Chapter Fifteen

Back at Singer Salvage in the wee small hours, Sam gave Bobby a yawning account of their retrieval of Dean's body, including the assistance of Uncle Reuven 'Fergus' McLeod and Dean's case of premature resuscitation.

Bobby glared at Dean. "Well, what have you got to say for yourself, ya idjit?" he demanded.

"She poked a hole in my liver," Dean said resentfully, pulling up his shirt to show the evidence. "She cut me open, and poked a hole in my liver!"

"You're damned lucky she didn't cut your whole damned body open, and put your liver in a bucket!" snapped Bobby. "Which is what usually happens when corpses turn up unexplained."

"It's cool, Sam and Crowley told 'em I was Jewish, and couldn't have an autopsy done," grinned Dean.

"And that would've worked," growled Bobby, "If you just could've held yer horses for another day."

"You don't know what it was like in there, Bobby!" protested Dean. "In Sam's head, it's all books, and there's essays and equations lyin' around to trip over, and there's tentacles. It's oogy in there."

"I don't care if it's wallpapered with paisley prints," Bobby growled, "If you coulda stayed put, you'd have been back in your own body with no complications!"

"There aren't any complications," insisted Dean. "Except for this hole. I need a band-aid."

"We don't know that," Sam pointed out, yawning again, "What we do know is that a pathologist of many years' experience certified a guy dead, then when he was cold and at least twelve hours in the refrigerator, he suddenly came back to life, with a bright smile, no apparent ill effects, and a sheet toga. That sort of thing gets documented. That's the sort of thing that draws Hunters' attention. If we heard about that, we'd be there, checkin' it out as a job."

"Damned straight," nodded Bobby, "Which is why you, your demonic Deanness, have to stay off the radar. There's Hunters out there would just love an excuse to come after you. And if a Hunter finds you, you'll find yourself exorcised, and headed Downstairs. Which would, incidentally, involve leaving your body behind. Again."

"And who knows how long it would take to get you back," added Sam, real worry in his voice.

"I'd just get a lift back with the Infernal Pack," Dean smiled winningly, like a child expecting a gold star after answering the teacher's question.

"Dean, you don't know that they could do that," Sam sounded exasperated.

"Well, send dear ol' Fet Fergus to come get me," shrugged Dean, "He was pretty damned convincing."

"Just how long do you think you'll last Downstairs once somebody there recognises you?" posed Bobby. "You got lots of enemies Down South, boy, and I aint talkin' about Alabama."

"Who's to say I won't kick their asses?" replied Dean. "Have a little faith, Bobby."

Sam let out a frustrated huff; appeals to common sense and prudence rarely worked on human!Dean; they sure weren't cutting any ice with demonified!Dean. "Just think about what might happen if some Hunter does manage to exorcise you," he suggested. "Think about what that would mean."

"I get to go kick ass Down South," Dean grinned smugly. "I like kicking demon ass. Don't care where, don't care when. You want me to drop into the Infernal Library while I'm there, get you the latest book in the Sunset series?"

"Fine, okay, let's say you go renew your acquaintance with Senior Librarian Varael," said Sam, "And let's say she doesn't smite you there and then for breaking some library rule…"

"I wouldn't break any library rules!" insisted Dean.

"Dean, I'm pretty sure that, according to the Senior Librarian of Hell, you just setting foot in her library would constitute breaking the rules," Sam humphed. "Look, let's just say you go visit Downstairs; what happens to your body?"

"Well, it stays here, duh," said Dean. "Looking awesome."

"Uh-huh," agreed Sam, "And if you've been found and exorcised by a Hunter, what happens to it then?"

Dean frowned in thought. "Well, it'll probably be sitting in a devil's trap. Could even be tied to a chair." He waggled his eyebrows lewdly. "Of course, if it's a hot chick doing the tying up, I'm not gonna protest too much about that bit."

"Okay, let's say that a hot chick Hunter catches you in a devil's trap and, yeah, okay, ties you to a chair," sighed Sam. "Just think about this; what happens to…"

"Is she blonde, or brunette?" asked Dean. "Or a really fiery redhead?"

