Chapter 44: Turf War

They preferred to travel together. Two hellhounds were a better offense than just one. Now they traveled inside matching Rottweilers. Humans crossed to the other side of the street when they approached, and they liked it. They liked instilling fear without showing their true form. Though they enjoyed their soul retrieval duties, they found scaring humans not yet ready for Hell almost as amusing.

Fortunately, they had found the dog meatsuits close to Singer's Salvage. There the Winchesters awaited special attention. They scouted the perimeter, wondering who had already arrived. There were scents from other dogs, so they could not be the first. As young as they were, it was unlikely for them to arrive before the others. They did not scent blood, so perhaps they were not too late to join in the festivities.

They marched inside the salvage yard, alert and aware. Several other large, imposing dogs sat just outside the door of the house, including one who was probably an elder since they usually chose the noble-looking German Shepards. It seemed they were not last, but certainly not first. They walked all around the house, wondering why the others chose one place to wait. The wards in place on this home were strong, strong enough to make them wait a while longer. When they had all gathered here, they would overwhelm the defensive wards easily. Not even devil's bane could keep out a full pack of hellhounds.

Around the back of the house they scented something new. Still moving together, they tracked the new smell. Inside a crevice was a mound of the something which smelled so good. Curious, one tasted it. It was good. They ate the mound quickly, before the others discovered it. How could the others be so lax as to miss such an obvious treat?

They finished circling the house to join the others outside the front door. So many humans had passed through the front door, its wards had worn to the point a few of them together should be able to break through. The elders might be able to pass the wards without help. The real problem would be that front door. If only a human were stupid enough to open it.

As they waited, they became very sleepy. The Rottweiler pair decided to lie down, to rest. The action had not started yet, there had been no fighting, there was no reason for them to be sleepy. However, their eyes were too tired to hold open any longer. As their eyelids became heavy, they heard the sounds of a vehicle approaching.

"I swear, Sam, I should've broken that guy's jaw," Food-boy continued the rant he had been on since leaving the hospital.

"Dean, you can't mean that," Book-boy argued.

"Why not?" Food-boy demanded, his eyes flaring bright green. Hillary hung her head over the front seat, drawn by the glow and emotions flowing through the car.

"Because he's trying to help," Book-boy replied calmly as he turned down the road toward home.

Food-boy snorted loudly. "Trying to help himself write a new paper," he said, acid dripping from his tones.

Hillary had the same feeling. "Well, even if it's true, if he can help it's worth it," Book-boy replied. Hillary could smell his anger rising.

Stubbornly, Food-boy crossed his arms over his chest and glared out the passenger window. Hillary could feel the instant Food-boy's head snapped forward, glowing eyes staring through the front windshield. "I don't like this," he growled.

"What is it?" Book-boy asked as the car slowed.

"Not sure yet," Food-boy said. "Stop outside of Bobby's."

Book-boy pulled off the road at the entrance to the salvage yard. Hillary stared at Food-boy as he stepped out of the car. Eyes still on the road home, he opened her door and motioned for her to come. Relieved, she jumped to the ground to take her position at his left side. They walked three abreast toward home, into the rust and oil smells. Now she also had the scent of other dogs and growled low in her throat to warn her boys.

"Yeah," Food-boy whispered, "I know."

Two others stepped out of the shadows of rusting metal to join them. Neither were threats according to Food-boy, even though Hillary still wasn't too sure about one of them.

"Know what you're dealing with, Dean?" Raphael asked in his low voice which rumbled like distant thunder.

"Something from down-under, and I don't mean Australia," Food-boy replied, voice hard and sure.

"Hellhounds," Michael interjected. "Hey, Ralph? You think we can play fetch with them?"

Hillary told Michael she would prefer to use them as the ball. Food-boy snapped his fingers in warning at her, so she kept the rest of her comments to herself. No stopping her from thinking about it, though. Book-boy ran a hand over her head, his touch telling her he felt pretty much the same way.

