Chapter 6
"Now, I'm going to be talking to people, trying to find out anything that might help us find the werewolf," Dean told Jimi, "While you keep your eyes – and nose – open. If you notice anything that might help, wait until you can tell me with nobody else hearing, okay?"
"Yes, Dad," said Jimi, excited to be helping cast for the Hunt like an Elder.
"And stick to our cover story," continued Dean, "If anybody asks, what are we doing?"
"You and me and Uncle Sammy are in town for a few days, for some man-time," recited Jimi, "Fishing and walking and stuff."
"And your mother?"
"My Mom died when I was a pup."
"When you were a baby, when you were little," Dean corrected him.
"...When I was a baby," repeated Jimi dutifully, beaming at being trusted to take part in laying an ambush for the werewolf.
"What do you do if your phone rings?"
Jimi pulled Dean's other, other, other phone out of a pocket. "I push this button, and talk to it."
"You got your emergency card?"
Jimi obediently flourished the card, which named him as Jimi Winchester, a boy of sixteen with a form of autism, and gave contact numbers for his father and his uncle.
"What do you do if you get lost?"
"I find someone who smells right, and show them this," Jimi said confidently, waving the card. "Then I do this." He made a Puppy-Dog Eyes face that would make Sam Winchester cry himself to sleep over having to give back the sash and tiara for World's Most Effective Emotional Blackmailer. "Then I wait for them to contact you, and kiss my ass goodbye because so help you young man you are going to kick it from here to Kingdom Come if I do get lost."
"And what will you do at all times?"
"Stay in sight, no Crossing, don't interfere with your mating, keep my clothes on, and keep my hand off it," Jimi replied with a small put-upon sigh.
"Okay," nodded Dean, pulling the car into a parking spot, "The little touch of teenage 'tude is very convincing. Anybody would think you were a real boy, Pinnochio. Let's go."
They dropped into a number of places that looked like they might be local gathering sites. Several female residents – and their daughters – noticed how much the handsome newcomer's son resembled him.
"He inherited your taste for pie, too," remarked one attractive brunette waitress whose name tag identified her as Rachel. Jimi looked up from his fourth piece of pie for the day, and grinned adorably.
"Well, he's at that age," said Dean, "Eats like a horse, and I have no idea where it all goes. To an alternative universe or something, or maybe he has hollow legs." He smiled at Jimi, ruffling his hair, while his 'son' beamed happily at the attention.
"If I tried that with my son, he'd make a noise like I'd just cut his arm off, and refuse to speak to me for a week," Rachel snorted, "So, you boys aren't local, what are you doing in Devils Lake?"
"We're doing man-time" answered Jimi, "Fishing, walking, stuff. With Uncle Sammy."
"My brother," Dean supplied, loading the Killer Smile for rapid deployment. He'd noticed that Rachel wasn't wearing a wedding ring. She followed his gaze.
"He took off, ten years ago," she sighed, "Said he couldn't handle the 'responsibility' of being a parent. Asshole."
"Oh, his loss," said Dean earnestly, "It's the best job in the world." She cocked an eyebrow at him; she'd been checking out his left hand...
"My Mom died when I was little," Jimi told her. "It's just me and Dad. And Uncle Sammy, of course. It's like I've got two Daddies!"
Rachel laughed at that, as Dean's face coloured slightly. "Sam is my brother," he muttered, "Really. Even if his hair does look extremely... flamboyant."
"Oh, hey, I believe you."
"So, it's just you and your son, then?" Dean asked casually.
"He's staying with his grandparents for the school vacation," she told him with equal non-concern. "The house is so quiet, it's amazing."
Jimi looked up at Dean, at Rachel, then back to Dean. "Dad," he asked a little hesitantly, "Is it all right if I just tell her she smells good?" He deployed the Sammy Eyes, for good measure.
"Oh, God, he's adorable!" she cooed, laughing, and Dean laughed too, letting the Killer Smile slide into place. Jimi sniffed again, remarkably discreetly, but stayed quiet, returning to his pie.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
"Did I do good?" asked Jimi later.