"That's not relevant," snapped Sam, "The point is, she's a Hunter, and your body is…"

"You're right," Dean mused judiciously, "It's not relevant. She could be hot, whatever her hair colour. Natural or not. Ladies with any hair colour can be hot."

"Good, we agree on something," grunted Sam. "So, this chick Hunter…"

"Hot chick Hunter."

"Yeah, right, this hot chick Hunter, whose hair could be any colour, has caught you in a devil's trap, and…"

"Does she have a hot chick Hunt buddy?"

"Dean, it doesn't matter! The point is…."

"It sure does! I mean, two hot chicks tying me up, ohhhh, it matters, Sammy."

"No it doesn't! Look this not about…. okay, okay, let's say she has a Hunt buddy, and…"

"Is her buddy another hot chick?"

"Yes. Yes. The two Hunters that catch you are both hot chicks. With whatever hair colours you want. So, they're gonna…"

"What colour panties are they wearing?"

"Dean, it DOESN"T MATTER!"

"It might."

"Dean, in this scenario, panties are not important, okay?"

"What, so they're goin' commando? Awesome!"

"Oh, God, look, Dean, I'm trying to make a serious point here. If you get caught by a Hunter…"

"Two hot chick Hunters."

"Dean…"

"With any hair colour."

"Dean…"

"Hey, does the carpet match the drapes?"

"Dean…"

"So, when they tie me to this chair, do they tie my feet together, or tie 'em to the legs of the chair, because that can make quite a difference depending on…"

"Dean!"

"At this point, are they naked?"

"Dean!"

"At this point, am I naked?"

DEAN!" Sam screeched, slamming a hand down on the table hard enough to make his big brother jump, his his voice steadily rose in pitch as he spoke. "Put your libido on a leash and listen to me for a minute! If a Hunter OR two hot chick Hunters with ANY colour hair and no panties and I DON'T KNOW MAYBE THEY'VE GOT BRAZILIANS OR SOMETHING and they catch you in a devil's trap and they tie you to a chair with your ankles behind your head for all we know and they're naked and you're naked and then they exorcise you WHAT DO YOU THINK WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!"

Dean gawped at his baby brother. "Uh, I dunno," he eventually managed. "But I'm real upset about the fact I won't be there to see it."

"It will NOT be a beautiful natural act, Dean!" Sam went on in a shrill tone, "They will see that your body is dead, and DON'T SAY A WORD ABOUT NECROPHILIACS, and they will be Hunters, so once they are sure that your body is dead, they will take steps to DISPOSE of it, which may well involve SETTING FIRE TO IT in which case the adjective 'hot' will come into it but not in a good way and ARE PAYING ATTENTION YET?"

The possibility that a woman might ever want to do anything with his body except engage in beautiful natural acts slowly dawned on Dean. "You mean… like… get rid of it?"

"Salt and burn would be the best option," Sam went on grimly, "It's what we do. Because to them, you'd just be one more poor bastard who was killed for the meatsuit, and they'd want to make sure you didn't hang around as an unquiet spirit."

Dean's expression became one of horror. "But… that would mean…"

"And what if it wasn't two hot chick Hunters, but one or more pissed Hunters, who'd cheerfully gut either of us?" Sam was relentless, "They're not just gonna be content to exorcise you; they'll want to defile your corpse first."

"De… defile my corpse?" Dean swallowed nervously.

Sam smiled like a shark. "There's lots of Hunters out there who'd take great satisfaction in removing your head from your shoulders," he reminded his brother. "A bit of dismemberment before lighting you up, to take a bit of post-mortem revenge. Remember that crackpot we had to save from himself, because he liked to collect ears from the fuglies he took down? He's still out there."

Dean let out a squeak, and clapped his hands to his ears.

"Or that idiot who threatened to cut your pretty face apart. You think he'd pass up the opportunity to do it, just because your body was dead?"

"But… but…I don't wanna die uglyyyyyy!" wailed Dean.

"Or, it could be a chick Hunter who isn't hot," Sam told him, "Remember the one in Wisconsin, who said if she ever saw you again, she'd turn your balls into earrings?"

Dean gawped like a horrified goldfish.

