...and for Grace, includes a very brief note on what became of Robert and Cody...
Chapter 10
"No, no, and no," muttered Castiel, pursing his lips and wielding The Red Pen Of Heavenly Correction like a sword as Robert and Cody clutched at each other in a bemused daze, "There were no horses in the Americas at that time, the genus of Equus that did evolve was extinct by the end of the Pleistocene..." he made a note in the margin, "...And the next horses arrived with the Spaniards... likewise elephants. Mastodons did live in the New World, but were extinct by the end of the last Ice Age..." he underlined the offending words. "Also goats, introduced as domesticated animals in the 15th century...further, there were no wheeled vehicles in Mesoamerica, much of the terrain being totally unsuited to such a mode of transport... now, as to the anachronisms concerning metallurgy and metalworking technologies, I think you'll find these particularly interesting..."
If he was honest, he was enjoying himself. If he had not been created a Warrior of Heaven, Castiel thought, he would have enjoyed being a teacher, bringing knowledge and enlightenment to the ignorant. There was a gratifying satisfaction in this, imparting wisdom. It gave him a feeling of achievement.
"Er, Castiel?" ventured Robert in a meek voice, raising his hand.
"...Because although primitive smithing of some metals did exist in Mesoamerica... yes, Robert?" Castiel nodded encouragingly at him, like a teacher taking a welcome question from a shy student.
"Um, it's getting dark," Robert pointed out, as Cody clung to his arm and nodded vigorously in agreement. "We, er, we were expected back, er, some time ago..."
Castiel looked up from the book, a tinge of disappointment on his face. "Oh, that is a shame," he said regretfully, "We have not even started on the linguistic inconsistencies, and some of those are really fascinating."
"Oh, dear, what a pity," trilled Robert, "But, um, we really must be going."
Castiel handed the book back to Robert. "I have very much enjoyed our discussions today," he told them, "Thank you."
"Er, yes, thank you, Castiel," Robert and Cody backed away slowly.
What decent young men, thought Castiel. Perhaps next time he had some time to spare, he could seek them out, and continue their discussion...
He looked up at the sky and realised that a number of hours had passed. He looked around, and saw that the group of teenagers Jimi had been playing with were nowhere in sight.
He wasn't surprised – Jimi must have gotten hungry, and followed his nose back to the Winchesters' motel room. It was good of him to have done that without disturbing Castiel. Dean did not give the boy enough credit for trying to behave appropriately.
"I must find my young companion," he told them gravely. "Goodbye." With a flap of his wings, which he didn't bother to hide in front of two obviously devout and God-fearing men, he disappeared.
When Robert was able to get Cody to stop screaming later that evening, they decided that what they had experienced that afternoon was clearly a shared hallucination and the most likely cause was that the little old lady they'd visited earlier had baked marijuana into the brownies she served to them. That, or global warming. (Nonetheless, three years later Robert had joined a cloistered order of Carthusian monks in Northern France, and Cody went to live on a kibbutz then later became a retro-beat poet to a new generation of acid heads, experimenting with mind-altering plant extracts and breeding prize-winning show chickens, his favourite and most highly awarded animal being a rooster named Sam.)
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"So, that narrows it down to three possibilities," concluded Sam, leaning back and stretching, "Anderson, Bierman or Keller."
"Which gives us... five possible premises," Dean noted, as he flipped through the phone directory. "Can we eliminate these two as being grandparents? The initials match up with people in their sixties."
"Probably not a safe assumption," Sam suggested, "If this has been a generational thing, the older family home might be where the, er, containment facilities were established."
"Damn, you're right," Dean sighed. "Okay, so five houses to scope out, and hope we don't get caught out by Junior sneaking up on us, or going out for a snack on the other side of town." His stomach rumbled. "I wish Cas and Jimi would get back, I don't like ganking on an empty stomach."
"Oh no, we can't have you fainting from lack of food during a fight," intoned Sam dramatically, looking at his watch. "It is getting kind of late, maybe you should call Cas..."
