Chapter Twenty-Three
It was like those weird fashion shows that you saw on the TV sometimes, Dean mused, where models with vacant stares paraded up and down wearing things that no normal person would ever wear outside of a bad dream.
After making it through the swimwear, the underwear was something of a relief. Well, to start with. The shorts had certainly started off giving a lot more coverage than the, er, hot-ticket swimwear item. He couldn't imagine anybody actually wearing... that to a pool, or a beach. Not unless you were some sort of exhibitionist, with a fetish for trying to get an all-over suntan...
"Don't fiddle," Linda slapped lightly at his hand as he unconsciously reached to the, well, there was no polite way to put it, the underwear apparently constructed from half a handkerchief and some dental floss.
"Sorry," he apologised, stifling a small yelp as she twanged the scrap of fabric into place. He couldn't imagine anybody wearing this either, unless maybe you were some bodybuilder type whose assets had been shrivelled away by steroid abuse to the point where you could probably move without having to worry about them kind of, er, escaping custody, so to speak. "Do guys really wear this?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Well, they buy it," Linda shrugged, "Whether they wear them isn't something the company cares about."
As she gave him further directions as to where to stand, where to look, what to do, Dean glanced at Lois. She was absorbed with the camera, eyeing him critically, throwing out directions as she studied the screen.
"Now, let's see your bedroom eyes, Dean," she instructed, "Smoulder for me."
The Killer Smile found its way onto his face, but for the first time ever, it didn't go below his chin, let alone below his belt. The Living Sex God usually enjoyed being ogled by, and oglig, women, but this wasn't ogling as such. It's ogling, Jim, but not as we know it. He suppressed another shiver, and reflected sadly that the only part of him that felt at all perky was his chest.
He decided that he didn't like being objectified.
And worst of all, he'd never be able to ogle at a Victoria's Secret underwear parade with the same carefree lust again.
"You're really good at this," Linda commented, spreading a black faux fur rug over a banana lounge whilst Lois fiddled with the lighting and backing screen. "You have a talent, Dean!"
Man up, he told himself, pouting on command, This is part of a job, and it's paying. You've been through worse. For fuck's sake, this is just standing around in front of a camera. Nothing's trying to kill you. Grow a pair.
The stylist handed him the next garment.
It was made from an even smaller handkerchief.
It was a leopard skin print.
Yep, grow a pair, dude. Just don't let them fall out.
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Sam hit a dead end – there was no Butch Schwartz in any directory, local or national, and he hadn't had much luck in poking around in any other publicly available records. It would take some time, and illicit electronic nosiness.
He repressed an urge to put a fist through the screen in frustration, and sat back. That wasn't like him. Sure, it was aggravating when the research for a Hunt ground to a halt, and he ran into brick walls, but he'd never hurt his laptop, his helpless and endlessly helpful laptop, which never let him down, no matter how much Dean tried to clog it up with porn and viruses. it would be like kicking a kitten.
Instead, he turned to the footage of Dean that he'd surreptitiously gathered that morning, and started to get some really good screen caps. He decided to send some to Bobby, with an update on their job.
After a moment of thought, he CC-ed the message to Ronnie. After all, he reasoned, he felt an obligation to keep... his pack informed about what he was doing. Yes, that would be his story, and he would stick to it.
Grinning, he hit 'send'.
Opening another bag of snacks, he started surfing around, looking for the Oompa-Loompa song, to set as the ring tone on his brother's phone. Or maybe he could just write one of his own.
Oompa loompa doopa dee do,
I've got another puzzle for you,
Oompa loompa doopa dee dee,
My brother Dean never listens to me.
What do you get from DHA sprays?
You look like a carrot for several days.
People will look, and a pumpkin they'll see,
Or maybe a Jersey Shore wannabe.
What a Situation...
Oompa loompa doopa dee ate,
Now, every day, ex-fo-li-ate,
Or you'll keep that orangey hue,
Like the Oompa-Loompas doopa dee do.
He tucked the lyrics file away where Dean wouldn't find it, and turned to give Jimi a handful of snacks. He felt cheerful, he felt happy, that bit of writing had amused him enormously.
Jimi wagged his tail, and woofed happily. Perhaps he was picking up on Sam's upbeat mood.
"Or maybe you just wanna go for another w-word," huh?" smiled Sam, thinking that he might enjoy that to. "Let's blow off this electronic box, and go out, huh?"
He pushed back his chair, stretched his arms, and stood up...
But he didn't stop when he got to six-four.
There was a sound of tearing fabric, then his claws were touching the ceiling.
