While a weekend of interwebs shenanigans left me incommunicado for a few days, Randolph the plot bunny kicked his brother Nathaniel to the kerb, and dictated nearly two more chapters! If you feed him reviews, he might just finish of the one after this one... *hint hint extremely unsubtle hint*
Chapter Seventeen
Dean didn't give away so much as an eyebrow twitch when he felt the small, furry presence behind him nosing at his hand, and the shape of a knife handle bumped against his fingers. But he couldn't keep the worry off his face when he saw his pup, eyes glowing, bearing down on shapeshifter-Sam like a small, adorably angry fluffy cushion with teeth.
"Lemmy! No!" he yelled, as Lemmy barrelled into the shifter's leg, making the monster stagger.
"Ow!" yapped shifter-Sam, "You little asshole! I'm doing this for your benefit, you ungrateful mutt!"
Lemmy didn't seem convinced; he took a savage bite at the shifter's leg, drawing blood.
"OW!" shrieked the monster, swiping at Lemmy with the knife.
The pup sank his teeth into the shifter's hand, but simple physics meant that a human body with Sam Winchester's build could easily pick up a puppy the size of Lemmy. It did exactly that. Lemmy hung on, but was snapped back and forth like a rabbit in a terrier's jaws as the shifter tried to shake him off.
"NO!" screamed Dean, "You'll hurt him! Stop! You'll..." he paused.
If you don't have physics on your side, it's time to fuck with physics.
"Up, Lem!" he called cheerfully, "Up! Up! Up, Lemmy, Up!"
Lemmy let out a muffled yelp as he was shaken again – but his ears began to flap.
"Good boy, Lem!" called Dean as his hand closed around the knife behind him, "Up! Up! Up! Hold him! Up! Up!"
Growling determinedly, Lemmy started to rise, the shapeshifter's astonished gaze following him.
"Stop that!" it snapped, trying to yank its arm away. Lemmy just dug in harder, and the hum of his ears changed to a higher note as they flapped faster.
The shapeshifter staggered again as something it couldn't see collided with its leg, and began to savage its shin with the unmistakeable sting of teeny tiny determined little puppy teeth. Lars reappeared, going for bone.
With a pained howl, the shapeshifter changed, trying to shake off the attackers. In quick succession, it assumed the shapes of Dean, Miss Polly, Kelly, then finally settled on Max, since a dog-shaped body is much more effective for fighting other dogs than a human-shaped one is.
"Dean!" called Sam anxiously, brandishing his gun as Dean finished sawing through the ropes that held him and sprang at the canine brawl in front of him.
"I'm okay!" Dean told him, not taking his eyes of the dog fight, "You loaded with silver?"
"I can't get a clear shot!" Sam fruitlessly tried to draw a bead on Max, "Lars! Lemmy! Get clear!"
It didn't work. It's rare for dogs to really fight like they mean it; any confrontation is usually about threat display, bluff, and maybe a bit of a scuffle to settle any perceived perturbation in the pack order, whether it's at home, or at the park meeting a new potential playmate. Any dog owner who has seen their animal in a serious actual fight will know that, no matter how well-mannered and well-trained the animal is, once it's on, and they're in The Zone, all bets are off, and the word 'obedience' is something that happens to other people...
"MAX!"
However, the element of total, overwhelming surprise can carry a lot of clout.
Humans, dogs and unnatural abomination stopped what they were doing, and their heads snapped around.
Miss Polly stood in the middle of the floor, an expression of utter disbelief and horror on her face.
"What are you?" she demanded in a quavering voice, "What are you?"
The shifter was the first to break away, shifting back to Sam-shaped as it grabbed up its knife, grabbing Miss Polly in a headlock, and putting the knife to her throat.
"Stay back!" it demanded, as Miss Polly screamed, "Stay back, or I'll cut her throat!"
"After everything she did for you?" Dean spat angrily. "You're the ungrateful asshole!"
"Miss Polly," said Sam anxiously, "What are you even doing here?"
