Chapter Seven
Sam hesitated when he arrived at Polly's office for his personal review; Morgan the Wildhunt pup and her handler were already there.
"Oh, hey, Kelly," he began, "I must've got my time wrong…"
"No, no, Mr Page," enthused Polly, "You are entirely correct! I wanted to speak to both you and Miss Whitestripe at once! Because what I have to say to you is practically the same thing!"
"Uh, okay," Morgan's handler Kelly and Sam both gave her hesitant smiles.
Polly beamed back at them. "Here at the Canine Academy, we have seen many dogs and their handlers go on to develop an interest in Obedience," she began. "And I believe that it is good for mind and body of both dog and human. We have seen many dogs attain titles – why, Max here is only a couple of passes short of his OC, Obedience Champion. Have you ever seen a dog working at UDX level, Mr Page, Miss Whitestripe?"
"Uh, a, er, friend of ours had a dog that got her OC title," Sam offered, as Kelly shook her head. "She was… a very special dog."
Polly smiled even more widely. "What would you say if I told you that these two furry little friends were destined for such greatness?"
Both Hunters looked at her bemusedly.
"In the Perfect Pups Program, the emphasis is on socialization and play, and establishing a good basis for continued development into a good canine citizen," Polly told them, "But having seen your pups in action, I must confess myself flabbergasted!"
"Er, flabbergasted?" echoed Kelly, Morgan's owner.
"Flabbergasted!" repeated Polly. "Amazed! Astonished!" she beamed at the pups; Lars stuck his nose in Morgan's ear, and she batted at him with a front paw. "I have never seen such young animals take to training so readily! They soak it up like little doggy sponges! They have responded magnificently! They have attention spans unheard of in such young animals!"
"Oh," said Kelly, "That's…nice."
"Clearly, it's very important that we don't let them get bored," Polly went on enthusiastically, "We must walk the delicate line of keeping them engaged, letting them socialize and play, and maximizing their learning potential!"
"We must?" said Sam.
"Oh, most definitely!" Polly gave the distinct impression of being like a ballet teacher who, in the middle of a kindergarten square dancing class, suddenly realizes that she has found the next Nureyev and Fonteyn right under her nose. "It is no exaggeration to describe them as a pair of puppy prodigies! We must make every effort to help them, urge them, support them to become the best working dogs they can be! We must be the wind beneath their wings so that they may soar to the headiest heights of canine education!"
"Er, yeah, well, yeah," nodded Kelly, exchanging a quick look with Sam that said 'We should probably just humour her until we have a chance to back away slowly'.
"To this end, I shall be taking over your instruction for the rest of the Perfect Pups Program myself," Polly announced. "It will be a pleasure, and a privilege, to help two such talented young animals on their way to becoming wonderful working canine companions!"
"Oh, er, well, that's great!" replied Sam, "You hear that, Lars? We're going to be Advanced Placement!"
Lars was sniffing noses with Max, and staring hard at the older dog. If that mutt suddenly addresses him as Grasshopper, Sam thought, I am out of here…
"Well, I'll see you back again next week," Polly told them, "Don't forget to practise over the weekend!"
"We won't," Kelly assured her.
"Well, uh, thank you, Miss Polly," Sam stood up, and checked his watch, "I just gotta go find Dean – I didn't see him with his class before…"
"Oh, I moved your brother and his pup to another class!" Polly beamed again.
"What?" Kelly burst out. "I didn't think there was one under…" she suddenly realized what she was saying, and sheepishly gulped into silence.
"I think you'll find your brother and young Lemmy will be having somewhat more success," Polly assured Sam. "Why don't we go and see how he's doing? This way!" She headed out purposefully, Max trotting at her side.
"She's kind of… intense," remarked Kelly sotto voce as they both followed her.
"Er, just a bit," agreed Sam, equally quietly. "I'm starting to wonder if I've landed in a sort of canine Toddlers & Tiaras program."
"If somebody tries to put your pup in high heels, I suggest running away very fast," Kelly said frankly, which made Sam stifle a snort of amusement. "So," she added casually, giving him a smug grin, "What are you thinking for this job? Vengeful spirit doesn't fit – got any ideas yet?"
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The class Polly led them to was doing something very different: a magnificently coiffed Poodle on a very long lead was being encouraged to chase around after the instructor, who jogged backwards squeaking on a squeaky toy. The dog came to a hesitant stop in front of another instructor, and the handler carefully placed its legs to stand it square.
"Okay, I stand corrected," intoned Kelly. "There is in fact a class for dogs so dumb that they don't know where to put their own feet…"
"Oh, this is a showing class, Miss Whitestripe!" enthused Polly. "The dog is learning the stack, the show stance… Oh, look whose turn it is!"
