Poor Mavgang the plot bunny has been floundering around under piles of OH&S documentation and dog obedience club paperwork, but thanks to your maaaaaahvelous reviews, wiya did manage to surface for long enough to dictate another chapter...
Chapter Nineteen
The day started off grumpily for Dean.
He had spent another boys' night in with Jimi, eating curry samosas and spicy Indian snack mix from an Indian place at the end of the block that did surprisingly good take-out, while he watched Mexican soap operas on cable. When the Indian food started working, he sat on Sam's duffel, taking a fragrant revenge and chortling to Jimi about the pack Alpha marking his territory. Jimi just wagged his tail and snuggled his Alpha, enjoying his company. Dean then had the vengeful pleasure of seeing his baby brother wrinkle his nose in disgust when he came home after midnight and went to change into his sleep sweats.
Dean insisted that they go to a different diner for breakfast, but their waitress gravitated towards Sam again, giving him an inviting smile and a phone number.
"I just hope you're bein' careful," growled Dean.
"I am," Sam assured him, "It's a couple of days yet to the full moon, and I make sure I don't think any, you know, wolfy thoughts – I haven't had any complaints, although Eva did say she thought I was a beast in the sack, but I think she meant it as a compliment…"
"Yaaargh!" Dean spat out a mouthful of coffee. "That's not what I meant! I meant, you know, the last thing we want is for you to leave a miniature baby boom in your wake. The idea of a bunch of shaggy little Samlets is scary enough, the idea of a bunch of shaggy little werewolf Samlets is just not something we can risk. Shit, the idea of havin' to come back here in the future to start shooting my nieces and nephews, that is not something I wanna hafta do."
"Oh, that," Sam nodded in understanding. "Yeah, no worries on that front. Although it raises an interesting question. With only one parent being a werewolf, would a kid be a werewolf too, you know, born a wolf? Or does that need both parents? They used to live in family groups, communities, but I don't know if the children were born to it, or whether they were bitten by their parents or something at a certain age. And if they're born to it, are they able to control it, and cognisant with it, or is that something they have to learn?"
"Well, don't go settin' up any long-term experiments to satisfy your curiosity," ordered Dean. "The last thing I want is any more frigging werewolves in the family – coping with what you do to my car is bad enough."
"Nothing you didn't do to my duffel," muttered Sam resentfully. "And I don't do it on purpose."
"Hell, it's bad enough that one of Jimi Senior's pups adopted one," Dean went on. "Seriously, I don't think I could cope with bein' related to one any closer than that."
However, things appeared to be improving markedly for Dean when he headed back to Real People later that day. Butch welcomed him warmly, and introduced himself to Lois the photographer. He let the Killer Smile slide into place as they shook hands.
"Oh my God, look at that smile," she purred.
"The camera is going to love him!" declared Butch.
"Why don't you come on through," she led Dean past the front desk to a room that turned out to be a studio, giving him time to check out and appreciate her very shapely figure as she bent down to take a form out of a desk drawer. "Now this is a list of the kind of jobs you might be willing to do," she began, with a smile, "For example, how do you feel about getting your shirt off?"
"Well, if you think I might have what you're lookin' for," Dean grinned back.
"Well, there's only one way to find out," she said archly, as she began to set up her camera and run through checking the lights.
"So, uh, how do they look?" he asked, after she'd taken enough shots.
"I think Butch is right," Lois smiled up at him, taking the camera and hooking it to a PC and printer set-up, "I think the camera loves you. And I think that clients will, too." She arched an eyebrow at him. "You're a very attractive man, Dean."
"You're a very engaging woman, Lois," replied the Living Sex God.
"So, you're new to Portland?" she asked casually, perusing his file as she scanned through the files on screen.
"Yep," he replied, "Well, newish. All alone in a big city. I'm hoping to make some friends."
Lois gave him a smile that matched his own. "Well, I'm really busy these next few days, got a lot of work to get through, but…" she slid a business card out of a desk drawer, "If you call me next week, maybe I can show you some local sights."