He was cut off by the flapping that heralded the appearance of Castiel. The angel materialised sitting far too close to Dean on the sofa for the latter's comfort.
"Oh, God, Cas," he groaned, "I'm just not getting through to you, am I? What's Enochian for 'personal space'?"
"Do not take my Father's name in vain, Dean," Castiel told him with a frown, "Your fornication is transgression enough without blaspheming. And there is no translation of 'personal space' in Enochian, as there is no such concept for angels..."
"No frigging kidding," Dean grumped, "Come on, Jimi, let's ditch Pervy Angel and go eat."
"Er, Cas," began Sam, "Where is Jimi?" Dean's head snapped around.
"What do you mean, where is..." he noticed the absence of a certain teenager. "Cas!" he barked, "Where is Jimi?"
Castiel looked confused. "I do not understand," he answered, "When I noticed he was gone, I assumed that he had found his way back here..."
"Gone?" Dean echoed. "Gone? When you noticed he was gone? What do you mean, 'gone'?"
"Gone, as in 'not there any more'," Castiel replied. "I was correcting the most vexatious errors in a book for two young men while Jimi played football with his new friends – one of their group was apparently missing, and they asked him to join them – and when I looked up, he was gone."
"What book?" asked Sam.
"The book of Mormon," the angel explained, "I have encountered it before, and endeavoured to assist its adherents to identify the most obvious mistakes in the text."
"When you looked up..." Dean was open-mouthed with disbelief. "Cas, how long did you spend... assisting the Mormons?"
Cas cocked his head, and managed to look slightly sheepish. "There are many mistakes," he said, "It is not really something that can be completed in a single afternoon..."
"So, basically," summarised Sam, "You spent the afternoon correcting the book of Mormon while Jimi went... somewhere else."
Castiel considered this. "That would appear to be an accurate summation of the situation," he agreed.
"You lost Jimi?" Dean's eyes bugged. "I don't believe this, you took him out for a walk, and you lost him?"
"No!" Castiel disagreed quickly, "I did not lose Jimi. I just... do not know where he is."
Dean was already dialling. "Come on, come on," he muttered, to no avail. "He's not answering the phone," he said grimly. "Cas, can you pick him up on angel radar?"
Castiel appeared to concentrate for a moment. "No," he announced, "I cannot determine his whereabouts. That may be due to your influence on his parentage."
Dean said something that was as anatomically improbable as it was blasphemous.
"Cas," Sam butted in, "Did you say earlier that Jimi was, what, filling in for someone when the kids started playing football?"
"He reported that one of their number had failed to arrive again," Castiel recalled.
Sam's face scrunched in thought. "Did he say something about a kid who didn't turn up, before?" he asked Dean. "When you were tearing him another one about getting out of the car, didn't he say he'd learned football, because they'd asked him to play, to make up numbers?"
Dean replayed The Lecture in his head, and groaned. "Oh, no," he said despairingly, "And I didn't even notice, I was so damned angry at him for disappearing like that, and arguing with me over the details of what I'd told him..." he turned to Castiel. "Did he mention a name, this kid who who's gone AWOL?"
"No," answered Castiel, "There was no name mentioned, I am sure of it."
Dean swore again, and picked up his keys. "Come on, Sam," he told his brother, "We gotta find him."
"How?" asked Sam, looking perplexed. "He could be anywhere!"
"Hey, it's vacation time, he's sixteen years old, hanging with a bunch of other teenagers," Dean explained, "If he's not home yet, all we have to do is find the party."
"Riiiight," said Sam dubiously, "And how do we find the party? That sounds disturbingly like a euphemism for something I really don't want to walk in on you doing, you know."
"Hey, I was sixteen years old once," Dean grinned. "You, not so much. Well, not a normal sixteen year old, anyway..."
"Yeah, 'cause growing up, we were both so normal..."