She shook out her fur, preparing herself for a good fight, when she smelled it. The scent sent her stomach to rumbling and she realized they left before she had had breakfast. And there were other dogs in there!

Hillary took off at a run, before any of the others had a chance to get it. She spotted her bowl way off to the left of the house. The other dogs seemed to be staying far from it. Good. It was hers! A low, threatening growl erupted when she saw someone had beaten her to it and taken a large mouthful.

"Hillary!" Food-boy shouted at her. "Get your furry ass back here!"

She eyed her competition fiercely, daring them to come between her and her bowl. One sat back on his haunches, tongue lolling, thin strands of drool dripping from his mouth. He seemed to be daring her to eat it. She lowered her head, eyes never leaving the other dogs, to take a bite.

Oh, YEAH!

This was better than steak! Shocked she would be given such a wonderful treat without having to work for it, Hillary dove to her task of eating it before the others could try to take it. The one with the tongue sat up straighter, his tongue darting back inside his powerful jaws, black eyes staring steadily at her. Gulping greedily, Hillary tried to get a good look at the others. Their eyes were also solid black. She had the funny feeling this wasn't a good thing.

"Hillary!" Food-boy barked louder.

Really, he of all humans should understand. This was food! Really, really, really good food. Best food she had ever had in her whole entire life. WOW! Hillary licked the bowl clean, eyes still on the other dogs who had formed a half-circle around her.

Too late she smirked at them. A pleasant rush flowed through her, making her feel better and stronger. She studied the dogs watching her, sensing her humans and the angels approaching slowly. They were not just dogs, there was something controlling the dogs. The somethings Michael had called hellhounds and they looked like a shadow, just below the fur. Finished with breakfast, she tilted her head to the side, locking eyes with the one who had dared her to eat.

This one was the leader. This one wanted inside her home. This one wanted to hurt her boys.

This one was going to die.

Now.

Hillary took a slow step forward, her deepest, angriest growl rumbling slowly from her chest. As the growl made its way up into her throat she took another step toward the leader, baring her teeth. He cocked his head to one side as he rose to all fours. Her fur bristled, rising between her shoulders and all the way down the center of her back.

The others backed off. This was turf war, Alpha Dogs only.

She took another step, daring him to meet her in the middle. If she had to take two more steps like this, she was going to rush him, take him by surprise.

He shook himself, like he wasn't worried. He took a single step toward her.

Perfect.

Hillary let loose another low rumble, waiting for the right moment to bare her teeth. She panted softly, gathering herself for the fight. It was going to be all-out. Death-match. She could see it in his bottomless black eyes: no mercy.

He squared his massive shoulders. The body looked like a cop. Hopefully a drug dog, some of them were real pansies. Those bomb-sniffing hounds were crazy, no telling what he might do if he was one of those.

A high, piercing whistle split the air. Hillary knew it was one of her boys, trying to call her off, probably worried. Nothing doing. No freaking hellhound was moving in on her turf. She made sure to mark this whole place every night, and already she could smell that some of them had put some markers out. That was getting marked over today. End of discussion.

He took another step towards her, his fur standing up and a low growl coming her way. About time. Got to be a pansy drug dog.

Emboldened by the thought, Hillary let loose another ominous growl as she bared her teeth, upped the ante with a couple of good snarls and a half bark.

He took three steps closer to her, his mouth open in a snarl as he continued to growl. Hillary stood her ground. Any second now he was going to screw up, and then he was dead meat. She kept up her snarling growl, more promise than warning now. She could tell her boys were behind her, watching. They better not move any closer; this was going to get real ugly, real fast.

This so-called leader hellhound had to be a moron to pick a pansy-ass drug dog. Hillary said so in another snarling growl.

The hellhound promised to rip the flesh from Book-boy's bones while Food-boy watched.

Not in this lifetime.