"His collar," she replied in a trembling voice, "There's a GPS tracker on his collar. In his name tag. I had a dog run away, once, scared by fireworks – it took days to find her. I've had trackers on my dogs ever since they became small and widely available..."
"I knew I should've ditched the damned collar," muttered shifter-Sam. "I'm really sorry, Polly, But their name is actually Winchester, and they're Hunters. They're here to kill me. I won't let them do that."
"Max," she sobbed.
"We're just going to back up, then I'll let her go," the shifter stated, starting to move back towards the door. The growling pups stalked after them, eyes glowing and hackles up, but keeping their distance. "You won't catch me, guys," shifter-Sam grinned, "Max could outrun you, and I can also do greyhou-URK!"
The shifter suddenly stiffened, eyes widened in surprise.
Kelly darted around from behind it and pulled Miss Polly away, as the shifter clawed helplessly at the knife buried to the hilt in its back.
"KILL IT!' she roared.
Sam didn't need to be told twice; he put a double-tap into the centre of mass, then two into its head.
His doppelganger collapsed to the floor, dead.
Lemmy turned around, and, determined to follow the direction of a senior Pack member at last, attacked Dean's socks with gusto.
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"He was always such a good boy," Miss Polly sniffled, as Kelly pushed a second cup of sweet tea into her hands. "So, he was always one of those shape-changing monsters, then?"
"I'm afraid so," Dean confirmed sympathetically, pushing Lemmy's questing nose away from his feet once more (he really did get ideas lodged in his fuzzy little head real good). They'd taken Miss Polly home, and she had wanted some answers. "Hiding in plain sight. But he was so happy with you that, after you adopted him from the shelter, he just never wanted to move on."
"He was so intelligent," Miss Polly honked musically into a lace-edged hanky, "And so good with other dogs, and with the puppies. Except for Lemmy."
"That's because Lemmy is, uh, a Hunting dog," Sam told her, "It wasn't food aggression over a treat ball – Max, the shapeshifter, tripped his bad-guy-detection instincts."
"It's such a shame he can't have a showing career," she sighed, looking fondly to the doggy cuddle heap where Lars, Morgan and Giselle the Poodle awaiting a new home were lounging together companionably, then to Lemmy (who still determinedly nosed after Dean's socks), "And that his brother won't be able to trial in Obedience. But what you do, and what they will grow up to do, is more important." She gave Dean a wobbly smile. "Lemmy may just be a late bloomer – Rotties are one of those breeds where the body matures much earlier than the brain – and I think he will grow up to be a good boy."
"If he grows up to be half the Hunter his dad was, he will," Dean smiled. "He was awesome."
"He sounds like he was a wonderful animal," Polly found a wobbly little smile of her own.
Dean reached for his cell. "I've got some pictures of him," he offered, "And of his dad, Jimi Senior, too – we did show him, once, and he won his Open Dog class..."
Kelly headed back to the kitchen with the mugs they'd used. "I think I need another sweet tea," she decided, pulling out a hipflask, "With some medicine."
"I hear that," muttered Sam. "It's kind of sad, really – I mean, she thought Max was her dog, and it turns out, he was a murderous monster. That's gotta be hard. Basically, she's lost a beloved pet and companion."
"I think a new companion might be closer than she thinks," suggested Kelly, nodding out the door. They could see Dean showing Polly his phone; as she smiled and cooed at the photos of Jimi Junior and Jimi Senior, Giselle the Poodle extracted herself from the puppy pile and made her way to Polly's side, to offer a consoling presence, and maybe solicit some pats. "Poodles are a very intelligent breed. I wonder if Giselle was just bored with the showing class? I bet she'd do really well with Obedience."
"She's certainly got a lovely nature," Sam agreed.
"Your little guys have more of what I'd call an 'interesting' nature," Kelly went on without missing a beat. "Seriously, invisible dog? Hovering dog?"
Sam looked at her nonplussed. "Um," he said. "So, you, er, saw that bit?"
"Bit difficult to miss," she snorted with amusement, "So, what gives? Come on, spill, Winchester."
"If I tell you, you won't believe me," he challenged her.
"I'll decide that," she replied loftily.