"What I mean is, I can find the party," Dean continued, heading for the door, "Call it an instinct, a talent, or just another aspect of being a Living Sex God. Somewhere in this town, a group of teenagers are partying, Sam – there will be music, there will be booze, and fuck me if there aren't girls as well – and we are going to find them." He looked at his watch again. "Preferably before moonrise."
"I am sorry, Dean," Castiel apologised sincerely, "I did not mean to... lose Jimi. I will keep watch for any sign of werewolf activity."
Dean sighed. "It's okay, Cas, if a teenager really wants to do something, they'll find a way to do it."
"We did discuss the hazards of him mating as a human," explained Castiel, "And I impressed upon him the importance of refraining from fornication. He was most attentive, and seemed genuinely resolved to abstain from iniquitous behaviour."
"Well, that's one less thing to worry about, I suppose," commented Sam.
"Oh, yeah," snarked Dean, "I remember getting that talk too. And appearing to pay attention. I think I even convinced Dad that I was listening to him."
"Dean, Jimi isn't you," Sam pointed out.
"Oh, yes he is!" countered Dean. "Have you looked at the kid? He looks just like me at that age; you said so yourself! He's a good looking guy, he's charming, he's got a double dose of the Chick Magnet gene through me via Jimi Senior – girls will throw themselves at him. He won't be able to bring himself to disappoint them."
"Gee, narcissism, much?" Sam rolled his eyes.
"False modesty sucks," Dean grumped, "Let's go."
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Jimi was having a wonderful time. The music was very similar to what he was used to listening to in the Den, and there were lots of the crunchy treats that his Alpha loved to eat, and often shared with him. As Adam had suggested, they had obtained pizza, one of his favourite treats. He sat happily with a bowl of corn chips, listening to the other Young talk, constantly amazed at the complexity of their interactions.
One of Adam's other friends, Tony, had brought 'beer' from his sire's den. Jimi recognised the smell. His Alpha drank it all the time. He smiled as he accepted the bottle, and watched how the others twisted the tops off.
He took an experimental sip. It was cold and fizzy and delicious.
He swallowed a larger mouthful, and followed up with a large satisfied burp. This gained him a ragged round of cheers. So he did it again.
The female Young Uprights were particularly interesting. He found that he didn't have to talk to them very much, just listen to them talk, and they really liked that. Some of them were apparently paired with other males – he was quick to pick up on the subtle hostile cues the other males gave out when he was too close to one of their pair-bonds, and he made a point distancing himself from those females, no matter how much interest one of them might be showing. Why they'd be signalling receptiveness when they were already paired, he couldn't understand; he put it down to one more thing that Uprights, humans, did differently.
"Dude, did you just give Carla the brush-off?" asked Adam, mouth full of pizza, "She's hot!"
"She is paired with Tony," Jimi said simply, "She is not available."
"The way she was looking at you, she is so available," Adam grinned.
Jimi looked down at the bottle in his hand. "Tony gave me beer," he said, "And Carla is paired with him."
Adam clapped him on the shoulder. "You, my man, are a class act," he pronounced. Jimi wasn't sure what that meant, but the tone was obviously one of approval, so he grinned back. "Heads up, dude," Adam continued, "Here comes the barracuda, careful what you let dangle in the water…"
Confused, Jimi turned to see a female Young approaching them. She was smiling, so he smiled back. "Hello," he greeted her.
"You're Jimi, right?" she asked him, smiling in a way that reminded him strangely of one of his sisters eyeing off one of the meaty bones their Dam-Alpha sometimes gave them, "I'm Barbara. I haven't said thank you for the pizza. I saw you playing football. You're really good."
"The others taught me how," Jimi told her, "It was fun."
"You haven't played before?" she looked surprised. "'Cause you look like the football team type." She moved closer, and put a hand on his arm. The scent of her receptiveness surprised him.
"I like to play," he said, watching her for a cue on what was expected of him.
"I'll bet you do," she purred, moving closer and putting an arm around his waist. The contact was kind of nice, he decided. He smiled at her, put his arm around her too. They wandered around like that for a while - he let her do the talking, which seemed to work so well in dealing with Upright females. Tony wandered past, giving him another beer, a smile and a thumbs up.
