Sam is sweaty and unshirted.
Dean is badly disconcerted,
Lathering himself a lot,
In the shower, wet and hot -
As the final water drained,
Suddenly, poor Dean was chained!
Sam then asked him "What the hell?"
"I don't know! How could I tell?"
Dean was not at all impressed,
Standing, damp and quite undressed
Shackled by a naughty witch,
"Let's go kill that fucking bitch!
Sam, go find out just what goes on."
First Dean, you should put some clothes on…"
Le sigh. Risqué Dr Seuss. The Denizens; they are depraved, even if they do get shit done.
Chapter Ten
Dean wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting for 'comfort food' – the universal chicken soup, or scrambled eggs on buttery toast, maybe a fluffy omelette – but it turned out to be a large steak, barely seared, and cut into small chunks.
When she brought it into the room, Sam gave Ronnie a tired smile, and made a small yipping noise, to which she replied with a low rumble.
"How you feeling now, pup?" she asked, putting the plate down and sitting beside him.
"Tired," he said, eyelids still at half-mast. "But I'm hungry."
"Well, I think we can help with that," she stated, picking up the plate and skewering a chunk of meat on a fork. "Open up. And FYI, I am not gunna do choo-choo noises."
Dean watched, bemused, as Ronnie kept up a stream of chatter, while Sam opened his mouth to be fed chunks of steak and sips of werewolf gatorade. It put Dean in mind of a baby bird having worms stuffed into it by an attentive parent. Even if Sam was falling asleep again by the time all the steak was gone. He felt that flare of resentment again.
That's my job. Looking after Sam is my job. He's my baby brother.
"Now, why don't you try to get some rest," Ronnie instructed Sam, tucking the bedclothes around him again, "And tomorrow you'll feel better."
" 'Kay," mumbled Sam, his eyes closing again even as he spoke, "Night."
She brushed his hair out of his face again. "Night, pup," she said softly before standing up. "Come on," she said to Dean, "Let's eat. He'll be fine," she saw his glance towards his brother, "Jimi's here with him, and Andrew's right out there."
"Yeah," Dean replied, telling himself to stop being so stupid, because the important thing was that Sam was alive, Sam was safe, and Sam was getting better. That was his Primary Directive, and should be his only concern here.
Looking after Sam is my job. He's my baby brother. He's family.
But now, he has... a pack.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Whether it was the quick administration of the chelating agent, the healing properties of ass tea and practically raw meat, being coddled by the alpha female, or just normal werewolf robustness, the next morning Sam was pretty much recovered. His sleep was restless until about midnight, when Dean fed him some more ass tea, then his fever broke, and he was out like a light until the morning.
He woke up, stretched and yawned, then slowly sat up. Dean was still asleep, and Sam didn't want to wake him, so he carefully threw back the bedclothes, and swung his legs out of bed. Jimi whuffed quietly, and wagged his tail.
"Hey, fella," Sam patted the big square head smiling up at him, "It's okay, I feel much better. In fact, I feel pretty good. And hungry." He wrinkled his nose; the smell of stale sweat was coming from his bed, then he sniffed at his shirt. "Eugh, maybe I should shower, I feel grungy, and I smell kinda ripe." Jimi rubbed his face over Sam's shirt with evident enjoyment. "Okay, that settles it, I need to wash." Moving quietly so as not to disturb his brother, he headed for the small en suite.
Dean awoke later, and his Sam radar immediately informed him that the other bed was no longer occupied, but the shower was running. "Sam!' he called.
"In here," Sam called back, and Dean heard the water shut off. "Don't worry, bro, I woke up feeling fine, if smelling disgusting."
"Well, you did run a fever last night," Dean told him, "You sure you're okay?"
"Sure I'm sure," answered Sam, "And I'll be even more okay after breakfast."
"Yeah, he's okay," Dean muttered to Jimi, who sprang onto the bed to give his Alpha a proper good morning greeting. "Stick a tail on him, he'd be as bad as you."
Dean completed the ritual of Man Arising (yawn, stretch, fart, scratch groin), then got out of bed, and started to dress. The bathroom door slid open behind him. "You really don't need to worry, Dean," he heard Sam say, "Seriously, I feel fine."
