A/N: Well, it's Wednesday, as promised. But I have a confession to make. This is not the last chapter of "Zen." It's the next to last chapter, an interlude in the boys' road trip, 'cause you know you wanna see Tiger!Dean just as much as I do. The opinions and thoughts expressed by Mr. Dean Winchester do not in any way represent the opinions and the feelings of this evil authoress. There. I said it, and I feel better for it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dean, Sam, Coyote, Circe, or any of the rest. Really.
Chapter 9 - eye of the tiger remix
Preparation H inside a tube of toothpaste.
Dean's tube of toothpaste.
Yeah, that's a keeper.
That goes in the number five slot of Sam's List of Things To Do To My Idiot Older Brother. He still hasn't found the prank suitable enough for number one. He's got time, though, and an overactive imagination fueled by feverish thoughts of revenge. There's a Walgreen's drugstore down the street from Rebecca's house, and in Dean's own words, the "credit card's good."
Sam grins evilly when he remembers that cheesy grin on Dean's face.
Some of his college buddies get kind of disturbed by that bright predatory grin, so Sam decides to tone it down. As he moves through the living room with his plate of food (barbequed chicken wings and salad) he overhears one of Bec's doctor friends talking about this stuff called magnesium citrate.
It's a laxative that looks like soda.
When something like this practically falls into his lap Sam figures he'd have to be a damn fool to ignore it. And John Winchester didn't raise any fools.
Well, actually, John didn't raise him, Dean did, which makes the notion of fate and kismet all the more sweeter.
Sam recalls something he read on Wikipedia about the stuff, and he can't help but grin.
"Magnesium citrate can be clear or colored, due to the flavoring agents. Magnesium citrate generally comes in lemon or lemon-lime flavor, but can come in cherry, orange and grape as well. It has an extremely sour taste, but chilling it in the refrigerator or pouring it over a glass of ice can help with the unpleasant taste…."
Sam doesn't notice the strange looks his friends give him. Doesn't notice and doesn't care.
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"… o-off…"
Huh, Dean thinks to himself, not so slick and tricky now, are ya, dog boy?
"…ged off!"
Dean shifts all five hundred pounds of his weight as he sits on Coyote's chest and belly. He's got the Old Man pinned down on the floor on his back, and now Dean feels the need to…well, knead.
It's not unpleasant (at least not for him, anyway) so Dean decides to roll with it.
Hey, it's like kneading bread.
Bread that squeals.
"No…no…not the claws, not the claws!"
Dean ignores his tricky ass.
After Dean finishes kneading, slowly, thoughtfully, there are long rips in Coyote's blue denim overshirt and black t shirt and his brown leather jacket, but it's not Dean's leather or clothes, none of it is, so it's a safe bet to say that Dean is relatively unconcerned at the moment. He loves seeing that pained expression on the Old Man's face, even though it's his face too, but that doesn't bother Dean either. He leans down and unfurls that huge pink tongue of his, and the startled look Coyote gives him as Dean licks the side of his face is priceless.
Circe stands nearby. She tries not to laugh. "Uh, Roamer, do you need some help?"
"Nah. I'm good." Dean leans in further, well within kissing distance, and waggles his eyebrows at Coyote. Dean purses his lips.
"No tongue, kid, you hear me? No tongue!"
Dean snorts.
"Oh." Circe stands back and watches Dean as he licks the Old Man's face one more time and then gets off, slowly, carefully making sure that he plants at least one oversized paw in Roamer's mid-section.
Coyote makes a sound like a rapidly deflating balloon as he sits up rather shakily. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" he mutters roughly, but he's grinning a little, too.
Tiger!Dean prowls around the atrium. He's showing off, and with good reason.
Too bad he's connected to the Old Man, Circe thinks to herself. I swore an oath, but still…
Dean breaks into an easy trot, his long sinewy muscles stretching easily underneath that dense, striped, snow white fur. He's trying out this new body of his, testing it, and he seems pretty damn happy so far. He grins to himself as he takes a few practice leaps, easily clearing those stone chairs with room to spare. Dean jumps up on the ledge around the waterfall, and he suddenly gets quiet as he leans forward and stares at his reflection in the water.
His looks translated. He can recognize his eyes, his eyelashes. He's even got a spray of light grey freckles across his nose. Dean wiggles his ears back and forth, wrinkles his pink nose leather, bares his teeth.
Son of a bitch…
He finally wags his head from side to side and makes faces at himself in the water.
Most of the koi in the pool flee at the sight of him. One large speckled gold and black fish darts at him aggressively. Dean growls, swipes at it with one huge paw. He keeps his claws in but he scoops the fish out of the water and bats it into the waterfall with a wet splat.
