Chapter The Last
"Don't be such a baby," tutted Andrew, lifting the tweezers. Ronnie let out a sad whine.
"She said you screamed like a little bitch," Dean pointed out helpfully around a mouthful of brownie.
"It was a very manly scream," Andrew insisted, inspecting his pair-bond's whiskers. "And we only need one. Oh, hey, you want me to pull out one of the grey ones?"
The snarl on her face suggested that she did not appreciate having her first grey whiskers pointed out.
Andrew grabbed one with the tweezers, and pulled.
YAIPE!
"Gotcha," Andrew grunted, satisfied, peering at the whisker he held in the tweezers. "So, we can get the countercurse brewed for Dean."
"Amen," muttered Sam. Somehow, becoming a werewolf had made his big brother even more annoying.
Ronnie shifted back to human, holding the side of her face. "Fuck me," she grumbled, "And I thought waxing my top lip bloody hurt…"
"So don't do it," Andrew suggested, carefully putting the whisker in the jar holding one of Ronnie's lost teeth, and a claw clipping.
"But I don't want to have whiskers when I'm human," Ronnie almost wailed, pulling her clothes back on. "It's so damned unfair."
"You worry too much," Andrew told her, "When you love somebody for their game play, the graphics aren't important."
Sam wandered into the kitchen. "That's kinda profound," he opined, "In a really 21st century way." He sniffed. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"
"Experimenting," Dean replied from his place at the kitchen bench. "It's up to a woman to decide what she wants to do with her body," he intoned piously. "Although if there's goin' to be Victoria's Secret involved, a bit of landscaping is appreciated. I picked up this chick, once, and she'd waxed into the shape of…"
"Aaaaaaargh!" yelped Sam and Ronnie simultaneously.
"A gentleman would not discuss such things," rumbled Andrew.
"I aint no gentleman," Dean grinned, "I am the Living Sex God."
"The Living Snacks God, more like," remarked Sam, "You haven't stopped eating for the last week."
"I'm recovering, Sam, I'm recovering," sniffed Dean disdainfully, picking up another brownie from the plate on the table. "From wounds sustained in the family business. And chocolate brownies have medicinal qualities."
"That's a liver one," Ronnie pointed out. Dean shrugged, and bit into it.
"I'm recovering from last night," griped Sam. Dean had decided that his wounds were adequately healed for him to go to a bar to hustle some pool. It had turned ugly after just a couple of games. Dean had attracted attention: women swarmed around him, and men wanted to start fights with him. Sam had dragged him out of the bar before he broke too many noses. "It's like you're in heat, or something. Is that even possible? For a male werewolf to go into heat?"
"I can't help it if my Alpha awesomeness makes every woman within a radius of half a mile want to throw herself at me," Dean complained, "And it aint my fault if a whole bunch of guys in the same grid square happen to be incredibly insecure about their masculinity and their relationships."
"You were doin' it on purpose," Sam grumbled. "Don't think I didn't see what you did in the parking lot."
"Just asserting my awesomeness," Dean grinned.
"Dean, you took a leak on the wheels of three cars!"
"At least he didn't chase 'em," Andrew pointed out.
"Whatever," griped Sam, "I am not goin' to a bar with you again without giving you a good spray of Febreze, or Nilodor, or something." He sniffed again. "Speaking of disgusting smells, what exactly are you doing?"
"I told you," Dean answered, "I'm experimenting." He picked up the pot of hot water, and a truly vile stench hit Sam's nose.
"Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck is that?" Sam spluttered, trying to breathe through his mouth.
"It's a combination of houndswort and coffee," Dean told him, carefully pouring some of the hideous concoction into a mug, then tasting it thoughtfully, swishing it noisily around his mouth. "Ass tea coffee. Oh, yes, we have brew-off…"
"Let me try," said Ronnie, taking the mug and taking a sip. "Oh. Oh. Dean, this is…"
"Gross?" suggested Sam. "Disgusting? Putrid? Utterly vile? A clear breach of the International Chemical Weapons Convention?"
"Absolutely delicious!" she enthused, handing the mug to Andrew, who sniffed, the slurped.
"That's amazing," he stared into the mug and smiled, "That is absolutely amazing! This is… this is genius!"
"You're a prodigy, pup," Ronnie pronounced in a doting tone. Dean beamed.