As Hillary took one more slow step forward, he was now within her striking range. Her growl grew louder, angrier, and all the fur on her back stood straight up now. Teeth fully bared she panted quickly.

His mouth opened and he started to bark, stupid fool thought he was still far enough away. Using all her muscles, Hillary leapt for his throat. Mouth open, her teeth sunk into Sheppard fur which stunk of flea powder.

An Alpha hellhound picked a pansy-ass drug dog with fleas?

She clamped her jaws around the tender flesh, squeezing tight as she growled and snapped her head back and forth. Her body landed on his and they rolled in the dirt, snarling and growling. He tried to break free of her grip, but she was not about to give up her advantage. Hillary sunk her teeth in deeper, until she could taste blood. She scrambled around, trying to get a grip with her paws. Her feet slipped over his body until finally they hit dirt. Now she had traction, and the advantage.

Keeping part of her weight on him, Hillary planted her paws in the dirt. She squeezed her jaws tighter, growling low and hard. She knew that the real threat wasn't the pansy-ass drug dog, it was that shadow under the skin. She shook her head again, threatening to break the dog's neck if the shadow didn't leave.

It growled back that it didn't need a live body, just a body. Hillary clamped down tighter, blood flowing down her jaws now. She growled about how difficult it would be to bite without a head. After all, a dog without a bite was just a foot warmer for humans.

The Sheppard started to howl and blackness came from its mouth. She did not release her grip, standing firm as the blackness swirled around them. The other dogs set up a similar howl, blackness spilling from their mouths too. Hillary stood her ground, growling heavily at the blackness that this was her home, her boys. Here she was Alpha. Here they could not come.

The blackness swirled together, like water in the indoor water fountain she kept getting into trouble for drinking. And just like the water, it went straight down. The ground under her shook as it split open, the blackness draining down into the crack. It closed up after the blackness was gone.

A human throat cleared from two or three leaps away. Hillary turned slightly until she could see Food-boy standing there with his arms folded over his chest.

"I think you can let go now," he said. "Bad guys are gone."

Hillary let out a whine. How could they know for sure it's safe?

A new whine caught her attention. It came from her jaws. The Sheppard whined again, wanting her to know she was illegally detaining a police officer.

She growled deep.

He went limp in her jaws with another whine. Drug sniffer. Valuable to the department, he claimed. Don't touch the nose.

Hillary opened her jaws, letting him drop to the ground. Pansy-ass. She gave him another growl for good measure. Her home.

"Easy, girl," Food-boy said, one hand rubbing her head. "Good job. Let us handle it now, okay? Want a steak?"

What she wanted was for these other dogs to get their scents out of her area. Or more of that food in her bowl? Hillary's back end wagged happily as Food-boy scratched her head more. Yeah, that was niiiice. Happy, she sat down by Food-boy's foot, leaning into his touch. One foot pumped at her side, bouncing up and down as he scratched harder. She barely noticed one of the angels kneeling over the pansy-ass drug sniffer, checking out his injuries. Was the angel really planning to heal the dog who'd challenged her?

"Relax," Food-boy growled at her. "It's not his fault his was possessed."

She rolled an eye up to look at him. Was he serious?

He shrugged at her, his hand moving down to scratch under her chin. "Okay, maybe it was a little bit. But it wasn't like he was in control when he picked a fight with you."

She blew hard out of her nose. Whatever.

Food-boy laughed at her as he knelt beside her. "Come on, let me check you out. Did you get hurt?"

Was he serious?

"Yes, I'm serious. You took on a frigging hellhound. Now lift your head, you might have a cut on your neck."

Hillary sighed as she allowed Food-boy to do whatever he wanted. Especially if he kept rubbing her fur like that.

"How is she?" Book-boy asked, his hand massaging one of her ears. Yeah, life was good.

"I think she's fine. Do you think we should have a vet check her out?" Food-boy asked.