Sam went for the throat. "Or what if it's that slimeball from Tennessee, huh? You remember him, the guy that said if he ever saw you again, he'd cut off your dick and shove it up your own…"

"Meeeeeep!" went Dean.

"I mean, given the number of times people have told you to go fuck yourself, the possibility can't be ignored, bro."

"Meeeeeep!" went Dean.

"What an epitaph you'd have, here lies Dean Winchester, as anatomically correct as a Ken doll…"

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" shrieked Dean with a sob, "I don't wanna die with my dick up my own ass!"

Bobby looked thoughtful. "You know, up until now, I could never have imagined any situation, any circumstance or context, in which anybody would make that assertion," he mused. "Life's just full o' surprises."

"So, if you don't want your last act, post-mortem as it would be, on this Earth to be self-violation, you'll shut the fuck up, and start doing what you're told, for your own good," pronounced Sam, as his big brother sniffled.

"You're so mean," mumbled Dean in a small voice.

"He's just tryin' to get you to understand the danger you could put yourself in, ya idjit," said Bobby gruffly, "If you don't think before you act."

Dean looked suitably chastened.

"So," continued Bobby, "You will stay here, in your own body, until such time as we figure out how to undo this demonising thing, and if I hear so much as a peep out of you, I will put you in the panic room without recourse to alcohol or internet porn, and there you will stay for The Duration, do you hear me?"

Dean looked like a dog who's been told there's no bacon left.

"Have you actually made any progress on undoing this?" asked Sam.

"Not directly," Bobby said, "But I have an idea I'm following up. But not now – you look wrecked, son. Go get some sleep. Come to think of it, I feel wrecked, and need some sleep."

"I don't!" chirped Dean happily.

"Then you may sit up and watch bad advertising channels and D-grade movies all night," pronounced Bobby.

"Hey, I can start wearing in my cowboy boots!" enthused Dean.

"Actually, you can't," Bobby smiled beatifically. "Because some time in the next couple of days, that shop in Gillette is gonna get a parcel with no return address, just a pair of boots and a note of apology from a shoplifter who had an attack of remorse the day after he stole 'em."

"But… but… you can't send my boots back!" protested Dean.

"Already have," grinned Bobby.

"But I suffered for those boots!" Dean complained. "I possessed a squirrel for those boots! I lost my body for those boots! I got hentaied by my brother's brain for those boots! I got a hole poked in my liver for those boots! It's not faaaaaair!"

"Not a lot in this life is, boy," chortled Bobby. "Now, I'm goin' to bed. Stay away from my booze. That's a direct order."

Muttering resentfully, Dean headed for the living room, Jimi following him loyally.

"He scared the shit out of me," admitted Sam as they headed up the stairs. "Seeing him dead like that, and worrying about what would happen if he did get caught on one of his excursions. I just want my brother back, how he should be."

"We'll fix this, Sam," Bobby reassured him, "I wasn't kidding. I think we'll need the assistance of His Royal Asshatness, but I think I can see a way to undo this. All we gotta do is keep him safe from Hunters and other demons until then."

"That we can do," Sam nodded, "But how do we keep him safe from himself?"

The shrieking yodel from downstairs was a noise suggesting that somebody of a demonic nature might have opened a liquor cabinet that had been booby-trapped by somebody of a suspicious nature with an atomiser and some water of a holy nature.

"We've never been able to do that, kid," Bobby chuckled, "What makes you think we got any chance now?"

Oh, Dean is such a naughty boy. How will they cure him of demonization? What further indignities must poor Crowley suffer before this whole ghastly episode is over? Feed Fergus the plot bunny reviews, because Reviews are the Winchester Of Your Choice Tied To A Chair In The Devil's Trap Of Life!*

*For those few rare Denizens, Lurkers, Visitors or Casual Droppers-In who would prefer to join me for tea and scones, pull up a chair, and hopefully the rattling of the cups against the saucers will drown out any noises from the depraved beldames. I've got a little tearoom built overlooking Propriety Beach, which is one of the most picturesque places on Stripper!Pirate Island. It's also off-limits to Destiel fans and Wincest Princesses – they may not approach within a hundred feet, on pain of having their chocolate sauce super-soakers confiscated. It's great, you can't even hear their pillow fights from the verandah.