a while."
"Oh. You mean Louisiana or something?"
"Further south than that."
"Oh. Florida?"
"Warmer than that."
"Oh."Rebecca looks confused. She spots Coyote and that's it, game over.
"Umm…Sam? Is that…a coyote over there?
"Uh, yeah."
"I've never seen a coyote that big before…"
Coyote strolls up to Rebecca, sits down at her feet and grins up at her. "Hello, darlin'." That leer, that voice, is pure Dean. "How the hell are ya?"
Sam catches Rebecca as she faints.
No.
Just…no.
It's not that Sam's ashamed of his family. That might have been true at one time, but not now. It's…complicated. It's like nothing else in the world. This whole Dean Coyote thing is like this secret that Sam realizes that he wants to keep all to himself.
"…uh huh…." Dean's face goes suddenly, carefully blank. He reaches down and tugs out a handful of grass and idly pulls several stems of grass out of the clump.
Sam shrugs. Dean takes a deep breath, and what comes out of his mouth next is a total surprise. "Hey, look, I know today was nine kinds of crazy. I get it. You guys were targeted because of me and the Old Man--"
"Dean, you don't have to say-- "
"Yeah, I kinda do, Sam. Let me finish, okay? None of this is what you and Dad signed on for. I know that. I wish it could be different, y'know? You guys are the most important people in my life. I want you to know that I get it, Sam. I really do."
Sam blinks. "Dude, you were totally rocking 'Wind Beneath My Wings' there."
"Damn right I was, Frances." Dean tries not to grin. "I spent all afternoon rehearsing this damn thing."
"You had me at 'hey, look'," Sam sniffs soulfully.
"Emo bitch."
"Macho jerk."
That's it. They're past the chick flick portion of the program. Dean has a plan for the rest of the evening, namely, eat, drink and be merry until he's senseless.
It's a damn good plan.
Sam glances over at Bobby and flinches a little at the sight and sound of flashing steel. "It's…it's almost primal," he murmurs.
"Yeah, but…" Dean blinks. "That apron kills the illusion, y'know?" He leans forward as he reads the inscription, and wonder of wonders, Dean says it all with a straight face: "I Saved The Pope's Ass From A Fate Worse Than Death and All I Got Was This Lousy Apron. Huh."
"Huh." Sam says thoughtfully. "Is that…is his hat color coordinated?"
"What?" Dean settles back comfortably. Another Beggin' Strip disappears into his mouth.
"I mean, is that a new hat he's got on?"
"Looks like the same old hat to me," Dean says with a slight frown.
"Don't the colors in the hat pick up some of the colors of the apron? The blues, and the greens..?"
Dean chews, slowly turns his head as he stares at his brother in horror. "I knew it all along. You're adopted."
Bobby goes over to one of those cardboard boxes he hauled out from the house. The old man was gruff when he carried the boxes out of the kitchen, brushed off all offers of help from Sam and Dean. Bobby even shooed Ellen away, so she briefly hugged each one of the boys, then she spotted John Winchester sitting at one of the picnic tables with a six pack and wisely excused herself. Bobby was in a mood already, and Ellen wasn't about to enrage the beast.
Dean suddenly goes on alert as Bobby takes several round covered dishes from the box. Dean lowers his head slightly, and his mouth twitches into what could only be described as a predatory smirk. "Damn," he breathes. "It's pie."
Dean closes his eyes, breathes in more deeply. "Blueberry and cherry and apple. He's got peach cobbler over there, Sammy!" The bag of Beggin' Strips disappears into thin air, right back into Ellen's jacket pocket.
Dean's quivering all over like a dog on a leash. Sam grins.
"Uh, Dean, last time I checked you can materialize all the pie you'd ever want out of thin air."
Dean gets up and rubs his hands on his jeans. "Yeah, but…but… it's pie!" Dean makes an ineffective handflap towards Bobby and the table, as though Sam should already understand what he means, and he's frustrated that Sam doesn't get it.
"Dean," Sam says with a smirk, "Bobby just ran Coyote off. What d'ya think he's gonna do when you walk over there?"
Dean grins. "Oh, me and Bobby are tight, Sammy. After all, it's Bobby. And pie. Who the hell knew he could bake pies like that?"
Sam doesn't look convinced. Not one bit.
The pies draw Dean over like a magnet.
Trickster avatar and veteran hunter stand there staring at each other for a moment. It's a stand-off. Bobby scowls at Dean, a sauce mop in one hand, a butcher knife in the other. Dean warily eyes Bobby's hands, like he can't decide which weapon is more dangerous.
"Something I can help you with, Junior?"
"Uh, no," Dean says uneasily. He practically sways in place. Pie…
"Then git."
Dean just stands there, looking.
Bobby quirks an eyebrow at him. "I said git, young'un. I'll call you when the food's ready."