Hillary growled again. She didn't have worms!

She heard the squeak which meant the front door was opening. Hillary yanked her head away from her boys to check on the door, make sure they were still safe. A human head poked out of the house.

"Well? You get rid of 'em?" It was the human who had so many smells, Hillary could only call him Bobby.

"Nope, Hillary did," Food-boy said proudly. Hillary let her tongue roll out of her mouth as she trotted by his side, headed for the house.

"Hillary? But how could she... uh, Dean?" Bobby pointed at her. "Why are that dog's eyes glowing?"

Food-boy glanced down at her before shrugging at Bobby. "I'm guessing because you're so frigging paranoid you even mix Holy Water in the dog food." He turned to wave at the angels. "Hey, are you guys gonna take care of this?" He made a hand-sweep to indicate all the dogs roaming around her yard. "Or is Hillary going to have to run them off?"

"We'll get these back home. Bobby can keep the other one, he's probably useless to the military now," Michael called back.

"Other one?" Book-boy asked Bobby. "What other one?"

"The one that broke through my wards, came into the house. I had to exorcise the poor thing." Bobby rushed back inside. "Not sure if he's gonna make it."

"Poor thing?" Food-boy asked Book-boy.

Book-boy shrugged. "So Bobby has a soft spot for dogs. So what?"

Hillary nudged Food-boy's hand. Enough talking. Time for food or petting.

"Hey, what happened to those two?" Sam asked, pointing out a pair of Rotts sleeping by the front porch.

"They're out cold," Raphael told him. "I think they were drugged."

"Drugged?" His brother sounded ticked again. "Sam, you think Bobby set out something to drug the dogs, so he wouldn't hurt them?"

Sam shrugged in reply. "No telling with Bobby." Then to Raphael. "Any way to exorcise them when they're asleep like that?"

"Sure," Raphael replied, "it's easier this way. Dean, you could probably use the practice. I heard about what happened last time."

Dean's jaw clenched and Sam understood his brother's annoyance, but Raphael made a good point. "And how am I supposed to learn this freaking perfect exorcism method? Practice?"

"Actually," Michael walked up to where they stood by the sleeping dogs, "there are a few tricks."

"Like?" Dean demanded.

"Well, if you say it along to certain tunes, you'll get the rhythm and timing right," the archangel explained.

"Like what?" Dean asked and Sam felt a measure of relief there was a simple way of getting this right. Dean's exorcisms were far too powerful now to toy with.

Michael hummed a familiar tune. Amused, Sam watched Dean's face change from interested to horrified disbelief.

"You have got to be kidding me!" he snapped.

Michael shrugged, turning away. "You asked."

Dean ran both hands over his head before sighing heavily. "Great. This is just freaking perfect." He groaned again before shaking out his shoulders and setting his attention on the task at hand. In a singsong voice, Dean repeated an ancient exorcism ritual to the tune 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star.' Sam couldn't help the grin covering his face, but he made damn sure to cover it up when Dean turned around.

"That was very good," Raphael told Dean after twin jets of black smoke raced away from the sleeping dogs. "I hope you remember it, it should be very useful."

"How could I forget it?" Dean demanded. His attention returned to Hillary, clearly one of his new favorite people despite her four-legged status. "Let's go check on Bobby."

Raphael eyed Michael curiously as they returned the last dog to his home. "There are other tunes Dean would have found more appealing," he said cautiously.

Michael gave him a blazing grin. "Yeah, but that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun."

"You've developed a sense of humor?" Raphael asked incredulously.

"Oh, come on, Ralph," Michael said. "It's still me." Then he winked. "Bet I can beat you back to the mountain."

Raphael stood in the afterglow of Michael's departure, stunned. Michael was not worried about why the hellhounds were at Singer's, what it could mean. And he had a sense of humor? Dean's influence was disturbing Raphael on so many levels, he now feared the council would force him to join the trial rather than mediate.