Circe watches with approval. The fish was her tax accountant in another life. Arrogant bastard. He had sticky fingers when he was a human, before she turned him. If Dean suddenly decided to have fish for an afternoon snack, Circe wouldn't mind. Not at all.
Dean jumps down, takes a running leap at the far wall, jumps up about twelve feet off the floor and bounces off effortlessly, turning in mid-air to right himself so he can land on all fours. As soon as he hits the ground he stretches into a bounding, leaping run alongside the glass walls of the atrium. At one point Dean cocks his head to one side and sees the tip of his tail waving lazily in the air. He wonders if he can catch it with his mouth and paws.
He can.
And all the while he purrs and rumbles like a newborn kitten.
He finally pads back over as Coyote brushes himself off, repairs the damage to his clothes. Dean's massive tail somehow swipes the Old Man right in the face as Dean slinks by.
Mmph!!!
Oh. Sorry.
Coyote sputters, spitting out cat hair, as Dean walks up to Circe, slowly, elegantly. He sits down in front of her and almost daintily offers her his massive right paw.
Circe takes it, and bows slightly. "You're magnificent, child."
Dean huffs in agreement. Damn right I am.
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Sam doesn't have any ill will against Coyote, of course, and he makes a mental note to surf the net and see about learning some masking spells that might cover his intentions.
White glue in that hair gel Dean uses.
Number three on the hit parade.
Sam's making a list, and he's checking it twice.
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All eyes turn their way when they hit the set. There's this tall, shaggy, broad-shouldered young hottie in this battered brown leather jacket with this huge white Siberian tiger walking calmly next to him.
Folks in LA have never seen anything like this.
Dean grudgingly allowed Coyote to put that black leather collar around his neck. Coyote holds the end of the chain leash, but it's really Dean taking the Old Man for a walk.
It's all for show. Dean gets it. Just like having a fake ID or wearing a priest's costume. What Dean doesn't get is the way Coyote looks now. Cameras all around, they couldn't have Dean Winchester just stroll in. Just his luck they'd end up on Entertainment Tonight, and then they'd have to deal with his favorite Eff Bee Eye agent, one Victor (I Will Hound Your Ass For All Eternity) Hendricksen. Hendricksen thinks Dean's dead. Dean's fine with that.
The look Coyote morphed into now looks vaguely familiar. Dean can't quite place the face. Dean stands there with his nostrils flared, mouth slightly open. He can smell females. Young, firm, perfumed. They're nearby, and he wants to run over to the dressing room and stroll right in.
Steady, kid.
The stage manager glides up. Dean lifts his head and stares at him and the man veers off.
Punk.
"Whoa there! That's a big kitty. What's your name, son?"
"Sam," Coyote answers. "Sam Padalecki."
The tiger's eyebrows go up.
There was a Gilmore Girls marathon on the other night, Coyote explains to Dean silently. I like this Padalecki kid's face.
Huh.
"You're his handler?"
"Yep. I trained him. Taught him everything he knows."
The tiger snorts. As if. He yawns, slow, wide, showing all his teeth.
"Damn. What's his name?"
"Dean."
"Dean. Okay, Mr. Padalecki, I want you to meet with our crew and our photographer. Anne Tyler. You're heard of her, haven't you?"
"Sure thing," Coyote lies smoothly. He reaches into the guy's head, and gently pulls out an image of a tall, silver-haired, middle-aged black woman with a camera, taking pictures of half naked Victoria's Secret models wearing angel wings. It's all so smooth and painless, stage manager guy doesn't even notice.
Dean catches the image and rumbles excitedly.
"Saw her work with the Angel photoshoot," Coyote says, smirking. "I'm a big fan."
The guy leers back. "Aren't we all, buddy." He steps to the side, keeps an eye on Dean. "He's a calm one, isn't he?"
"Oh yeah. He's steady. Nothing but an oversized kitten."
Dean rolls his eyes. Dude, I'm standing right here.
"Well, right this way," stage manager guy says. "We'll get you and your kitty situated over here."
Kitty? Please. Dean rolls his eyes again. This had better be good, Old Man.
Oh ye of little faith…
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Twenty minutes later Dean figures he's died and gone to babe heaven.
Seriously.
When Coyote met with the photographer he explained that it would be better if Dean the tiger was properly introduced to each and every model he'd be in the shoot with, so he could get used to the sight and smell of them.
Friggin' brilliant.
The models lined up, all twelve of them.
This was way better than that time Dean posed as a PA on the set of that porn flick, "The Day The Earth Stood Still While Debbie Did Damn Near Everybody."