Sam did a double-take when he saw the instructor gesture to Dean and Lemmy. "Oh, God," he sighed to himself, "They'll probably just trip over a lead that long…"
As they watched, Lemmy pulled out to the end of the lead and settled into a strong gait for a lap of the class ring, his head up, ears pricked and face a picture of happy alertness. Dean loped behind him, calling out an occasional encouragement, but the pup largely worked by himself. Both of them were positively strutting, exuding cocky confidence and generally giving the distinct impression that they might break out singing 'I'm Sexy And I Know It' at any moment.
"I don't believe it," Sam said bemused, "I don't believe what I'm seeing."
"It was just a case of playing to his talent, Sam!" Polly practically trilled, "He's a confident, outgoing individual, and he was born to do this! He invites the attention of the audience! He revels in being the centre of that attention!"
"And what about the puppy?" asked Sam with a snort.
"He has it, Sam," Polly didn't seem to hear him, "Little Lemmy there has that intangible something, that ring presence, that It factor! He is a conformation champion in the making!" As they watched, Lemmy came to a stop in front of the instructor playing the judge – with one little wobble from a hind leg, he came to a halt in a perfect show stack, looking poised and alert, tail waving slightly. There was a brief chorus of 'Awwwwww', and a small ripple of applause from the rest of the class.
"Miss Blackman tells me they have taken to it like ducks to water," Polly informed them happily, "What a marvelous blood line you have there! Such talents from the one litter!"
"A rocket scientist and a supermodel!" interjected Kelly, in a guileless voice that had Sam stifling a laugh.
"I think that Lemmy takes after their dad," Sam smiled as Lemmy stood for examination, hardly moving at all, "Jimi was a big handsome boy who loved people, and loved to be in the centre of whatever was going on."
"This one must take after their dam, then," Polly smiled and bent to pat Lars, who accepted the attention happily, "She must be a remarkable animal. I would be very interested to see her in action."
"Let's hope you never do," Sam muttered to himself, as Dean and Lemmy strutted back to their place in the class to a smattering of applause. "Well, he's certainly impressing him classmates," he observed.
"Not all of them," Kelly corrected, nudging him and nodding towards the Poodle's handler, who was wearing a face that was more grimace than grin. "Somebody is distinctly not impressed. Or, if I had to take a guess, I'd say somebody doesn't enjoy being shown up, and elbowed out of the limelight."
The show class broke up shortly afterwards, and, after being exhorted by Miss Polly to do some practice over the weekend, prepared to leave.
Dean was positively bouncing with restored self-confidence. "Like we need to practise," he snorted, bending down to ruffle his adoring pup's ears, "Either you got it, or you don't, and we got it, right, Lem?"
"Yeah, right, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes, marveling at the way his brother had rebounded from existential crisis and self-doubt.
"It's true!" Dean insisted, "Miss Polly, and Mrs Blackman, say he's a natural for the ring! He's got the style, he's got the 'tude, he is the shit!"
"How coincidental," Sam mused, "He is it, you're full of it."
"Don't you listen to him," Dean told Lemmy, "He's just jealous because your scrawny runt of a brother is always going to be the 99-pound weakling 'before' photo to your magnificent 'after' pic…"
"Well, while you pretty boys strut on the catwalk like underwear models between bouts of steroid rage and throwing up, Lars has been assessed as being highly intelligent, with great aptitude for training," Sam sniffed. "In fact, she's going to see to his training herself for the rest of the Program, because he's so unusually talented."
"Hear that, Lem?" said Dean brightly. "We're going to have a champion fawning yes-man in the family!"
"He's bright, he's quick on the uptake, and he will be able to learn things that will be a hell of a lot more useful than standing around like a brainless bimbo," Sam said. "Anybody can stand around posing. Hell, stores use mannequins to stand around posing."
"Yeah, but we do it more awesomely than anybody else!" insisted Dean. "Behold the Living Sex God, and his companion the canine Living Sex Godlet!"
"Well, if that's what floats your boat," Sam retorted, "Being paraded as a sex object – people don't care about you as an individual, it's just about ogling you as an object; they just want to have sex with you. Or want your dog to have sex with their dog."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Dean batted his eyelashes at Sam.
"You two really are brothers, aren't you?" interrupted Kelly. "I thought that might just be part of your cover, but it's clear that you are actually siblings. That, or you're married."
"Gah!" yelped both Winchesters at once.
"That is so totally wrong!" Dean practically wailed, "Why do people assume we're together, as in, together together?"
"What sort of a name is 'Whitestripe', anyway?" demanded Sam, miffed about having been 1) identified as a Hunter, 2) irritated by a big brother whose cheerfully annoying demeanour had reasserted itself, and 3) interpreted as being Mrs Dean.
"I like their music," Kelly shrugged. "Which I think you can relate to, Mr 'Page'… so, like I said, I don't think vengeful spirit, possibly a coven established in the area, but no remains from any of the disappearances found… you are here to work this job, aren't you?"
"Sam!" Dean hissed at his little brother.