"I think I'd like that," he said.
"I don't like to be disappointed," she commented archly, "I hope you won't let me down, Dean."
"I think you'll find I'm not at all disappointing," he commented, and she laughed as they headed out of the studio.
"Lois," Butch wagged a finger at her, "Don't stare at him like you want to eat him, you'll scare him off…"
"Oh, it's okay, Butch," grinned Dean, "I don't scare easy."
"Good," whispered Lois for his ears alone, giving his butt a surreptitious pinch as she went back to the studio.
The Living Sex God returned to the motel room he was sharing with his brother, content in the knowledge that his mojo was alive and kicking.
"You look like the cat that got the cream," Sam commented. "No, belay that – you look like the Dean Winchester who got laid."
"I look like the Living Sex God," smirked Dean, "Who is the Living Sex God. Which is pretty much the same thing, I guess."
"Of course," Sam rolled his eyes, "So, I think I've managed to link two more of the disappearances to this agency."
"Great!" grinned Dean, clearly in a chipper mood, "We can celebrate by hittin' a bar tonight."
Sam looked at his watch. "There's time for me to go and check out Real People today," he decided. "Just another guy who wonders if he can make some extra money."
Dean's expression darkened. "Just stay away from Lois," he growled.
"Lois?" Sam blinked. "Who's Lois?"
"The photographer," Dean replied, "And she's already made arrangements with the Living Sex God as soon as she has some free time, during which time you will be far too shaggy to be of any use to her anyway, even if she likes it doggy style..."
Sam gave his brother a Bitchface #3™ (I Wish You'd Let Your Upstairs Brain Drive More Often). "Dean, I'm goin' as part of a job, not to hit on the staff! Something you might remember when we're on a case," he added sourly.
"I didn't," Dean said smugly, "She hit on me."
"Whatever," sighed Sam, closing the laptop. "Just stay the hell away from my stuff while I'm not here, Mr Methane."
Dean gave him an angelic smile, which did not reassure him in the least.
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They found a bar that night to play some pool, then Dean quizzed Sam about his experience at Real People.
"I see what you mean about Butch," Sam smiled ruefully. "He's, uh, colourful."
"You were gone a while," Dean noted, "Did you meet Lois?"
"Yeah, I did," Sam replied.
"Well?" demanded Dean.
Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean, we were introduced, she was polite, and she did a short beginner's folio shoot for me," he told his big brother. "Butch thinks I can probably pick up commercial work."
"And?" pressed Dean.
"And, she was completely professional, and seemed to know what she was doing," Sam went on. "She was friendly, but not forward, and very helpful. I'd have to say that her behaviour was entirely appropriate at all times."
"Well, of course," humphed Dean, apparently mollified, "She wouldn't be interested, knowin' that she's already made arrangements with the Living Sex God… what?" he watched as Sam's face clouded.
"There's something about the place I can't put my finger on," Sam told him, "It's, I dunno, it's like the place… smells… wrong, somehow."
Dean's ears pricked. "What, like, you think they might have corpses stashed under the floorboards or something?"
"No, it's not dead meat," Sam humphed, "I'd pick up on that, it's…"
"What?" Dean said. "Are you sure it aint just something that Butch dabs behind his ears? Can you describe it?"
"I can't describe a smell," Sam complained. "You might as well as ask me what a colour sounds like. It just… the place made my hackles go up."
Dean looked at his brother anxiously. "Jesus, Sam, it's not the full moon yet…"
"Figuratively, you jerk," Sam humphed, finishing his drink and gesturing to the bartender, "You want another one?"
"Yeah," Dean hurriedly drained his own drink, "If you're buyin' with your ill-gotten gains; I heard you growl at that guy while you were playin' pool."
"He was trying to psyche me out," Sam shrugged, "I figured I'd just return the favour."
The bartender brought their drinks, and flashed them a smile. "I like her," Dean noted happily, "She's got great legs. And great tops of her legs. And great above the tops of her legs."