"Glad to hear it," griped Dean, "After your performance yesterday, I thought you wer-HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN'?"
"Hmmmm?" Sam wandered across the room to his own bed. "Getting dressed. What does it look like? I've had a shower, now I need to put some clean clothes on."
"But... not like that!" yapped Dean.
"Like what?" Sam turned around, apparently mystified.
"Oh, fuck, don't turn around!" Dean yelped.
"Dean, what's the matter?" asked his brother.
"You, you big freak!" Dean's voice sounded shrill, "You're the matter? What's with that?"
Sam looked down at himself. "I'm just about healed up," he noted, "Since when are you squeamish about a few bruises?"
"Jesus Christ, it's not that!" Dean squawked, "For fuck's sake, put some pants on!"
"I am," Sam shrugged, ratting through his duffel, "That's what 'getting dressed' means."
"Sam," Dean growled, "You are standing there naked!"
Sam didn't seem at all concerned. "Yeah, well, I just got out of the shower."
"What happened to your towel?" demanded Dean.
"I hung it on the rail," Sam replied, "To dry. So I can use it again."
"Sam," Dean tried again, "Why are you naked?"
Sam looked utterly bemused. "Uh, it's what people do, you know," he gestured vaguely. "To have a shower, they take their clothes off, then get under the water, and wash, then they dry off, then put their clothes back on."
"Exactly!" declared Dean, "Exactly! They put their clothes back on! They do NOT parade around NAKED!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I'm not 'parading around naked'," he said, "I've just come out of the shower to get dressed!"
"Why didn't you take your stuff with you?" Dean wanted to know.
Sam shrugged. "What's the big deal?" he countered, unconcerned, "I mean, it's not like I've got anything you haven't seen before..."
"That doesn't mean I want to see it!" Dean wailed.
"You're always so keen to remind me that you wiped my ass and changed my diapers," Sam pointed out.
"When you were a kid, Sam!" Dean qualified, "When you were a baby, a toddler! Now you're, uh, look, a man wakes up in the mornin', the last thing he wants to see is his brother, naked!"
"Since when are you so uptight about it?" queried Sam.
"Since you're apparently not!" Dean shot back.
"You're the one who's always goin' on about how the human body is a beautiful, natural thing," Sam reminded him, "Capable of beautiful, natural acts, you usually add."
"Okay," Dean moaned, dropping heavily onto his bed, "I take back that last bit: the last thing a man actually wants to see when he wakes up in the mornin' is his brother, naked, talking about beautiful natural acts."
"I really don't get you," Sam sighed, pulling on a pair of shorts. "It's just a human body. I thought I was supposed to be the prude here."
"So did I," Dean moaned, "So did I. Oh, God, I don't want to look at my brother naked..."
"So don't," Sam suggested equably. "Look, you're probably feeling a bit... delicate this morning, because I'm pretty sure you had a crap night's sleep on my account..."
"Delicate?" spat Dean. "Who's delicate?"
"Well, you and your sensibilities, apparently," Sam rolled his eyes and pulled on a shirt.
"Sam," Dean growled, "You are not, I stress this, you are NOT to stroll around naked. Promise me you won't stroll around naked."
Sam huffed in a put-upon manner. "If it will shut you up, sure, I promise, I will not stroll around naked."
"Well, good," humphed Dean, barely mollified.
His mood didn't improve a lot over breakfast; he felt like a wildlife documentary presenter, watching the other three, plus two dogs, move around in the kitchen, largely not bothering with spoken language, and wondered if he should find a shrub to hide behind so he could whisper earnestly into a microphone.
They greet each other with a brief exchange of nose-sniffs, the werewolf equivalent of 'good morning', and get on with the business of eating, a subject never far from a werewolf's mind. The mated pair concern themselves closely with the youngest of the pack, satisfying themselves that he is recovered from his ordeal. Like any youngster, he protests at the attention; but not too much. The female busies herself with the preparation of foodstuffs, whilst the Alpha male rumbles his concern – having spent the night in wolf form, as an instinctive precaution whilst the youngster was vulnerable, he will eat heartily this morning – and the younger male huffs and rolls his eyes, protesting that he is not a helpless pup. They sit on either side of him, the males occasionally exchanging playful shoulder bumps whilst the female scolds them affectionately. Occasionally, she will pause in her own eating to wipe the young one's face, and make sure he is eating properly...