He made a decision. "Okay," he began, "Lars and Lemmy are three-quarters Hellhound."
"Hellhound?" Kelly cocked an eyebrow.
"Hellhound," confirmed Sam. "Their dad, Jimi Junior, mated with a Hellhound when he was really still a pup himself. Seven years or so later, their mom answered a summoning on a case we were working, and whelped."
"And Jimi Senior?" she pressed.
"Oh, he was a full-blood Hellhound too," Sam went on, "Dean accidentally summoned him while pranking a Hunter who kept trying to kill me. He mated with Bobby's dog, Rumsfeld, and Jimi Junior was one of the puppies."
She gave him a long look. "You're serious," she said finally.
"As serious as Hellhound genetics," he grinned.
"What happened to the other puppies?"
"Well, there's been one from each litter that's wanted to stay with Bobby," Sam explained, "Janis, Jimi Junior's sister, and Rumsfeld, Lars and Lemmy's brother. Joni, and then Lita, chose the Hunter who had Mako."
Kelly blinked. "You mean... he's still alive?"
"She," grinned Sam, "And yeah, she is still very much alive. With a three-week-old baby, no less. In fact, that reminds me, I got something to show you."
He pulled out his own cell. "The resolution is better on the laptop – I'll send it to you, if you like." He handed over the phone.
It was a photo of a young woman with a scarred face, and a...dog.
Well, it had a lead and a collar, so she assumed it was a dog. It was nominally shaped like a black German Shepherd with a few sable highlights, but, given the scale provided by the pick-up right behind it, the animal – he – was huge. And there were other things that were... not completely right. The forequarters were so heavy that the back looked almost roached. The front legs were heavily muscled. The neck was thick, the head large, and the teeth..."
"Jesus H. Christ," she breathed; the dog was straining at the lead, clearly wanting to attack the photographer, showing a snarl of teeth that would've been right at home in the mouth of a Kodiak bear. "Look at that frigging dentition! Those canines must be at least two inches long!" She stared at the picture. "Is that a woman? She's not a midget, is she, he's really that big. How the hell is she holding that thing with one arm?"
"Ronnie's about five-eight," Sam grinned," Sam grinned, "She says he was a very special dog. He's been dead twenty years, and she still thinks of him every day. She still has his collar – she brings it out sometimes when people don't believe how big his neck was."
She stared at the picture, and understanding dawned. "Is this... is this Mako?"
"The very same," he confirmed. "That monster right there is Morgan's daddy."
"Okay," Kelly said eventually. "Okay. I am now officially convinced; Wildhunt dogs have Hellhound blood. If the bloodline could produce that... well, it's either Hellhound blood, or there's been some cross-breeding with wild boar, sharks and bears at some point."
"Mako tangled with a brown bear once," Sam related, "And walked away afterwards."
"You're kidding," she said flatly.
"Apparently not," he shrugged.
"Fuck me," she muttered, "So, what happened?"
"Well, apparently, once the bear realised that her choices were getting mauled or getting raped, she just put her head down and let him have his wicked way," he told her.
"You're making that up!" she snapped.
"Nope," Sam smiled even more widely, "You can go ask Ronnie about him yourself, if you like. I asked her, and she said it'd be okay for you to drop in. She's not usually the friendly or talkative type," he said in a conspiratorial tone, "But you've found her weak spot: you want to hear her talk about one of her dogs. You may find that once she starts, you can't get her to shut up."
"I might do that," she smiled, swigging from her mug of tea. "Bleh, I need something stronger. Job's done, I vote for a celebratory drink at the nearest bar with cute bartenders."
"I vote for that too!" announced Dean sunnily. "Time to celebrate the awesomeness of the smartest dog in the class!"
"Well, that's very nice of you Dean," Sam replied serenely, "But Lars doesn't need anything special, just a pat on the head and maybe a liver treat."
"Bitch."
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They crèched the puppies in Kelly's truck – Morgan was introduced to Oinker Stoinker, while Lemmy and Lars discovered the joy of Zippo the Hippo – and found a bar. Three rounds in, a blonde woman came bouncing across the bar to greet Kelly as she went to the bar to stand her round. Kelly let out a squeak of delight, and hugged her gleefully.