Sam let out a sad noise that was remarkably canine. "Am I gonna have to put up with the smell of ass tea coffee wherever we stop?"
"Only for a couple more weeks," shrugged Dean, "And only until I perfect my next project."
"Your next project?" Sam echoed with a sinking feeling.
"Ass tea beer!" chirped Dean brightly.
"You don't have time to mess around with home brewing," Sam snapped. "Thankfully. You're making enough bad smells already. And don't you dare try to blame it on the dog!"
"Huh," Dean sniffed disdainfully, "You aint in a position to complain, Burrito Boy. And don't try to tell me that it's just your stomach readjusting to your vegiesaurus tendencies, you're just a toxic freak."
"It's those liver brownies," grumbled Sam, "Or maybe it's just that you've always been part animal."
"I think I'll miss 'em," Dean sighed, "Or maybe I won't miss 'em, because once I'm, uh, unwolfed, I won't want 'em anymore." He brightened. "But the chocolate ones will still be awesome. So it's all good." Satisfied with this logic, he reached for another brownie…
Just as Andrew did the same.
There was one left on the plate.
"Oh, shit," mumbled Sam. "Guys, do you think this time…"
"Ahem," went Ronnie pointedly, reminding Sam to butt out.
With a resigned sigh, Sam watched the same scene he'd watched daily for several days play out. If it wasn't over the last brownie, it was over the last cookie, or the last potato cake, or the last piece of fried chicken.
Andrew and Dean regarded each other over the plate.
Andrew did The Stare.
Sam concentrated hard, willing his brother to back down, and let his den-Alpha break the brownie in half, which Andrew would definitely do, then they could join forces to pester Ronnie, and double-team her into baking some more, which she would do with a minimum of token grumbling, since she had done nothing but dote indulgently on Dean since he had been turned.
Dean didn't withdraw his hand.
Andrew let out an almost-subsonic rumble of assertion.
Dean growled back in an equally deep tone, the way he'd done each time.
But this time, he also did The Stare right back.
"Oh, God, not again," groaned Sam at this escalation of defiance, as Ronnie sighed, and turned her back.
Calmly, still watching each other, Andrew and Dean stood, and silently began to shuck out of their clothes, folding them tidily as they went. Then they headed for the basement door; Andrew politely held it open, and Dean gave him a small nod of thanks as they went down the stairs.
A few moments later, posturing growls were heard, then the thumping of two Alpha males exchanging blows.
"They won't hurt each other," Ronnie reminded Sam, strolling to the door to watch the two enormous werewolves wrestling. "There won't be any claws. It's just like they're sparring. They'll wrestle around with each other for a while…"
"He never learns," complained Sam, wincing as Andrew back-handed Dean against the wall. "It's like the rock-paper-scissors thing, he never learns. Dean might have natural asshole talent, but Andrew's had more practice at bein' an asshole on four legs, and this is his den, he is Dean's den-sire…"
There was a meaty thwump as two masses of three hundred-plus pounds smacked together.
"I take it as a compliment, that they think my cooking is worth this sort of pissing contest," Ronnie shrugged, watching Dean get in a blow that threw Andrew backwards. The older wolf rolled, but Dean pounced on him like a cat on a mouse before he could regain his feet. "Oh, well played, pup."
"I don't know how you can be so calm about this," wailed Sam, thinking that it was probably just as well that the Winchesters would revert to human, because he couldn't bear the thought of watching these 'arguments' every time they visited Casa Jaeger. He had a sudden stab of guilt, and wondered if this had been what it was like for his brother to watch his constant clashing with their father.
Ronnie smiled, and rumbled to him in Canine. His understand was receding now that he was human again, but that one he remembered. It is the way of things.
Age and treachery came to the fore over youth and strength: Andrew reached out, using the leverage of having such long arms, and flipped himself over, pinning Dean beneath him. He roared his authority – I AM ALPHA! – and bared his teeth to rest his fangs against Dean's neck. With a yelp, Dean submitted.
A few moments later, they tramped back up the stairs. Andrew's nose was bleeding, and Dean had the start of a spectacular black eye. Without a word they dressed, then sat down at the table.
Andrew reached for the last brownie, broke it in half, and offered a piece to Dean.