Later in the day, Bobby called with good news.
"Well, I got your countercurse ready to go," he informed Dean.
"Oh, thank fuck for that," Dean sighed, "I don't know how much more of this I can take..."
"He didn't cock a leg on your car, did he?" Bobby chortled.
"Not yet," Dean humphed, "And if he does I'll whack him with a rolled up newspaper."
He explained the events of the week, including Sam's close encounter of the silver kind."
"Balls," rumbled Bobby, "Kid never has liked doin' what he's told."
"Tell me about it," Dean groaned. "I'm tellin' ya, Bobby, I think he's goin' native. It was like listenin' to The Caveman Show this morning, they were all speaking Canine. Plus, there's his sudden urge to wander around naked..."
"Well," Bobby mused, "Werewolves are kinda blasé about that sorta thing, you know. They just don't think of 'emselves as nekkid. And he just walked from the shower to the bed, it's not like he did it in public..."
"He did it in front of me!" Dean almost wailed.
"Not a lot you can do about it," Bobby chuckled. "Look, I've been doin' some reading about this sort o' thing. It's because he's been benevolently turned; adopted, if you like. He's been invited and welcomed into their pack, so of course they're gonna fuss over him, and worry about him, and treat him like he's the, uh, baby of the family, so to speak. It's actually a good thing."
"A good thing?" Dean's eyes bugged. "My brother seems to be forgetting spoken language, forgetting what vegetables are and forgetting how clothes work, and you say it's a good thing?"
"In werewolf terms, yeah," Bobby replied. "Sounds like there's been no, uh, testosterone storms. No arguments between the Alpha male and the newcomer, no 'teenager' tantrums. They can get pretty nasty before they get settled."
Dean thought about the last several days. "No," he agreed slowly, "Nothing like that. If he's actually goin' through werewolf 'puberty', he's the most well-adjusted 'teenager' I've ever seen." He ran a hand through his hair. "But you got the countercurse worked out, right?"
"Uh-huh," Bobby confirmed, "I'll send it to you."
Dean heard the pause. "There's a 'but', isn't there?" he sighed in resignation, "I can hear the 'but'. What's the 'but', Bobby?"
"Well," Bobby began, "The countercurse is pretty easy: the potion is straightforward, the incantation is in Old German, but Andrew can coach you – the thing is, the ritual has to be performed on the same day of the lunar cycle on which the werewolf in question was turned."
Dean groaned. "Oh, crap. So that means..."
"Yup," sympathised Bobby, "Last day of the full moon. Which means that Sam will have to go through at least two shapeshifts before you can change him back."
There was a crash from the kitchen, a snarl and then a bark of amusement. Andrew and Sam charged through the living room, each clutching handfuls what looked like leftover meat from the previous night's dinner, gleefully stuffing it into their faces. Behind them came Ronnie in hot pursuit, wielding a dishcloth and growling in anger. The dogs joined in just on general principles.
"Great," sighed Dean, "I'm trapped in a remake of Lassie Come Home. What am I supposed to do until the end of the next full moon?"
"Well, son, if I'm frank, your domestic habits can be kind of disgustin'," Bobby pointed out. "I suggest you just enjoy it."
"Huh?" gawped Dean.
"You know," Bobby went on to elaborate, "Eatin' lots of meat, with your hands, sounds like the sort of thing you'd adapt to..."
The pursuit went back through the living room the other way. Ronnie's legs weren't as long as Sam's or Andrew's, but the reach of her dishcloth was long. There was a snap, and a yelp.
"Oh, God, if this turns into some sort of group nudist scene, I'm outta here," moaned Dean.
"If it does, might as well just love the skin you're in," Bobby consoled him. "I'm pretty sure none of them will hump your leg."
"I hate you."
Aaaaaaand some G.W.N. for the fans. Although if you asked Sam, he'd probably point out that he's not naked; he just doesn't have any clothes on.
Mavgang has been shaking wiya's sequins - send reviews, and I think we an get it finished pretty quickly, because Reviews are the Crack-Laced Carrots Fed To The Plot Bunnies Of Life!