"Bobby," Dean stammers, "you didn't have to do all this. We could've brought the food in already cooked-"
"I was looking for an excuse to fire up my grill, Winchester. You're steppin' on my toes now," Bobby growls under his breath.
He lifts that sauce mop in a vaguely threatening manner. Dean gits.
"Hi, sweetie," Ellen says warmly when Dean wanders over to the table.
"I wouldn't get near that old junkyard dog when he's like that," John drawls. He takes a bottle from the cardboard carton and hands it to Dean as a consolation prize.
Dean glances at the beer bottle in his hand, shrugs, uncaps it and takes a swallow. "It's not pie," Dean mumbles to himself.
John tries not to laugh, but it's a battle he's losing. He never would tell his eldest son this, but the kid's got one mean pout. Dean Winchester doesn't pout. He glowers.
Yeah. Riight.
"Ellen!" Bobby thunders.
Ellen rolls her eyes. All three heads turn in Bobby's direction. He's pawing around in that olive green duffel bag of his.
"What?" Ellen quirks an eyebrow at him.
"Where are my spices, woman?"
"Right where you left 'em, Robert Stephen Singer." Ellen waves her beer bottle at him. "Same place they were when you asked me ten minutes ago."
Bobby blinks. "Oh."
"You need some help there, Martha Stewart?" John drawls.
"No," Bobby calls out. "You'll just get in the way. No civilians allowed in here yet. And that includes no-account newly resurrected hunters who can't even operate a toaster."
John smiles, relaxed and kind of loopy. "Damn, that stings." He and Ellen grin at each other and click their bottles together.
"Pie," Dean grumbles darkly to himself.
Bobby ignores all their sorry asses.
000
When Bobby pulls the meat out of those boxes, Sam gets up without even realizing it and wanders over.
"Uh, Bobby?" Sam sidles up to the table, and the look on Bobby's face makes him suddenly feel all seven years old again. "Uh…Bobby? Where'd you get the meat?"
"What?"
"Remember you called us and you said that a cow landed in the yard and wrecked that truck and scared the dogs andohmy GodIdidn'trealize--" Sam stares rather fixedly at all the meat as his stomach does a slow queasy flip flop.
Bobby briefly considers showing Sam the receipt for the meat but decides against it just yet.
The look on the kid's face is priceless.
000
Bear shows up ten minutes later. With beer.
Neverending six packs of beer, two of 'em, as a matter of fact, and at first John and Ellen prepare to be polite, figuring that spirit beings don't know jack about beer. Ellen takes one swig and immediately feels her toes curl up.
It's the best damn beer she's ever had. In life. Less than three minutes later she stares at the empty bottle in her hand as it fills right the hell back up.
Sweet Jesus…
Bear has a six pack of something else, too.
Red Bull.
Dean just stares as Bear thrusts a can at him. "Dude. That's so not funny."
"I thought it was funny," Bear says mildly. He doesn't even crack a smile.
000
"Four thousand years ago dinosaurs roamed the earth," the brown pit bull chirps cheerfully.
Coyote flattens his ears. "I was here," he says, scowling. "No, they weren't."
He can't figure her out. She's always got this damn grin on her face. She's a new one, and Coyote can't stand her.
"How come you smell like that Dean boy?"
"How come you ask so many damn questions?" Coyote snarls.
The pit bull gets up, grinning idiotically, and angles her nose around towards Coyote's butt.
Coyote swings around and stares at her. He lets the god part of him come out a little more, gets bigger in stature, and his green eyes go bright gold. "Sniff me and I'll hurt you so badly your ancestors will feel it."
Rumsfeld2 lumbers out from behind a pile of car seats, followed by Brownie, Cheney, and Condie.
"'m hungry," Cheney complains, yawning. He's the largest dog there, a huge shaggy reddish brown Saint Bernard/Chow mix. "Boss won't feed us until the food's ready."
Condie shakes her head. "Palin, knock it off." She sounds bored already.
Coyote grins and his tail starts wagging at the sight of Condie. Damn, she looks even better than the last time he saw her. She's his type: big black German shepherd, but then again, all females are Coyote's type.
Well, just about all.
Out of the corner of his eye Coyote sees Palin grin and crouch down, ready to spring. He doesn't move when she leaps at him. Coyote's eyes flare bright golden and a loud popping sound splits the air.
Palin's gone, replaced by a large pink balloon animal twisted into the shape of a dog.
"Oh, I woulda gotten you that time, you betcha," the balloon dog chirps as it wavers from side to side in the air.
Coyote flinches and goes sideways, pushes up against the balloon dog and quickly hides it behind this old wreck of a school bus nearby as Bobby appears at the back gate as if by magic.
Everybody else looks around, trying their damndest to look as innocent as the day they were born.
Bobby growls. "What are you all doin' in there?"
"Nothing," Coyote calls out. He's got that same Whome?Wellgoodevening,officer expression that has earned Dean quality time again and again with law enforcement officials all over the country.
