SPECIAL BONUS FEATURE: Leaked excerpt from a script that was found floating in space in the vicinity of an eddy in the fabric of the space-time continuum!
Title card: SUPERPUPTURAL
Music plays
Carry on, my wayward pup,
There's be peace when this is up,
Lay your weary paws to rest,
Don't you howl no more…
Title credits roll
Jensen Hackles
Jared Pupalecki
Musher Collins
Jim Retriever
Mark 'German' Shepherd
Story by
Labrapito
Additional material by
Fleaelisabeth
Gorgia
K9dragon
Cold nose
Barklebead
Snarla M
KnightMarrowboneJellyOfCamelot
The Blue Heeler Orleans
Akitaannie
Hesta Highland White
SCENE ONE:
*Dean is sniffing at a damp patch on the sidewalk*
DEAN: Oh, yeah, she wants it bad…
SAM: Dean, can you just get your mind in front of your waist for a moment, and concentrate on the job?
DEAN: Do not underestimate the power of the Living Sex Dog, Sammy.
BOBBY: What are you two idjits doing?
SAM: We're supposed to be on the trail of a werehuman, but all Dean can do is go sniffing around after bitches in heat.
BOBBY: Dog's tits, boy, you got a one track mind.
DEAN: Sam's the one who should be sniffing. Do you even remember how to hump the furniture? You need to get mated, Sam.
*Sam pulls one of his trademark Womanscowls*
BOBBY: So, what have you got?
SAM: It's a cursed monster; every full moon, it turns from a perfectly ordinary dog into a slavering, ravenous creature with the crazed urge to feed on canines.
DEAN: Aaaaargh! A giant flea!
SAM: No, you throwback, the werehuman!
DEAN: I knew that, runt.
*sudden flapping noise, and Castiel materialises standing nose-to-nose with Dean*
CASTIEL: Hello Dean.
DEAN: Aaaargh! Cas, how many times do I have to say it? Personal space! Why can't you just shove your nose into a guy's crotch like normal people?
CASTIEL: We share a profound bond, Dean – I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Ablution.
BOBBY: The idjits here are trackin' a werehuman – can you sense anything nearby?
*Castiel does the Eye-Sex Stare Of Doom at a nearly bush, then cocks his leg against it. Crowley leaps out from behind it.*
CROWLEY: Yaipe, that was just uncalled for! *He shakes vigorously* Oh, hello, Bobby, I don't suppose there's any chance of a quick sniff…?
*Bobby curls his lip and growls. Crowley's ears droop*
Chapter Twelve
"I'm fine," protested Dean as automatically as a cheerleader checking her lipstick after a particularly interesting session in the janitor's cupboard, "No need to flap at me, Francis."
"Dean, what the hell happened?" demanded Sam, exasperation taking over from worry when he saw that his brother was not seriously hurt.
"Just a bit of minor confusion over the object of the exercise," Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Seriously, why would you teach your dog to look for them if you don't want him to find them? It's not his fault," he reached down to scratch the ears of Lemmy, who was sniffing curiously at the ice pack on his Alpha's ankle.
"The idea it to teach the dog to find the scent, not the actual sock," Sam began, but as the word left his mouth, Lemmy launched himself at Dean's other ankle. "Dude, what the hell?"
"Don't say that word!" yapped Dean, disengaging Lemmy from attempting to maul his other ankle, "It's all that instructor's fault!"
"What?" demanded Sam, "How can it be your instructor's fault?"
"Well, she's the one who showed me how to train my dog to attack my s-words," sulked Dean, "Tracking, my ass."
"Dean, the sock is just a convenient way to..."
"Aaaaaargh!" Lemmy renewed his assault on Dean's sock, tail wagging furiously. "I said, don't say it!"
"Look, the... s-word is just a way to bait a trail with scent markers for an inexperienced dog..."
"Well, given the dog is inexperienced, it's not surprising that he's made a connection," Dean defended loyally, "I told you he's smart."
"This is ridiculous," huffed Sam.
"It's confusing, is what it is," declared Dean, "I mean, even the command, 'Seek', it even sounds the same. 'Seek'. 'Sock'. See? No, no, Lemmy..."
"Growf! Grrrrrrr," went the pup.
"Anyway, he went after the nearest s-word he could find. I'd say that makes him the smartest out of all of them, right fella?" Lemmy beamed doggily up at his Alpha's happy tone of voice.
"Dean, dogs cannot speak English!" snapped Sam. "I don't believe you've trained your dog to attack your... s-words!"