Sam glanced at her too. "She's very attractive," he agreed, turning to watch the other patrons of the bar, "If you wanna stick around and watch her, I might wait a bit, then see if I can pick up another game…"
Another patron, who had clearly already imbibed a certain amount of intoxicating beverage, laughed loudly, and stumbled against Sam. Dean was instantly on the alert as the guy whirled around, presenting an angry face to his baby brother.
"Hey, watch where you're goin!" snapped the guy, who looked like some sort of biker.
"I'm just sittin' here," Sam said equably, taking another drink.
"You spilled my beer, asshole," sneered the other guy, "You owe me an apology. And another beer."
"You spilled it yourself," Sam pointed out, looking away. "Don't look at me."
Under such circumstances, Sam's usual strategy was peace-making, which often worked, but Dean was poised to leap into action as the burly man snarled and stepped up to his brother. "You little shit," he growled, "I oughta break your…"
Sam didn't growl. He didn't stand up. He didn't even move. He just did The Stare.
The colour drained from He-Man's face.
Then Sam smiled. "Maybe you should go home," he suggested in a friendly tone.
Biker dude couldn't get out of there fast enough.
"Way to go little bro!" chortled Dean, as Sam finished his drink, "Hey, for a moment there, I thought he was gonna JESUS SAM! TEETH!"
"Huh?" Sam turned to his brother.
"Teeth, bro!" Dean waggled his fingers in front of his mouth. "Your fucking fangs are showing!"
"Oh." Sam concentrated, and the long canines slid out of sight. "Uh, sorry."
"Let's hope nobody noticed," Dean muttered, grateful for the low lighting of the bar. "Don't do that. You just knocked five years off my life."
"Have another drink," suggested Sam, asking the bartender to leave the bottle. "This is good stuff."
Dean watched his little brother pour himself a double, and knock half of it back. "Yeah," he agreed, holding out his own glass, into which Sam sloshed a generous amount of amber liquid, "Just be careful, lightweight, I don't want to have to carry your ginormous Sasquatch wolfy ass out to the car."
"I will be," Sam promised. "So, what's our next move on this case?"
"Maybe a little bit of B&E?" Dean mused, giving the bartender the Killer Smile as she found another reason to brush past him again, smiling up at him, "See if we can find anything in the paperwork at Real People that might suggest what happened to the women who disappeared."
"There's one guy missing, too," Sam reminded him.
"Huh," sniffed Dean, "I saw that picture you found – he was so pretty he might as well have been a girl. What?"
"Nothing," grinned Sam, "Just makes me think that if some fugly is willing to grab pretty boys, then maybe your harebrained scheme of gettin' yourself snatched is gonna work."
"Bitch." Seeing Sam finish his drink, Dean quickly drained his own. "Hey, where are you goin'?"
"I told you," Sam replied, "Think I'll pick up another game of pool. Hey, get more wings, will ya? And some waffle fries."
"Raht away, Massa," warbled Dean, as Sam scowled, rolled his eyes, and topped up his own glass before drifting back towards the pool tables.
He ordered more bar snacks for his apparently starving brother, and the bartender paused, eyeing him in amused sympathy. "Your friend abandoned you?"
"He's my brother," Dean grinned ruefully, "And he'll be back when he thinks there's food. But for the moment," he leaned in casually, "There's just you and me."
"Well, that sounds cosy," she chuckled. As she leaned on the bar he got a good look at her chest. "Actually, now I've got you all alone," she began suggestively, "Maybe I can talk to you for a minute."
"Oh, I definitely got a minute for you, darlin'," the Killer Smile breached.
"That's convenient," she went on, "Because there's something I've been wanting to ask."
"Ask away," his eyebrows danced over the rim of his glass.
"Well, seeing as I've got you all alone here," she leaned in, "What's your brother's name?"
Reviews are the Winchester Of Your Choice Smiling At You Across The Waffle Fries In The Bar Of Life!*
*If it's Sam, he doesn't have to have his canines showing. If he is, I suggest that you let him have first go at the waffle fries.