"Don't want you spoilin' your appetite, hear me? It's not time to eat yet."
Rumsfeld2, Cheney, Brownie and Condie bark and whine a little. Nothing to see here, dude. Just us hounds, hanging out together.
"Okay!" Coyote says, a little too cheerfully. Bobby glares at him with the same Iknowyou'reuptosomethingbutIjustdon'tknowwhatyet expression that Dean usually gets from law enforcement all over the country, and just like that, he's gone, back to the grill.
Coyote steps away and Palin bobs up into the evening air.
"Guess 'm goin' somewhere, huh?" she squeaks. Everybody ignores her. Coyote shrugs. She's brand new and obnoxious, and nobody's all that concerned about her situation.
An errant breeze catches Palin up, and she's caught in the branches of a tree nearby. "Hey, I can see Russia from up here."
Rumsfeld2 looks, then shakes his massive head. "It's okay. I never liked her either."
"I wanna burrito," Cheney grumbles.
Condie's stomach growls. Loudly.
"How many times a day does he feed you guys?" Coyote grumbles.
"Once." Rumsfeld2 sits down heavily.
"Hmph." Coyote stands there for a moment, and then his muzzle quirks up in a sly smirk. "Got a little trick I wanna show ya."
Brownie blinks. "The boss said for us not to eat anything. We promised."
Cheney pokes him with one massive paw, and Brownie frowns up. "Well, we did."
"Us canines gotta stick together," Coyote grins. "Besides, I had my paw crossed, so it doesn't count. Where's your food pan?"
Two minutes later: "You sure this will work?" Rumsfeld2 rumbles softly. He gestures over the empty food bowl with his raised right paw.
"I'm Coyote, dog," the Old Man huffs. "Damn right it'll work."
The food bowl fills with dry food. Condie and Rumsfeld2 plunge in face first.
Cheney gets his burrito.
"Damn!" Brownie stares at all the food in the bowl. "And you say this thing fills itself back up?"
"Yep ," Coyote smirks. "Once a day my furry brown ass."
000
All things considered, John thinks to himself, life is good.
He never thought it would be again. He'd made the deal, traded himself for Dean's life, wouldn't hesitate again if he had to do it all over again. Now here he was, out of the frying pan, so to speak, surrounded by the people he loved, Ellen, Bobby, Sam and Dean, even though he'd never admit it to Bobby, at least. Got a few more relatives this time around, what with the addition of Coyote and his side of the family.
And Ellen…well, John had actually been nervous about meeting her again. He hadn't seen her after what happened to Bill Harvelle, and John was pretty sure she never had forgiven him.
He was relieved to find out that he was wrong.
John takes another swig of Bear's beer…pretty damn good stuff, who knew kachinas knew jack about beer? Damn – when he sees Coyote slink out of the back gate from the salvage yard. The Old Man's head is down and those eyes of his are blazing. John stares for a moment, and then he realizes that the trickster is deadly serious.
He's stalking somebody.
John follows Coyote's eyeline, and realizes that he's zeroed in on Bobby.
John turns, just in time to see that same intense look on Dean's face, that same bright golden glow in his eldest son's eyes.
Dean stands up. He and Coyote are parallel to each other, and they're both keyed in on Bobby standing at the grill.
Shit…
"Dean?" John raises his voice just a little. He hates like hell to use that command voice on Dean and Coyote, but he doesn't have any other options. Sam and Ellen stop and stare, and it doesn't help that now Bear is staring at Bobby with a reddish-orange glow in his eyes.
"Son? What's the matter?" John wants to joke, wants to say something like, I know you're upset because Bobby wouldn't give you a taste, but this isn't funny. John can feel the tension in the air.
Coyote growls, a soft rumble in the evening air, and Dean's eyes narrow. "He just took Bobby. Bastard thinks he can fool us, but he can't."
Bobby turns from the grill and laughs. There's an otherworldly glint in his eyes. "Well, hell," he snickers, and the sound is very un-Bobby-like. It raises the hair on the back of John's neck. "I took my shot."
Bobby's form shimmers like a heat mirage, and the trickster from Crawford Hall stands there wearing that stupid-ass apron. "Meat's almost done, anyway. Don't suppose I could stay and have a plate, huh?"
By this time Ellen, John and Sam are all on their feet.
The trickster shrugs. "I'll take that as a no."
000
A/N: Now, I have to give Jenna credit for the bit about Beggin' Strips. (That's it, blame her!) And Phoebe Davis egged me on when I told her what the inscription on Bobby's apron was going to be. I'm blameless. Blameless! There's one more chapter to this bad boy. I wanna make it up to Dean, because after all, he busted his shapeshifting cherry not as a wolf or a black stallion or anything cool like that, but as a cow. Apparently in the Trickster world shifting to your default form (as a coyote, like Dean did in Dog Eat Dog) doesn't count. The Old Man feels like he has to make it up to the kid.