"You'll be laughing out the other side of your bitchface if we're ever attacked by S-word Monsters," humphed Dean, "You were terrified of the S-word Monster when you were a kid, after one of your asshole classmates told you about it," he added in a low voice, "S-word Monsters that live under kids' beds, and wait for the chance to grab odd s-words that you leave on the floor, which makes them bigger, until they're big enough to grab your socks while you're still wearing them... no, Lem, no!"
"Sock, er, S-word Monsters don't exist," muttered Sam, his face flushing.
"Well, we can't know for sure," Dean declared ominously, "I did spend nights going through Dad's journal looking for some way to trap and kill them..."
"Look, you gotta correct this, and let him know you don't want him to do that," Sam stated firmly. "For a start, you'll go through so-, uh, s-words pretty damned fast."
"Well, once he gets an idea in his head, it can be pretty difficult to dislodge," Dean pointed out.
"Huh," muttered Sam, "Wonder who he reminds me of..."
"Mr Page," Polly addressed Dean as she made her way into the sick bay, "I do hope that you have not been badly injured?"
"If only he'd landed on his head, that wouldn't have damaged anything important," Sam said brightly.
"I just gave it a bit of a twist, after an inevitable misunderstanding over a training exercise," replied Dean defiantly. He wiggled his foot to prove the point. "It will be fine."
"Nonetheless, I think you should withdraw from training for the rest of the day," she instructed, "I would not want you to reinjure yourself."
"I think Miss Polly is right, bro," Sam nodded vigorously and semaphored meaningfully with his eyebrows, "You don't want to overtax that ankle. And I'm sure you can find something constructive to do."
"What? Oh, yeah, yeah, absolutely," Dean agreed brightly. "Lemmy has probably had enough excitement for one day anyway, huh? Maybe we can go back to our room, and, and, and practise sitting calmly, and, uh, ignoring hosiery."
Polly gave him an appraising look. "Mr Page, that is quite possibly the most sensible thing I've heard you say," she announced finally. "I'm afraid that I have an appointment this afternoon, and will have to leave you," she told Sam and Kelly in a tone of regret, "You may if you wish join one of the other classes – one that will allow you to train at a level that will be suitably engaging for their talents," she gave Dean a look that suggested he might be capable of engaging a not-too-bright stick insect on one of his better days, "Or you may do some training yourselves, provided you allow them plenty of breaks and opportunities for play."
"That would be great," smiled Kelly, "I'd like to have another go with a different scent, and maybe cut back on the distance to the next sock..."
"Grrrrrrrrr!"
"Aaaaaaaargh! Lemmy, no!"
Sam was pretty sure that Max, Morgan and Lars exchanged the same sort of look that he swapped with Kelly and Miss Polly.
"We'll be fine," Sam assured Miss Polly, "We'll, uh, practise a bit of everything, and maybe get out the treat balls again. They really enjoyed that."
"Very well," Miss Polly said, "I shall see you later, Mr Page, Miss Whitestripe. Behave yourself, Mr Page."
"Behave mys...?" Dean glared at her retreating back. "Huh," he sniffed when she had left, "The Living Sex God does not need anybody to tell him how to behave himself."
"Well, your mojo isn't working on Miss Polly," noted Sam seriously, "I think you might be losing it, bro."
"She doesn't count," griped Dean, "She's obviously an alien."
"Are you sure he didn't hit his head?" asked Kelly doubtfully.
"Pretty much," sighed Sam, "He makes even less sense when he's concussed. So, do you think your mojo and your ankle are up to paying a visit to Barbara before she heads off to Scandinavia ?"
"If she's not already dead," added Kelly darkly.
"Absolutely," confirmed Dean, reaching to put his boot back on, "If she's gone, I'll look for a Norwegian phrase book – if she's still there, I'll stake out her place and watch for whatever it is that's coming after her, and call you."
"Make sure you do," instructed Sam, "Don't do the whole gung-ho solo hero thing unless it's absolutely necessary, do you understand me?"
"Ooh, you're really impressive when you go all assertive like that," grinned Dean, "No wonder Miss Polly thinks you'll make a wonderful handler."
"Jerk. I mean it," scowled Sam.
"We have a perfect excuse and opportunity to poke around a bit here, try to find some evidence about what happened to the missing persons' dogs," said Kelly.
"I think it would be a great idea for you two to go POKE AROUND in her office," Dean's eyebrows oscillated insinuatingly, "Or back at our room, or anywhere, really..."
"Okay, then." Sam shot his brother a silent Bitchface #5™ (My Private Life Is SO None Of Your Business, Jerk) and consulted his watch. "If I don't hear from you within an hour, I'm gonna come looking."
"Aw, gee-whiz, Mom," whined Dean, "Why can't I stay out late like all the other kids?"
