A/N: Sighs heavily. Yeah, I suck at updating. I could sprout off about RL and all but that's no excuse.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. And I'm not very happy about it, either.

Chapter 7. and now for something completely different....

Coyote moves forward a little, his head down, ears slightly flattened against his head. Dean moves at the same time, closes up the space between them, and it's no accident that they're positioned themselves directly in front of Ellen, Sam, John and Bobby. Bear steps up alongside Dean.

The Crawford Hall trickster looks bored. "You guys are takin' this way too seriously. Singer's fine." He gestures, and Bobby pops in out of thin air, dropping into the chair that John just vacated.

Bobby's startled at first, but it takes him less than a second to figure out what's going on. "You son of a bitch!" He glares at the trickster, and the trickster laughs.

Forget trickster brotherhood and all of that, neither Dean or Coyote are looking very friendly at the moment.

The Crawford Hall trickster realizes this and frowns a little. "Now is that any way to act, boychick?" he says to Dean. Coyote bristles. The Old Man's not used to being ignored like that. "I gave you the heads up about Coyote, remember? Let you know you weren't goin' psycho. Warned you about the Ilimu demons that were after you…"

"So? You want a medal for that?" Coyote twitches his ears, annoyed.

"I'm not here to start anything. I saw what you did to that trickster from that AU. Serves the dumbass right. Tried to warn him. I did."

"Speaking of which, dumbass, just so you know," Dean says smoothly, "you messed with Bobby. Bobby's family. You really think we're gonna let that slide?" Dean's eyes glint dangerously, but Coyote's eyes spark golden first.

"Now wait a minute…"

A gigantic pale pink cartoon foot slams down directly onto the Crawford Hall trickster. He's squashed flat, and the sound this thing makes when it hits the ground is like a very loud fart.

"The Foot of Cupid," Sam says in awe.

Coyote sits down on his haunches with a thump and looks pretty damned pleased with himself.

"Dude," Dean says slowly. "Monty Python's Flying Circus?"

"There was a marathon one night." Coyote shrugs carelessly. "I couldn't sleep."

"Well, you wrecked the theme of this thing all to hell, didn't you, Old Man?" Bear quips. "Where's the beef?"

"Nah. That tossing cow thing is done." Coyote shakes his head. "It's played."

Dean stands there frowning.

Coyote squints at him. "What?"

Dean shrugs. "Well, Monty Python…I dunno…isn't that a little too…highbrow for us?"

"Highbrow? You're kidding me, right?" Coyote rears back. His ears go straight up. He raises his left paw and makes a handflap towards the giant foot. "You got something better, kid, I'm all ears."

They can all hear muffled groans coming out from under the damn thing. "…you sons of bitches…a little help here…"

"Well, I woulda gone with something more current, like…" Dean crosses his arms, frowns as he stares at the foot.

"Like what?" Coyote narrows his eyes.

"I dunno. Jackass maybe." Dean's good for another three seconds of stalling, and they both know it. He gives it up at the four second mark. "Aw, hell, I got nothin'."

"Damn straight," Coyote crows with immense satisfaction. "The master surpasses the pupil, grasshopper."

Bobby's none too pleased with the sight of this giant foot that close to his beloved brick grill, not to mention the flatulence sound effect.

Bobby quirks an eyebrow at Coyote and Dean. "You boys mind? You wanna clear this out or don't you wanna eat tonight?"

"Oh. Sorry." Coyote's eyes blaze golden. The Foot of Cupid and the squashed Trickster disappear in the blink of an eye.

000000

"You got any Ambrosia?" Coyote says to Bear, hopefully. The beer in the neverending bottles is good and all, but he likes something with a little more kick to it.

Bear scoffs. "You know good and well you can't handle that stuff, Roamer."

Coyote's ears go up and back. He looks deeply offended. "I can handle Ambrosia."

"No, you can't," Bear chuckles. "You don't want me to tell everybody the real story how the Grand Canyon was created."

Ellen looks puzzled. "The real story?"

"Yep." Bear warms to the subject, while the Old Man sits there staring daggers at him. "One day Coyote got drunk on Ambrosia, and he decided to start digging holes."

Dean smirks proudly. That is soo cool.

Sam snorts. "Huh. I thought the Grand Canyon was formed by the Colorado River. Took six million years."

"Six million years. Yeah. Right." Bear chokes back laughter.

Coyote huffs indignantly. He sets his beer bottle back down on the table with a too hard thump. He's pissed. He walks stiff legged over near Ellen, sits down right at her right knee, with his back to her.