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Dean was strangely thankful to be fully clothed again. Linda gushed effusively about how great he'd been, and set about packing up the jumble of garments strewn about.
"She's right," Lois told him, "You were great. For a first timer, you did really well." She gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if I came across as bossy. It's just that when I'm working, I kinda get in the zone, and it's all about getting the shot as good as it can be." The smile turned a little teasing. "Especially when the subject matter I have to work with is so... promising."
The Living Sex God was irrepressible; the Killer Smile asserted itself once more. "Well, if it was absolutely necessary to parade around in something that barely qualifies as a handkerchief, let alone a garment, I'm glad I could do it in front of an appreciative audience," he replied. Then a huge yawn crept up on him before he could stifle it. "Oh, sorry."
"You wouldn't think it'd be so tiring, would you?" she sympathised. "Don't worry, you'll get accustomed to it. You'll never be a 'virgin' again." She turned back to the camera. "Get a good night's sleep tonight," she suggested.
"Oh?" he cocked an eyebrow, "Do you have something planned for tomorrow?"
"I might have," she purred, "Would you like to come over to my place, and I can show you some of the proofs?"
"I think I'd like that," he replied.
"I thought you might." She cocked her head. "You know, with a tan, it's important to exfoliate properly, if you want to get rid of it, or to keep your skin ready to reapply it. :"And," she dropped her voice, "You have to use an appropriate moisturiser. And you have to make sure you get it... everywhere."
"Well, you bein' a professional," Dean grinned, "I would have to take your advice on that, and I'd be very grateful for any... assistance you could offer."
"I look forward to lending you the benefit of my experience." Lois's smile wasn't just come-hither, it was get-your-ass-over-here. "Why don't you go over there," she nodded towards Linda, "And see if you can grab that leopard skin thong?"
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By the time he got back to the room, Dean knew he was in that state of annoying cheerfulness that would drive his brother nuts. That only made him feel more cheerful. Lois had been right, though, he felt tired. So, he could have a long shower – a long, happy shower – and spend some time watching Dr Sexy, or maybe just singing along to some of his favourite tunes for the express purpose of watching Sam bitchface at him.
"I'm back!" he announced, "And I'm starving, so I'll go and..."
Jimi gave him a whuff of greeting.
So did Sam.
"Ah," Dean eyed his brother. It was amazing, really, how a huge, shaggy monster could manage to look utterly sheepish. It was clearly something he'd somehow inherited from Andrew. "So, uh, I'm gonna take a guess that you've tried changing back without much luck?"
With a small whine, Sam nodded.
"How about beer?" Dean asked. "Did you try beer?"
Follicula the Great Beast extended a long arm to point at a pile of cans in the trash. They all had holes in them from being shotgunned.
Dean sat down on his own bed. "Well," he mused, "Looks like I'm goin' out to get dinner." He frowned thoughtfully. "You don't just want some of Jimi's kibble?"
The patented Sam Winchester Bitchface™ on the lupine face was unmistakeable.
"Okay, okay," Dean grinned, "Something with lots of dead animal in it, right?"
Sam whuffed happily.
"Well, you keep tryin' to make yourself presentable," Dean instructed, "And I'll got get food. And more beer. Maybe you just need more beer."
Sam cocked his head, and managed to do a remarkably good impression of The German Shepherd Head Tilt Of Enquiry.
"Nah, you don't wanna hear about my day," Dean waved a hand dismissively, "What you do wanna hear about it my impending date with Lois. I'm tellin' ya, bro, she was practically throwing herself at me..."
The werewolf whined, let itself fall sideways on the bed, and pulled the pillow over its head.
"Well, you just guard the place, Fluffy, while I go get chow," Dean said.
Fine motor control of his paws in wolf form was something that Sam hadn't had time to acquire, but one long shaggy arm extended towards him, and his baby brother managed a recognisable flip-off.
Dean whipped out his cell, and took a picture. Ronnie would be proud, he thought.
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"I think he's really tried," Dean spoke into his cell, "We've poured enough beer into him to floor a frat boy, but he's stuck."
"I suppose you don't have to worry too much," Ronnie's voice emerged from the speaker, "Provided he stays out of sight. He's clearly got control of himself, so he's no danger to himself or anybody else." She let out a sequence of gruffing sounds, and Sam replied in kind. "Yeah, he says he's tried, but it's just too hard. It's a practice thing – it's hardest to switch back to human at the full moon."
"You scared him human," Dean recalled with a smile.
"That's because I'm his... because I'm a nasty, vicious old bitch who's scared Alpha males before," Ronnie explained. "I do scary-angry well." There was a thoughtful pause. "I suppose you could try singing at him, the vocalisations you make when you claim to be 'singing' are pretty damned terrifying."