"You did great," Dean told him, smirking at the thought of the napkins bearing phone numbers in his pocket. He'd thought that having a 'son' would be a hindrance to his usual socialising activities, but as it had turned out, he was an asset. As a dog, Jimi was a chick magnet – maybe it wasn't entirely surprising that as a werehuman, he had that effect, too. Dean wasn't going to complain.
"Where are we going now?" questioned Jimi.
"Beer run," Dean told him, "And 'we' are not going anywhere. I am going. You are staying here. I won't be long. No Crossing, okay?"
"I submit," said Jimi, with a slightly Samesque humph, as Dean parked and left the car.
He was contemplating the various brands of potato chips when Sam called him.
"I've heard back from Bobby," Sam told him. "He can't find anything useful on his own, but he has a contact that he says might be able to help, has expertise with Old North werewolves."
"That's great," answered Dean, making a selection for his crunchy afternoon TV viewing pleasure. There was a silence on the end of the line. "... And? Where's the 'and'? I can hear an 'and' there, Sam. Possibly a 'but'."
"Uh," Sam hesitated, "He says he thinks you're not going to like it."
"We're kind of running out of options, here, Sam..."
"I agree with him," Sam continued glumly. "I don't think you're going to like it."
"Oh, come on," Dean told him, "If it's someone Bobby's recommended, it's probably the best shot we've got..."
Sam gave Dean a name.
Several people turned around and glared disapprovingly at the man customer perusing the snacks and swearing a blue streak.
"I have a contact number. And a Skype address."
"Oh, this just gets better and better," Dean growled. "Okay, I'll be back soon. Maybe I'll need something a bit stronger than beer."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Jimi sat in the Den, as instructed. He was sitting in the front seat, where his Second usually sat, feeling very grown-up. This whole being Upright thing was strange. He was glad that he could still help with the Hunt, but... being Upright was so very complicated.
He wriggled in his seat, and sighed, looking out the window and pressing his nose to the small gap. Across the road, the sounds of excited voices drifted on the breeze from the park. He smiled. Play!
He regarded the door seriously. His Alpha – Dad – had told him 'no Crossing'. So he wouldn't.
Thoughtfully, he put his hand on the door latch and opened it, got out of the car, and carefully shut the door behind him. Feeling very grown-up and obedient, he made his way to the park.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Great, just fucking great, Dean thought, shuffling forward in the checkout queue, too annoyed with the universe in general even to flirt with the young lady on the till although she was in possession of a rack he could rest his basket on. I'm on the trail of a werewolf that's possibly gone into hiding, my dog has turned into a human for fuck knows how long, he's waaaaay too convincing as a human teenager, he has no discretion filters on what he says, he's discovered Special Me-Time, and to cap it off Bobby says that we should ask that, that, that, patronising smartass for an opinion. And they only had one packet of jerky left. Fuck My Life.
He consoled himself with the thought of potential female company later – maybe Rachel would lead him back to her den to mate, he smiled to himself – and if nothing else, he had Dr Daniels' Fuck My Life Medicine to make the world a better place for a short time. Maybe he could spend some quality time with his brother, annoying the hell out of him, or commandeer the laptop, introduce Jimi to the wonders of the internet, see if the kid could make the computer freeze on an interesting R-rated website...
He'd almost cajoled himself out of his grump when he got back to the Den – his Baby, he corrected himself, the last thing he needed was to start talking Jimispeak – and noted that the car was empty.
"Shit," he muttered, dumping his purchases in the back and looking around anxiously. He hadn't been gone that long, had he? The kid couldn't have gone far. Ohhhh, he was SO going to tear him a new one...
He was reaching for his phone when the sound of enthusiastic yelling caught his attention. A group of kids had a game of football going in the park across the road. Suddenly, a newly familiar figure burst from the pack, running backwards, expertly grabbing the ball that sailed towards him, then sprinting for the other end, effortlessly brushing off would-be tacklers as his team-mates cheered him on.
Oh shit.