He's got such beautiful, thick fur, Ellen thinks to herself. She really doesn't think Coyote will mind if she touches him. Maybe it's the beer, but she just can't help herself. Her fingers slide over the top of his head. She hesitates for a moment, and he closes his eyes, leans into her touch.

Ellen's fingers move in slow, lazy circles. The Old Man untenses.

Dean untenses.

John quirks an eyebrow. "Uh…Dean?"

Ellen's fingers hit that sweet spot right behind the Old Man's left ear. Coyote moans out loud.

Dean makes a soft grunting sound.

Coyote's tongue lolls out of his mouth. He's extremely happy.

"So…" Dean rasps out. He squirms in his seat. "How 'bout those Celtics, huh?"

Sam blushes bright red. Finally: "Ellen?"

Coyote's ears go back. He knows what's coming.

"Would you please stop petting my brother?"

"I'm not---" Ellen looks at Dean, really looks this time, sees the slight blush on Dean's face.

"Oh. Sorry." Ellen jerks her hand away.

Coyote's ears go down. "Oh, come on, darlin', don't mind him."

000000

Rumsfeld2 raises his paw and gestures over the food bowls. The big Rottie's brow furrows as he thinks the words Coyote told him.

The food stops coming, but it doesn't go away. There's steaks, burritos, and baked chicken, stacked high in the bowls.

"Boss ain't gonna like this." Rumsfeld2 rumbles.

"We're gonna get in trouble, I know it," Brownie whines.

Rumsfeld2 huffs. "Best thing to do is not to leave any evidence."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Condie says.

Cheney pushes his face into his food bowl and doesn't bother coming up for air as he eats. Nobody has to tell him twice.

The others follow suit. They eat everything.

Up in the treetop a branch scratches Palin's balloon skin, but she doesn't pop. She turns back into her same old brown pit bull self. Her stubby tail wags back and forth excitedly. "Hey!" Palin calls out from the treetop. "You're gonna save me some, right? You betcha! Soon as I get down, by golly! Just save me a little bit, okay? I don't eat much."

Thing is, she just sounds like she's just barking (that is, to everyone but Bear, Dean and Coyote). Bobby looks up from the grill and frowns."How the hell did that damn dog get up in that damn tree?"

Dean's looking a little glassy eyed. He shakes his head and his eyes focus again. "Uh, I'll get her down for you, Bobby."

Bobby's eyes narrow as he stares at Coyote. Furball's got this innocent look painted all over that furry face, but Bobby's got nothing on him, and the corn on the cob is up next. He can't leave the grill. "Okay, Dean."

Dean gets up and wobbles a little as he walks back into the salvage yard. Bobby makes a mental note to call Kubrick in the morning and tell him that he can have that crazy mutt Palin after all.

0000000

An hour later, and the chicken, ribs, burgers, corn on the cob, salad are gone.

Bobby beams with extreme satisfaction. No wisecracks from the peanut gallery either, well, aside from that crack John made about "Martha Stewart Singer."

When he goes to feed the dogs Bobby's a little puzzled by the fact that Rumsfeld2, Cheney, Brownie and Condie don't seem too interested in eating. They're sprawled out on the ground and their bellies are swollen, even though their food bowls are empty. Rumsfeld2 blinks tiredly at Bobby, rolls over and goes to sleep. Condie's already asleep and Cheney's lying on his back snoring. Brownie's out like a light.

Huh. Bobby's eyes narrow. Coyote.

Palin's the only one awake. She sits by her empty food bowl with this stupid grin on her face. Bobby shudders as he dumps the food into her bowl and she starts eating.

Out in the yard the Old Man picks up the vibration. Uh oh. He ducks around the table and sits down next to John. John stares at the top of his head, and the fingers of his right hand twitch. John raises his hand towards Coyote's head, and Sam says warningly, "Dad?"

"Oh." John puts his hand down. "Sorry, kid."

Coyote curses up a blue streak.

Dean's still smirking about the Grand Canyon. Damn. No wonder he wanted to see it.

000000

Sam and Dean volunteer to clean up, and Bobby lets 'em. Whatever else you might say about John Winchester, he raised his boys right. Or maybe they grew up right despite John.

Bobby suspects it's the latter.

Bear takes off for parts unknown after he thanks Bobby for the grub, and leaves another six-pack of that neverending beer. Bobby's never encountered a kachina before, and if they're all like Bear he wouldn't mind meeting another one.

Best damn beer. In life. Who knew?