"The strong, silent type, huh?" Barbara smiled at him.
"I like listening to you talk," he told her. Her smile cranked up another notch. Unable to ignore her scent any longer, he inhaled deeply. "You smell really good," he added. Her posture shifted slightly, invitingly… he bent to her neck, and sniffed again. "Mmmmm," he rumbled happily, "Really good. Female. Healthy. Really good." She turned her head and kissed him.
He jumped, surprised. "Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Um," he answered, a bit flustered. "I'm not supposed to do that," he admitted.
"Oh, why ever not?" she pouted, "Don't you like kissing girls?"
"I haven't ever, um," he said. Her expression changed. Yes, now she definitely looked like Joni, standing over the bone after she'd wrestled it away from Janis…
"I find that hard to believe," she breathed in his ear, her scent overwhelming him. He jumped backwards.
"I can't mate with you!" he yelped. "You will get in trouble! Your family will be angry! I mustn't!"
She laughed. "Oh, is that what you're worried about?" She took his hand, and drew him in close. "Carla's right, you are really sweet! Does your family belong to one of those weird churches?"
Jimi didn't understand all of what she meant, but he got the gist of it. "We are not a normal family," he admitted.
"Well, there are ways of avoiding me getting in trouble," she purred enticingly. He looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and interest.
Adam sauntered past, and muttered "Get a room, you two. Upstairs, first on the left."
"Thanks Adam." Barbara put her arm around Jimi. "Come on, Jimi, there's something you really should learn about."
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Jimi was part Hellhound, beast of the Pit whence sprang all sin, including Lust.
Jimi was part Rottweiler, a working breed, developed and selected for the qualities of work drive, and an eager willingness to please. They are also intelligent, and quick learners.
Jimi was also, right now, part teenager.
And, of course, through Jimi Senior, part Dean Winchester.
So, what happened next?
Don't ask a question you don't want to know the answer to…
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"What exactly are we looking for, Dean?" asked Sam, peering out into the darkened street as Dean stopped the car.
"Listening, Sam, we're listening," his brother replied, staring at the ground and turning slowly in a circle. He looked up, as if scenting the air, turning his head in the still night…
"That way," he stated, pointing West. Sam cocked his head and could just make it out: the unmistakeable doof doof of a stereo being made to earn its electricity.
They repeated this procedure several times, with a few false trails as the sound bounced around the streetscape. Dean was sure they were closing in, within a few blocks, when a sound came to them…
A howl.
It started low, in the bass baritone register, and gradually made its way into tenor.
An angry growl started in Dean's throat.
"Fuck," hissed Sam, "Is it the wolf out already?"
"No," scowled Dean, "Get in."
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The group enjoying the impromptu party, and it was going off, were all known to each other, which is why the informal lookouts didn't pay much attention to the seriously cool classic muscle car that pulled up across the street – it didn't belong to anybody's parents and it wasn't a police cruiser, so it didn't register as a problem.
Even when a very angry-looking man got out of the driver's side and came stomping over, followed by a worried-looking giant with girl-hair, they were sufficiently buzzed on purloined beer not to be concerned.
It wasn't until they really got a look at his expression as the guy pushed past them, heading on in like he owned the place, that it dawned on them that this could mean trouble for somebody…
Sam spotted their quarry first, in the back yard, sitting on a low garden wall, with his arm around a giggling girl, his face buried in her neck, a bottle of beer dangling from the other hand, and he gasped in shock when the teen sat up, because suddenly he was maybe twelve years old and looking at his brother and really not knowing where to look…
For a moment, he thought that if he turned around, the man behind him would be his father, bellowing at his son in a voice like the wrath of gods…
"JIMI WINCHESTER YOU GET YOUR SORRY ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Hands up who thinks it would be awesome to get your fics beta-ed by Cas and his Red Pen Of Heavenly Correction?