Dean crossed the road, wondering idly who any bystanding adults would be likely to call when he'd finished with Jimi, CPS or the SPCA.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
It was a Lecture. Sam knew it was a Lecture from the tone of the Lecturer, long before he could make out the actual words being Lectured at the Lecturee.
"... where the hell you were, when I saw the car empty, you worried the hell out of me, the next time I tell you to stay put, I mean stay put, is that clear?"
"But Dad, you told me not to Cross" – that was clearly a Lecturee making the fatal mistake of trying to argue a trivial point of language – "And I didn't. I used the handle, like you showed me. I could see the Den – the car – the whole time. AND I kept all my clothes on, AND I didn't touch it at all!"
"I thought I told you not to answer me back!"
The door opened, and Dean herded Jimi inside. Sam couldn't stifle a laugh – the kid was covered in mud and grass stains from head to foot.
"Hey, Jimi, what you been up to?" he asked, as Dean shot him an 'I Will Kill You Later Samantha' look.
"I learned football!" Jimi told him happily, "I was watching a pack playing in the park, and they said one of them didn't turn up today, so they asked me, and it's like Chase, and Rassling and Fetch!"
"He got out of the car, when I specifically told him to stay put," Dean growled, radiating equal parts of anger and relief.
"But Dad, I didn't Cross…"
"Don't you talk back to me! Look at you, you're filthy!"
"All the other Young were filthy, too," said Jimi, a trifle defiantly.
"There were girls watching," Dean told Sam, in a tone so loaded and accusatory that it was all Sam could do to keep himself from laughing out loud.
"Jimi, I think Dean – Dad – was just worried about you," Sam intervened. "You're not like other human Young, you've just been turned into one temporarily. He just wants you to be safe until we can get you back to your proper four-legged form."
"Yes, Uncle Sammy," said Jimi contritely, with a low-wattage version of the Sammy Eyes.
"Actually, if he can mix with the local kids, he might be able to find out something, keep an ear to the ground, figuratively speaking," mused Sam thoughtfully.
Jimi looked up hopefully. "They were friendly," he said, "They said I was a good player, and I could join their pack next time they have play."
Dean scowled at two pairs of Sammy Eyes. "Don't you two dare even think about trying to double-team me," he rumbled. "I am Alpha of this pack, so you, Young, and you, Bitch, will get with the program, or I will pin you, put my teeth on your throats and growl ferociously."
Sam looked up. "You know, we have fangirls who would just love to see that, although Chuck will scream blue murder if you make him write it, and frankly Master Dean I don't have your kinks."
Jimi looked at Sam curiously. "Uncle Sammy is not a bitch," he said in a confused voice, "Although he would look like a human one if he was shorter…"
Dean rolled his eyes. "I hate everybody," he announced. "But before I can spend some quality time with my therapist, Dr Jack Daniels, and his patented I Hate Everybody Medicine, we gotta get you cleaned up, Jimi. Get those dirty clothes off."
Jimi's face brightened. "I can take my clothes off?"
"Yeah, you gotta take your clothes off to have a bath…" Sam said without thinking.
Jimi's eyes opened wide, and with a yelp, he shot under Dean's bed.
Fuck My Life, thought Dean. "Well done, you Educated Idiot," he growled, "You said the b-word in front of the dog. Jimi, come on out from there."
The only answer was a sad whine.
Sam bent down and peered under the bed. "I'm sorry, Jimi," he apologised, "I didn't mean to say… that word. You don't have to have a, you know, one of those, you can have a shower."
The large, anxious eyes looked at him suspiciously.
"It's a different way to wash," Sam continued, "You don't sit in the water, it falls down on you, like rain."
"Rain?" asked Jimi. He looked thoughtful, then understanding dawned. "Standing up? Like you and Dad?"
"Yeah, just like that. Like Elders."
Jimi crawled out from under the bed. "I can really wash just like you do? How our Alpha does?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure," Dean told him, "Just like me."
Jimi smiled broadly, and started wriggling out of his clothes. "Shower!" he announced happily.
"Wow, that was easier than I'd expected," Dean remarked, following Jimi as he bounded into the bathroom. "Maybe you're not as clueless as you look, Samantha."