Way better.
And this time? All the attention is centered on him. He's a chick magnet.
He's never seen so much nubile female flesh in one place in his whole entire life. Breasts and legs, fine toned asses, smooth skin, black, white, brown, you name it. All in various stages of undress. Redheads, brunettes, blondes…even that babe over there with the bald head looks pretty damned good.
"Can I pet him?" the first model in line chirps. She's tall, about as tall as Sammy. She has legs up to her chin, and frankly, Dean is in awe. Her straight black hair falls to the middle of her back, and she's wearing what looks like dark purple ace bandages wrapped strategically around her most interesting parts, barely covered by this bright yellow terry cloth mini robe.
"Sure," Coyote grins. "Go ahead."
Her long slim fingers skim the top of Dean's head, and he shudders. "Oh, you're such a big pretty boy," she coos softly.
Yeah I am, Dean thinks as he leans into her touch. Hell yeah I am.
Her robe falls open as she leans forward, and Dean doesn't mind.
Coyote doesn't mind either.
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Risin' up, back on the street
Took my time, took my chances
It's Dean and Purple Ace Bandage Girl (Gisele, Dean thinks to himself, her name is Gisele) and he ignores the song blasting out from the loudspeakers.
Dean can deal with this. Deal with all of it.
Went the distance
Now I'm back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive
Gisele's in full costume now, and with that bronze armor and those thigh high leather boots she looks like Playboy's version of Xena Warrior Princess. Dean's her faithful companion, White Fury, and Lord knows he has absolutely no problem with that.
So many times, it happened too fast
You trade your passion for glory
He hits his marks, gives just the right facial expressions when Anne Tyler gives direction:
"Come on darling, make love to the camera, will you? That's it, that's it. I want playful----"
Dean is.
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive
"I want determined."
Dean's that. Steely eyed.
It's the eye of the tiger
It's the thrill of the fight
"I need for you two to be sexy…"
Giselle pouts and Tiger!Dean does Blue Steel.
Risin' up to the challenge
Of our rival
"Give me savage---"
And the last known survivor
Stalks his prey in the night
And his fortune must always be
The eye of the tiger
Dean positions himself behind and to the side of Giselle, crouches down, squints, and snarls. He flares his whiskers as he bares his teeth, stares directly into the lens of Anne Tyler's camera. The shot becomes pure gold.
"Beautiful! Perfect, perfect!"
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Three hours later Dean's posed with warrior princesses, jungle queens, female hunters.
Halfway through the crew calls for a break.
It's hot underneath the lights, so Coyote leads Dean over to this soft mattress while they set up the next few scenes. He gives Dean Perrier water in a large metal bowl as the crew sets up some fans near him. Dean slurps up the water thirstily, then closes his eyes and leans back as several of the crew members spray him from head to tail with purified mineral water.
Princess, you are soo full of it, you know that?
Dean sighs. It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it.
It's all yours, kid, Coyote thinks to himself. He could have piggybacked onto what Dean was feeling when the models touched him, but heck, Coyote's not that kind of sleazeball. Well, I mean he can be sometimes, but he feels loyalty to family above all. He keeps his word to family. Everyone else is fair game.
It's nothing personal, just the way he is, yeah?
Coyote sits down on the mattress. Dean leans over and swipes affectionately at the Old Man's left ear with his tongue.
Pervert.
Dean rumbles laughter.
Ten minutes later when he strolls back onto the set, Dean's heart damn near stops.
It's twins this time. Two busty Asian beauties wearing long black flowered kimonos.
Damsels in distress. And they need a big damn hero to protect them.
Huh. Need any help? Coyote already knows the answer.
Dean pads forward, ears pricked, a big cat with a purposeful strut.
Heck no. I got this. Be still my heart…
The rest of the shoot goes smooth as silk. Velvety smooth, you could say. Even the on-site rep for the Humane Society of LA County (Hollywood Division) ends up ruffling the top of Dean's head. He purrs like a kitten and lips at her fingers.
Anne Tyler already has the feeling that the proofs are going to be phenomenal, the best she's ever seen, so she gets Sam Padalecki's business card before he leaves.
She also gets his cell phone number scrawled on the back of the card. It's a good number. Coyote makes sure of it.
Anne likes them young, and besides, that tiger of his, that Dean, has more charisma than most of the stick figures she photographs.
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Nair in Dean's shampoo.
No. Sam frowns, shakes his head. It's been done. To him. By Dean.
Supergluing Dean's beer bottle to his hand? Well now, that's a classic.
That goes on Sam's list.
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One more after this. Yep. For real.
See you in 2009. Happy New Year!