Is it Easter yet? Is it Easter yet? Is it now? Is it Easter now? How about now? Ah, frigate, I'm gunna eat some hot cross buns anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The problem, Sam reflected as he clambered over another fence, was that Jimi, being half-Hellhound, could walk straight through solid objects – like fences and buildings – whereas he, a mere werewolf, could not. Technically, he could probably literally go through them, but leaving a trail of destroyed fences and holed walls in his wake would attract unwanted attention. Besides, he felt bad enough about the garden furniture: he was pretty sure his claws had gouged that chair.
That problem was really only a problem because of another problem – dogs tended to think in direct lines, rather than street grids. Which, again, wasn't a problem if you were a Hellhound.
Actually, he thought there might be another other problem, too – his wolf-self was pretty good at keeping itself out of sight, but the very size of him made that difficult, and he thought he might've been spotted once or twice, but that large map of the area at that bus stop had been too much of a lucky find to let it slip.
Jimi paused, scenting the air, as Sam steered them towards the street they were looking for.
Somewhere here, he gruffed as quietly as possible to the dog, This is the street, he's somewhere here...
Jimi growled, and trotted across the street, avoiding the pools of light from the street lamps as much as possible. He bounded up the stairs of a house with a well-tended garden. And then Sam smelled it.
The wrong-things. Vampires. And blood.
His brother's blood.
With a snarl, Jimi vanished through the door.
With a crash, Sam followed him.
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Butch's head jerked around at the noise. "What was that?" he yelped.
Lois stood up, and licked a stray bead of blood from her lower lip. "Nothing we can't handle," she said dismissively, "If those kids have called the cops, we just..."
The basement door burst in, and a snarling monster attacked.
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Flicking a switch. That's what it was like, a corner of his mind recalled, it was like flicking a switch. Or more accurately, a switched being flicked. When she'd used that analogy, Sam had thought that Ronnie was talking about the physical transformation.
It turned out, that was a minor part of it.
When he smelled his brother's blood, it was as though his head was suddenly filled with hot, red, hissing liquid metal, and his self-awareness was drowning in it.
His brother's blood. His brother in danger.
His long strides took him past Jimi, his whole being screaming for the fight, for the kill, for bloody murder, for dead meat under his claws and blood in his mouth...
Dean!
That was his last coherent thought before Sam went under, then there was just rage, and the wolf broke free.
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Butch didn't even have time to stand completely upright – he froze, in disbelief and fear, not even managing to get out a scream before the monster roared, drew back one arm, and gutted him.
"Baaaaa..." was all he managed to burble, possibly in annoyance at the untidy fashion in which his guts spilled out over his clutching hands. The slavering werewolf took his head clean off with another strike.
Lois recovered more quickly, brandishing the silvered knife that Dean had stuck into her several times before he'd finally collapsed. Shrieking in anger, fangs bristling, she raised the knife.
The monstrous wolf roared again, grabbed for her arm, then pulled it right off as a child might casually disarticulate an unwanted doll.
She gawped at the dribbling stump as the monster tossed the limb aside, then stalked towards her, rumbling like an angry earthquake. It wasn't in a hurry; it was savouring the moment, drawing out the enjoyment of the kill.
The last thing she saw, and thought, was So many teeth
The wolf bit down, grabbing her body and worrying at it like a terrier with a rat, until her head came away. With another roar of joyous savagery, it lifted what was left, and, long arms bulging with effort, tore the corpse in two, then flung the pieces at the wall, where they smacked wetly into the cement and plopped to the floor.
The monster roared again, looking around for another opponent, someone, something, anything else to maul, when the scent came to him once again.
His brother's blood.
His brother.
Letting out a small yipping cry, the werewolf shook its head…
Dean!
The sight of his brother's bloodied and motionless body sprawled on the floor was more effective than a whole miniature carful of clowns. With a whimper, Sam shook off the wolf, and resumed his human form, dropping to his knees beside Dean, searching for a pulse, while Jimi nudged at his Alpha and whined.
"Don't you dare die on me, jerk," he half-sobbed, finding the too-fast, too-weak beat at his brother's neck. "Don't you dare, don't you dare, not like this, not like this…"
Dean's eyes cracked open, and through the mask of blood that was his face, found a small smile. "S'mmy."
"We'll fix this," Sam told him, tearing desperately at his brother's shirt, wadding the fabric against the wound at the base of his neck, knowing it was a lost cause even as he did so, "We'll get you to Emergency, they'll fix you right up, okay, just, just don't die on me…"
Dean coughed weakly. "Sam," he rasped, "Y'r naked."
Sam had to laugh. "I know, bro," he said, "I'll find a towel or something, I promise, I won't be seen naked, just, just stay awake for me, okay…"
Dean looked to Jimi, who licked anxiously at his face. "Look out f'r him f'r me," he instructed before his eyes slid shut again.
There wasn't time. Even if he had a phone with him, by the time an ambulance got there, it would be too late. The vampires had done a real number on Dean – he'd gone down fighting, but he'd been beaten, and nearly bled out, and there was only so much damage a human body could sustain before it lost the fight.
"Don't leave me," Sam whispered, "Don't die, Dean, please, don't leave me, not like this…"
He felt rather than heard the looming presence behind him as a pair of sweat pants dropped to the floor beside him.