"I hate you," Sam muttered as Dean grinned, and limped for the door with Lemmy following him. Then he smiled to himself. "Oh, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"If Barbara is too overwhelmed by the mojo of the Living Sex God, I don't want to intrude, so if that happens, just put a sock on the door..."
"Grrrrrrrrrrowf!"
"Aaaaaargh! Lemmy! Stop it!"
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Sam and Kelly, accompanied by their pups, made their way back to Miss Polly's office, and let themselves in. There was a wall of filing cabinets; the Perfect Pooches Canine Academy had been operating for quite some time, and had seen many students come through the doors. Another wall was covered with pictures of handlers and dogs, of all ages and breeds, under a large banner reading 'OUR GRADUATES'.
Kelly sighed, then started to scan through the files, while Sam started up the computer. "Maybe I'll get lucky, and find a file marked 'Dogs Belonging To People Who Have Vanished Mysteriously - Finding Them New Homes," she mused wistfully. "Or 'Disappeared People – Adopting Out Their Pets'."
"You never know," Sam consoled her, "Miss Polly strikes me as the type to file everything in a very organised fashion."
Time passed as they scanned both the paper files and the electronic files for anything that mentioned the dogs that had belonged to people who had disappeared. Lars and Morgan alternated between growl-wrestling, sniffing around the room, and tug-of-war with a bedraggled fluffy green dog toy that appeared to have been intended to resemble a cross between a gerbil and a honey badger.
"Maybe it would be under "Vanished Owners' Pets – Adopting Them Out?" Kelly wondered aloud, "Or possibly... oh!"
"No, that would be under V, for vanished, surely?" Sam replied.
"No, oh as in a noise of surprise, rather than oh as in O, the letter," corrected Kelly. "Here's a folder marked 'Rehoming'."
"Yay for OCD alphabetical ordering," commented Sam as she brought the thick file to the desk. He checked his own laptop, and they quickly ascertained that the previous owners referred to in the dog adoption files correlated with the list of people who had ostensibly left their lives for parts obscure to take up some very peculiar pursuits indeed.
"There's email here from Miss Polly to people asking about adopting these dogs, but none from the actual owners," frowned Sam, scrolling through a long list, "She's spent a lot of time vetting these people. She's not at all afraid to tell some of them that she doesn't think they are suitable to be dog owners."
"She takes this all very seriously, doesn't she?" noted Kelly, as Morgan sniffed suspiciously at a filing cabinet.
"Some people do," shrugged Sam, indicating a small glass cabinet filled with trophies. "Still, it's not immoral, it's not illegal, and it's not bad for your cholesterol. And it looks like Max really is a good boy," he added.
"She certainly thinks so," Kelly nodded to the three separate photos of the beloved Heinz Special on the desk. "Do you really know somebody who took a dog to OC, Obedience Champion?" she queried, "Or were you just getting into the spirit of this?"
"Yeah, we really do," smiled Sam, "She's a Hunter. Well, she's slowed down a bit now – she's got a kid who's only a few weeks old." He began to laugh out loud. "The little guy arrived a bit earlier than expected, and Dean was there, and had to act as midwife. It totally freaked him out!"
"Oh – my – GOD!" Kelly gasped, "Oh, I would pay money to have seen the look on his face!"
"Anyway, she Hunted with the sister of this little guy's sire, his Auntie Joni," Sam explained, "And she was adopted by his sister, Lita. Wasn't she, Lars?". He looked up. "Lars? Hey, where are you?"
Lars had sniffed his way across the office, and was nosing at a waste basket. Ignoring Sam, he stared hard at it, and stood with his hackles bristling, and his teeth bared.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr," he went.
"Oh, God, what's he found?" asked Kelly. "Morgan cornered a mouse in the trash last week, and the noise she made, you'd have thought she was a police dog bailing up a burglar."
Sam stood up, drew his knife, and approached the receptacle carefully.
"Hey, buddy," he said to the pup, "What have you got there?"
It as mostly paper and tape, the usual detritus of an office setting – he poked at the contents with the knife, and began to remove pieces.
"Is there anything there?" Kelly asked.
"Just paper," Sam answered, "And some Post-Its, some tape, a teabag that I think might've been used sometime last century, and... hold on."
At the bottom of the basket, carefully concealed under the other waste, was something... slithery...
Sam pulled it out with his knife, and Kelly swore.
It was a long, tattered piece of shredded skin.
Sam had his phone out and was calling Dean before he'd even stood fully upright, but it went through to messages. He left a frantic one, and prayed his brother would check it soon.
"Dean! We've found something. We know what it is. Call me back right away. Watch your back, bro, we're dealing with a shapeshifter."
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