"Cow," Dean humphed. "What about pictures of clowns?" Sam visibly winced. "Whaddya think, Sam, I get some pictures of clowns for you to look at? Get you scared straight?"
Sam managed his recognisable flip-off again.
"That reminds me," Dean mused, "There's a pic I really gotta send to you..."
"How's the job going?" Ronnie pressed. "You better have your carcasses back here two nights from now."
"Just haven't pulled it together," Dean told her, "But I got a hot lead on a hot date tomorrow night."
Ronnie sighed. "How many times has Sam told you that when you're researching a Hunt, you're supposed to use your Upstairs Brain?"
"I'm using my Hunter's wiles," Dean grinned audibly. "And it'll give me an opportunity to suss out whether Lois is involved. Sam found a picture of Butch with the last version of this agency, so he's a common factor."
Sam let out a string of Canine.
"He thinks it's weird how there's otherwise a lack of photos of Butch," Ronnie translated, "And he couldn't find his home address either. He'll do some more digging tomorrow."
"Otherwise, it might be the old-fashioned follow-him-home," admitted Dean. "Which I hope will not mean I have to cancel my hot date."
"I just don't wanna know," Ronnie snapped, "I really don't." Sam whined in agreement. "Although if you're looking for a way to frighten your baby brother back to two legs, one of your Chicks I Have Banged stories might do it. Crap knows, I find them utterly terrifying."
"That's a great idea!" chirped Dean. "What about it, Sam?"
Sam fixed Dean with Auxiliary Werewolf Bitchface™ #1 (Grrrr Grrrrrrmph Grrrrrrr Rumph Ruffff Grrrrrruff, Dean), and held up one enormous paw. Slowly and deliberately, he let the wicked claws extend from his fingertips. "Guess that's a no, then. Your loss, dude."
"As to a more permanent solution," Ronnie cut in, "We've brewed up the countercurse. It wasn't all that difficult – Andrew could read the incantation easily enough. All you gotta do is get Sam back here to drink it."
There was something in her tone he couldn't identify. "Thanks, Ronnie," Dean replied. "Hey, uh, how did you get hold of a tooth, a claw and a whisker from his, uh, sire?"
"We all lose teeth from time to time," she told him, "I try to collect them for Bobby, because there's serious mojo in werewolf teeth. Especially from an Alpha male. The claw, I just clipped an end off one of his when I was trimming Joni's. The whisker, he says that was the worst. Honestly, you'd have thought I was pulling out one of his kidneys, not just a specialised hair that will grow back, what a sook, the yelp must've been audible for a radius of ten miles..."
A deep rumbling, like a resentful volcano, filtered through the speaker, suggesting that Andrew was also stuck in wolf form at the full moon, and did not appreciate being called a sook.
"Well, you are," Ronnie insisted. "Anyway, we're locked and loaded at this end."
"Tell Andrew I said thanks, and I appreciate him bein' willing to take one for the team," Dean said with the sincerity of a man who is only too familiar with having hairs plucked out of sensitive places. "We both do."
"You can tell him yourself in a couple of days," Ronnie stated firmly. "Good luck, fellas." With a last whuffing growl to Sam, she rang off.
"Well, looks like we're havin' a quiet night in," Dean observed. "You aint leavin' until you're human again, and I sure aint leavin' you here by yourself..."
Sam looked sheepish again, made his way to the door, and barked sharply.
Dean gave him a look. "No," he reiterated, "We cannot risk you bein' seen, Sam."
Sam looked longingly at the door, and barked again.
"Come on, you're meant to be the sensible one here!" Dean complained, "The job will just have to wait until you're back to you!"
Whining, Sam stared meaningfully at the pile of beer cans, and crossed his legs.
"Oh, God," groaned Dean, "Are you sure you can't hold it?"
Sam whined even more urgently.
Dean sighed. It was fully dark outside. He opened the door, looked around carefully, and turned back to his brother. "Okay, the coast is clear," he said. "Stick to the shadows, and be quick. The last thing I need is somebody seein' you, and callin' the local animal control ranger. Or, worse, knockin' on the door wanting to know where they can get a puppy."
Oompa loompa lampito do,
I've got a writing offer for you,
Oompa loompa lampito dee
Send me reviews and maybe we'll see
Dean in the thong with a leopard skin spots,
Seeking a game of Joining The Dots,
Sam do a Bitchface and a big huff
As he walks to his bed in the buff
Denizens, they are depraved,
Ommpa loompa lampito dore,
Feeding the bunny will make it say more,
Please send me a lovely review
Like the oompa loompa Denizens do.