Now it's Ellen and John squaring off against each off. Bobby counts to three, and they're off. It's a struggle for about a minute or two. John tries valiantly, but Ellen rolls her wrist as she forces John's arm down sideways onto the table.

"Best two outta three," John mumbles. He thumps his beer bottle down on the table a little too hard and wobbles slightly in his chair.

"All right, you're on," Ellen slurs. She puts her elbow on the table and steadies herself.

John does the same as they grip hands.

Twenty minutes later the boys come back out just as Bobby starts cutting the pies.

John loses at arm wrestling again. Sam flinches.

"Damn, this is embarrassing," Dean mutters.

00000

Dean wanders off into the salvage yard after he eats six slices of pie. His appetite's increased now, but he never gains weight. He still feels the need to move, though, so he walks around the rusted junkers and finally ends up sitting on the hood of a rusty yellow school bus. He takes a swig of beer, looks down between his legs and shudders as he remembers how those damn udders felt.

Coyote sighs. "Still thinking about those damn udders, huh, kid?" He sits down next to Dean on the hood of the school bus.

Dean turns a little red around the edges. "Uh, no. No, of course not." He frowns, closes his legs, tries to look manly.

"Can't lie worth a damn, either," the Old Man drawls softly. "No 'shifting." Coyote looks thoughtful. "Driver makes the rules, shotgun shuts his cakehole, remember? I didn't get it, still don't, but I gotta give you props for it. And the first time you break your own rule, you don't shift into something classy like a black stallion, a wolf or King Kong even. You shift into a freakin' dairy cow. Because of me," Coyote adds wistfully.

They sit there in silence for a moment. Yeah, that cow morph was permanently filed under Dean's Worst Moments of My Whole Damn Life, vying for the number one spot with that hyxx hunt he and John went on up in New York. Damn thing was preying on women late at night. Dean has a sudden flash of himself teetering down the street in a dress and high heels.

Coyote starts grinning and Dean shuts it down.

Not fast enough.

Coyote morphs into Dean in drag. That long blonde wig fits him perfectly, and hell, Dean flinches when he sees that green dress again. "I didn't miss much when I was behind that wall," the Old Man says smugly.

Coyote's eyes get wide. "Whoa. You were right about that pantyhose. It was riding up into the unknown." He grunts, wiggles uncomfortably. "Way way up into the unknown."

"Will you stop that?" Dean hisses.

"Damn kid, you coulda just waxed your legs, done without the pantyhose." Coyote squirms from side to side. "Size you got was too damn small. Get queen size next time."

Dean looks appalled. "Next time?" he mutters. The Old Man seems way too comfortable wearing that bra. Dean grimaces. He can still remember wearing the damn thing, the feel of his rolled up socks scratching his bare skin. Those damn straps cut into the tops of his broad shoulders. He felt confined, squeezed in all over, and his boys felt like they were trapped in a vise.

"Hey Dean, there's some pie left out here!" Sam calls out from the picnic area.

Coyote fluffs his hair out and smirks. Dean scowls at him.

"Hey, Dean?" Oh, crap, Sam sounds closer.

"Be right there, Sammy!" Dean yells out. He swallows, then looks around guardedly as Coyote sings in an exaggerated falsetto. "I feel pretty, oh so pretty--"

"Will you stop that!" Dean hisses.

Coyote throws his arms out wide. "I feel pretty and witty and bright---"

Sam rounds the corner. Dean flinches. He'll never hear the end of this.

Sam blinks and he misses it. The Old Man's back to his furry four legged self.

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him. "You guys? More pie?"

"Uh…yeah. Okay. We'll be there in a minute," Dean's so relieved his shoulders sag. That was one moment in a hunter's life that he never intended to share with Sam.

Sam stands there blinking for a moment, looking from one to the other. "Okay. So what'd I miss?"

Coyote glances at Dean sideways. "Miss? Oh, nothing. We were just talking."

"I heard singing."

"Yeah. Singing. And talking," Dean finishes up lamely.

Sam stands there for a moment, then shrugs. "Whatever. Last call for pie." Dean doesn't relax again until his not so little brother disappears from view.

Another awkward moment.

Coyote takes a deep breath. "Hey, look, I know the last fifteen months or so hasn't exactly shown you the other side of bein' a Trickster. We spent a year out on the road fightin' for our lives, bringing our loved ones home, and now this crap comes up. There's a fun side to what we are, y'know."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at hm. "A fun side?"

Coyote's grin is wicked sharp. "Oh hell yeah."

One more chapter after this, and we're done. Really.