"Nat!" she enthused, "How you doin'?"
"Oh, I broke a nail dealing with a chupacabra," sighed the blonde melodramatically, "And chipped all the others on that hand, and I'd just had them done! Seriously, next time, I am SO getting shellac..." she broke off and glanced over to the table where Sam and Dean were talking. "Are you with them?" Nat asked with a sly smile, "Oh, Kel, I am so proud of you!"
"No, I'm not 'with them'," sighed Kelly, "We just ended up working on the same job."
"Is that what kids are calling it these days?" Nat waggled her perfectly shaped eyebrows at her occasional Hunting partner. "It wouldn't hurt you to get a bit of horizontal action occasionally, you know. It's a great cardiovascular workout. And a lot more fun than trying to run down a wendigo. You need to get some stuffin', muffin."
Kelly rolled her eyes as Nat followed her back to the table.
"Hey guys," she began, "I've just bumped into a galpal I Hunt with occasionally. This is Natalie. Nat, usually. Nat, this is Sam..."
"Hi there, Nat," Sam stood and politely shook hands.
"...And this is Dean."
When Dean didn't move, Sam kicked him under the table. "Dean!" he hissed, "Don't be so... rude..."
Dean and Natalie were frozen in place, staring at each other. Sam was pretty sure he heard the air sizzle between them.
"What the...?" he turned to Kelly, who was shaking her head in bemusement. "Wait a minute," he said to her under his breath, "Is this Natalie, that Natalie, the one who calls herself..."
"Aphrodite On Earth," nodded Kelly.
"Meets the Living Sex God," mused Sam, as they two Mortal Conjugal Deities continued to stare into each other's eyes. "Fucking hell." He looked around. "These people may not be safe this close to ground zero."
"Do you think," asked Kelly, "If I dropped a beer mat between them, it would be instantly incinerated?"
"Sam," said Dean, rising and extending a hand to Natalie, who smiled brilliantly and took it, "Don't wait up." The two made their way out of the bar.
"I wonder if they'll self-annihilate," mused Sam. "Or divide by zero, or something. Tear a hole in reality, so we all cease to exist, and all of Creation is destroyed in one blinding flash of libido."
"Well, if they do, the explosion will be so big it will vapourise everything for a couple of hundred square miles," Kelly told him cheerfully, "So we'll be reduced to bemused shadows on a wall before we even know it."
"Oh, well, that's something to be grateful for, I guess," Sam shrugged. "Uh, it looks like I've lost my ride," he added sheepishly, "Could you, maybe..."
"Sure," she smiled. "Actually, my room is on the way to yours – you might want to drop in and see a couple of etchings on the walls, I think you'll find them really interesting..."
They headed back to Kelly's motel room, where the pups followed them in and immediately made themselves at home on Morgan's blanket. Sam looked around. "I don't see any etchings," he noted.
"Oh, there aren't any actual etchings," Kelly informed him.
He looked confused. "Then, if there aren't any, why would you invite me back here to see etchings?"
"Oh, Sam," she smiled beautifully, then reached up to put her arms around his neck. "That's just something that kids are calling it these days..."
I promise you, Kelly absolutely will not die - Sam's Dick Of Death does not work in the Jimiverse.
'Can We Keep Him?' describes the arrival of the Winchesters' first Hunting dog, 'Balls' includes the conception of Lars and Lemmy's litter, and some of the Denizens may remember briefly seeing Mako in action in the Prologue of 'Wolf In Wolf's Clothing'.
Meanwhile, Reviews are the Adorable Part-Hellpuppy/Winchester Of Your Choice* Amusing You By Playing With The Fluffy Hippo/Fluffy Handcuffs Of Life!*
*circle that which applies**
**if anybody tries to circle Hellpuppy and Fluffy Handcuffs, I can tell you right now that 1) you need professional help of a sort that you can't get here and 2) they'll probably just chew them up, metal and all. They are three-quarters Hellhound, after all.