"I exist only to serve, O Alpha Of My Pack," his brother answered, making an elaborate bow.
Dean started the water running as Jimi examined the items in the shower recess. "These are Second's – Uncle Sammy's," he asserted, sniffing at some of the bottles.
"That's right," Dean agreed, smiling, "Which means you can use as much as you like." He handed the shower gel to Jimi. "Now, you wash yourself all over with this stuff, and let the water rinse it off. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Dad," Jimi smiled pack, stepping under the water and laughing.
"Just give me a call if you need any help, okay?" Dean finished, jumping back as Jimi shook vigorously, sending water everywhere.
"So, any rumbles on the grapevine?" Sam asked him as he emerged from the bathroom.
"Not regarding any missing men, or suspiciously injured teenagers," Dean told him, ruffling through his bag for clean clothes for Jimi, "But I did get a couple of phone numbers," he finished with a smirk. "Even as a human kid, he's a chick magnet. Who knew? A certain type of woman apparently finds me even more awesomely desirable than usual as a single father."
"Maybe you can hire one next time," Sam suggested. "I guess it's not entirely unexpected: as a dog, Jimi gets along with everybody he meets, human or canine. He's just a very sociable character."
"Yeah, well, he socialised his way right out of the car and into a scratch football game," Dean remarked. "He scared the shit out of me, Sam – he was just gone. What if he gets lost? What if he does something, or says something, attracts attention we don't need? There were girls watching, Sam, watching watching."
"They used to watch watch you at that age, too, as I recall," Sam reminded him, "And you never complained about it then."
"God, wouldn't that be the icing on the cake, having to explain ourselves to CPS because he blabs to somebody about what we're doing here. What are you grinning at?"
"Do you know who you sound like?" Sam asked Dean. "You're turning into Dad." Dean gave him A Look. "Ooooh, and now look, that's a bitchface – you're turning into me!" he beamed.
Dean put his head in his hands. "One day, Sam," he moaned, "I hope you have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you."
"Nuh-uh," Sam told him gravely, "You can't put that curse on me, you can only put The Dreaded Parents' Curse on your own children."
"I practically raised you, so I reserve the right to curse you, BABY brother," Dean humphed. "You have any luck?"
"Not a thing," Sam confirmed, turning back to the laptop, and filling Dean in on the various databases he'd checked, legally and otherwise. "Nothing at any clinics, no missing persons. Looks like we got a call to make."
"Oh, yeah, I'm soooooo looking forward to that," griped Dean.
"Dean, Bobby wouldn't have even suggested it unless he thought it was our best shot, given that he knows of the, er, lack of fond regard you have for each other," Sam said diplomatically.
"I know, I know, but just because you're right, that doesn't mean I have to like it." He sighed, and looked up. "Jimi's been in the shower a while."
"Well, he likes playing in the rain," observed Sam, "Maybe that's what it reminds him of. Anyway, he'll get out quick enough when the hot water runs out, probably complaining like it's the end of the world, just like you."
"Bitch." Dean went to the bathroom door, and pushed it slightly open. "You okay in there, Jimi?"
"Yeah, Dad, ohhhh, yeah, yeah," came the breathy reply.
Sam bit hard on his lip to stop the laughter, not really succeeding.
"JIMI YOU GET YOUR HAND OFF IT RIGHT NOW STOP IT STOP IT STOP OH OH OH GOD OH GOD JESUS CHRIST NOOOOO!"
Dean emerged from the bathroom in a daze, his face utterly drained of colour. His expression, Sam thought, was exactly what you'd expect on a man who has jumped into a time machine and gone back to be confronted with the sight of himself at sixteen doing what sixteen year olds do.
Sam cleared his throat. "Problem, bro?" he asked politely.
"What has been seen," squeaked Dean, sliding down the wall, "Cannot be unseen…"
"Oh dear," sighed Sam, almost sounding genuinely sypathetic. "He is just like you, isn't he?"
"Wipe that smile of your face, Samantha," wheezed Dean, "He was using your shower gel."