"She worked it out," grumbled Sam, glaring right back. "I didn't say anything! And he picks the names," he added in a sullen mumble. "I keep telling him they're stupid choices, but he never listens."
"He didn't have to say a thing," Kelly smiled with infuriating serenity, "The protection charms on their collars were something of a giveaway. Oh, and the way you both jumped when you heard the word 'Wildhunt'." She grinned as the Winchesters glared at each other again, just on general principles. "When I saw the size of Lemmy, I did wonder if he was a Jaegerhund pup, until you used his kennel name – you can imagine my surprise when I called Bobby, and he fessed up that they were from one of his dogs…"
"You know Bobby?" gawped Dean.
"Everybody knows Bobby," sighed Sam glumly. "I swear, one day, humankind will discover space travel, and we will travel to planets on the other side of the galaxy, and we'll make contact with another intelligent species, and it will be declared the most historically significant event ever for either world, and two entire planets will celebrate and rejoice to discover that in this great big cold uncaring universe we are not alone, and as the human explorers seek to establish some common lexicon with our new friends, once a medium for communication has been identified, two vastly different species will reach out to each other, to embrace their common mortal sentience together, and on this momentous, historical occasion, with every eye on each world watching this first exchange between these two species that are utterly alien and yet united by a desire to understand each other, one of those cross-galactic beings will twitch its antenna, and the first thing ever said to a human being by a fellow mortal creature from another world will be, 'Oh, hey, can you get a message back to Bobby Singer for us? We think we're dealing with an Interstellar Blue-Assed Atomic Wedgie Monster, and we'd like to get him to look over our sigils before we try to spring the trap'…"
"Interesting," Kelly mused, "Bobby said that Dean was the drama queen, not you."
"What?" yapped Dean. "Francis here is the drama queen! The big girly-haired vegesaurus dolphin-friendly tofu-swilling maternity-shirt-wearing hug-it-outing emo bitchfacing drama queen! I am totally not the drama queen!"
"Oh, yes of course," Kelly slapped her own head, "I forgot. You are the Living Sex God. People take one look at you and want you to have sex with their dog."
"You better believe it, sweetheart… what?" Dean's expression went from nine-tenth Killer Smile to seven-eights WTF as his ears caught up with his libido.
"Oh, God," Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, "Look, if we're all here after the same whatever-it-is, we might as well as pool our resources…"
"I don't do collaboration," stated Dean firmly. "Sam, we don't know the first thing about her," he complained, "We don't need a tagalong to get in the way – I have enough to do keeping an eye on you without having to look out for another person."
"Gee," Kelly noted wryly, "What if I promise to do my very best not to get eaten by an Interstellar Blue-Assed Atomic Wedgie Monster on your watch?"
"If we try to work this job separately, we'll just end up getting in each other's way," Sam pointed out. "We can cover more ground with three of us, anyway."
Dean pulled a face that came dangerously close to a pout. "She can help with the intel," he decided grudgingly, "Until we work out what we're dealing with here."
"I feel privileged," Kelly sighed, "A bit like those cross-galactic beings, really."
"Why don't we go eat, and see what we've got?" suggested Sam diplomatically, like a European ambassador trying to remind the British High Commissioner and the French Commissaire de Bureau d'Etrangés that these days they are supposed to be on the same side. "Until we figure out what's going on, we can't do anything, anyway."
"Okay," Dean agreed in a tone indicating that even he was amazed by his own magnanimity, "We'll meet up for food, and then discuss strategy. Right after I call Bobby and tell him that I am totally not the drama queen here."
"Well, you can get a bit melodramatic," Sam opined.
"Shut up, Francis," Dean shot back, "I am not melodramatic. Sometimes, I'm emphatic in an intense and masculine way, but I am never melodramatic."
"Okay, okay," Sam placated, "Not a drama queen." He paused. "A drama queen-in-training, perhaps. A drama princess."
"Sam…"
"Drama duchess, maybe."
"Sam…"
"Drama dame? Yeah, Dean the drama dame."
"Sam…"
"You'd get a tiara."
"Knock it off, bitch."
"Are you sure you two aren't actually married?"
"Shut up."
WHOOOONK WHOOOOONK
FANFIC TROPE ALERT! FANFIC TROPE ALERT!
Fanfic Trope #197 (Winchesters Encounter Competent And Rather Sassy Female Hunter On A Job And End Up Collaborating) spotted off the port bow! What is Randolph the plot bunny plotting? Speak, bunny, speak!
So, they gotta go talk to people now and chase up info about the people who've disappeared - any preferences for the guises they may have to don? Pool boy? Singing telegram? Teddy bear doctor? If anybody comes up with a suitably silly suggestion, it might get a nibble from Randolph...
Reviews are the Overreacting Winchester Of Your Choice Joining You For Comfort Food On The Sofa Of Life (Plus A Part Hellhound Puppy To Snurfle Up The Crumbs)!