The anguished whimper of a small pup burst from him. Den-dam!
The female werewolf crouched beside him, crooning reassuringly, and made an interrogative sound.
Sam didn't hesitate. "Do it."
With a nod, Ronnie bent down, and sank her teeth into Dean's arm.
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"She'll take care of the vampires," Andrew growled, heading back towards the Winchesters' motel room, "We'll take care of your brother."
Sam sat in the back seat of the truck with Dean cradled against him, a field dressing pressed to the worst of his brother's wounds. "How… how did you…"
"When Ronnie said you were up against vampires, we headed this way," Andrew told him. "She suspected it might go south."
Sam looked down at his brother's pale face. "They were eating him," he snarled, feeling the anger rising again, "Those fucking bloodsuckers, they beat the crap out of him, and they were eating him…" The very memory of that first sight of them crouched over Dean's inert form made his fangs descend.
Andrew let out an angry growl. "Stay human!" he snapped. "For your brother, you stay human! Don't let it out, you fucking stay human, Sam Winchester!"
Sam felt the red metal filling his mind again. "I… I don't know if… they were eating him…" The rage bubbled towards the surface. "It's happening," he yelped, feeling his body try to change, "I can't…"
Andrew rumbled angrily. "It's the wolf," he growled, "It's the full moon, plus it's telling you to shapeshift, to protect your brother – and it's wrong! You shift now, he's screwed. So don't you bitch to me about 'I can't', you damned well do it! You fight it, and you just fucking do it!" I am Alpha! You will submit!
The final snarling assertion got Sam's attention. "How are you…"
"Silver," Andrew hissed, "It works, but it fucking hurts, and if I see so much as your canines again, I will shove some up your whining ass until you get your shit together, do you understand me?"
Sam's eyes dropped back to his brother's face. "Hang on, bro," he whispered.
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Back at the room, Andrew did his best to dress Dean's wounds, with Sam helping to clean him up.
"He's lost a lot of blood," the older man observed, "But we can't take him to Emergency – he'll do his first shapeshift tomorrow night, and there's no way we'll get him out if they get hold of him in this state."
Sam looked up. "How can you tell? Has it already…"
Andrew found time for a grin, and nodded to the bite wound. "Use your nose, kiddo. Plus, that kind of gives it away." He gestured to the silver ring on Dean's right hand. "Get that off him before it does real damage."
Sam carefully lifted his brother's arm, and was horrified to see the skin blistering as he watched. Without thinking, he grabbed for the ring, and yanked it off.
"OW!" he yelped, shaking his own hand, "OWWWW! Ah, shit, that burned!"
"You'll live," snorted Andrew, bending to examine the wound on Dean's head. "What the hell did they whack him with?"
Sam moved around the room, packing up their stuff in preparation to leave, when there was a subtle displacement of air, then Jimi was greeting his sister Joni as she walked right through the door. Sam moved to the door to let Ronnie duck inside, where she shifted back to human.
"If a forensics unit goes over that house, they'll find something," she announced, pulling on the clothes Andrew had dropped for her, "But me and Shovelpaws here have dealt with the carcasses." She eyed Sam thoughtfully. "Of course, I had to scrape up quite a lot. If I'd known, I'd have taken a mop."
Sam didn't look in the least bit repentant. "They had it coming," he shrugged, stuffing things into his duffel.
Andrew finished up, declaring Dean as fit to travel as he was going to get. Sam carefully manoeuvred his brother back into the truck, whilst Ronnie slung their gear into the Impala, let both dogs into the back seat, then opened the driver's door.
"This never happened," she told Sam. "I will bring your brother's Baby back with us, and we will never speak of this again."
Sam found a small smile. "What if he asks how it got there?"
"We did a spell to invoke the aid of the Magic Flatbed Rainbow Fairies," she said with a perfectly straight face. "They waved their magic wands, and brought her to our place on their magical trailer, which is made of magical moonbeams and is pulled by a team of magical unicorns…"
"No homo," interrupted Andrew, tossing a blanket to Sam.
As he tucked the blanket around his brother, Sam wondered what Dean would find more distressing, the idea that Ronnie had driven his Baby, or it had been transported by unicorn.
As the truck began to move, he looked down into Dean's face, and saw a small flush of colour returning, replacing the awful pallor that had resulted from blood loss. He let out a small sigh of relief; one way or the other, he would get a chance to listen to Dean rant. About Ronnie, or about unicorns, he didn't care.
Dean's alive.
That was all that mattered.
Ah, we do love a happy ending here in the Jimiverse - it's the only sort we do.
Deary deary me - what sort of a patient will Dean make? Will he enjoy being mothered (dammed?) by Ronnie? Will he be a grumpy patient? He was always 'the good son' - will he be the same as the youngest of the pack? Or will his werewolf 'teenagerdom' be a storm of hormones and rebellion? Decisions, decisions - feed Mavgang the plot bunny reviews, so we can find out, because Reviews are the Amusingly Dismembered Vampires In The Basement Of Life!*
*If that's a bit grisly for you, try the Amusingly Barely Clothed Winchester Of Your Choice In The Basement Of Life. You deviated pre-verts.