"So, I thought maybe we could head back to the steak house for dinner tonight," Ronnie said, as if nothing more than a lull in the conversation had taken place.
Dean's face lit up at the suggestion. "Awesome!" he enthused. "I'm gonna knock Samantha here off second place." He eyed Andrew cheekily. "Might even out-eat you, old man."
"In your dreams, pup," replied Andrew mildly.
"I'll take that as a yes, then," smiled Ronnie. "It's okay, Sam," she consoled the younger Winchester, "They do a really good chicken salad, too."
"Rabbit food for the herbivore," snorted Dean dismissively, pouring himself some more ass tea coffee. He hefted the pot, and made an interrogative noise at Andrew, who whuffed back. Dean poured him a mug.
"So, now you two have finished measuring your dicks," Ronnie resumed, "Would somebody head up onto the roof and see if we're missing some tiles? I found one in the yard this morning, and…"
"Hey, we got car racing to watch!" protested Dean.
"And beer to drink!" added Andrew.
"There's an Indy 500 marathon on cable," Dean told her, "It'll be totally awesome!"
"Well, you can go check the roof, then come back and watch your racing," she said.
"Can't it wait?" wheedled Andrew.
"It's not like it's gonna rain in the next day or so," added Dean helpfully.
Ronnie smiled at her pair-bond sweetly.
Then she did The Stare.
With a sigh, Andrew stood up. "So, where do you think this tile came down from?" he asked.
They watched Andrew and Dean fetch the ladder, then Dean held it as Andrew made his way up to check the roof. "Car racing," she grunted, "I've never understood the attraction of watching cars go round and round in circles."
"Me either," Sam agreed, "It's a waste of hydrocarbon fuel. It's boring! I've never been able to understand how anybody could spend several hours just watching cars do exactly the same thing, over and over." He peered out the window; Dean tossed the tile up to Andrew. "We should probably head for Bobby's in a day or two," he continued, "We've got the stuff for Dean's countercurse, and we've been in your hair for long enough."
"My den is your den," she chuckled, "Feel free to drop in any time you're passing by." Pup of my den.
He recognised the fond familiar term. "You know, I don't know what it's like to have a Mom," he began hesitantly, "But you have been an awesome den-dam."
She turned to him. "You think?" she asked uncertainly.
"I know," he smiled down at her. "And for the record, I think you'd make a great Mom."
Ronnie let out a snort. "Since I started training as a Hunter, I've never thought about having kids," she confided, her expression wistful. "And after I was bitten, well, I was pretty sure that was the end of any chance of it." She grinned. "For the record, you were an awesome pup."
"More awesome than Dean?" he pressed jokingly.
Ronnie hummed judiciously. "Well, he does have control of the shapeshift," she reminded him, "And he invented ass tea coffee…"
There was a burst of Canine 'bad language' from outside, then some shouting, and finally a cheer of accomplishment.
"Yes," decided Ronnie. "More awesome than your brother."
The intrepid roof repairers returned. Dean headed for the refrigerator, and Andrew headed for the pantry and the snacks.
"You ladies feel free to join us any time," Dean brandished the beer as they headed for the living room.
"Uh, maybe not," Sam rolled his eyes. "I guess I could start looking for our next job…"
Ronnie forestalled him. "You know, Bobby has been on at me for ages to show somebody how I do my silver casting," she said. "Those idiots will be in there shouting at the screen for hours. You wanna head to the workshop, and see how it's done?"
Sam's face lit up. "Great!" he enthused. "I'll bring my phone, maybe get some pictures as you go. Hey, could we move the cameras, maybe capture some footage? Andrew said something about having to insulate your sprue plates, because silver has a much higher melting temperature than lead. Does it oxidise in the moulds? Do you polish it off after casting, or coat the moulds before you start?"
She picked up her truck's keys. "Watch and learn, pup," she smiled, "Watch and learn."
THE END
*squelch*
Ta-dah! And with that, we squelch Mavgang, the marathon-running gender-confused bunny who dictated this extremely long story. Hopefully, the next one will be shorter. Le sigh – and there's bound to be a next one. The one about RJ and Frankie getting a trail bike running, then going to rescue their dads, seems to have the nod from the Denizens (although that little bunny has turned shy, and is hiding under the dishwasher and won't come out, but I'll see what I can do). Other than that, are there any further fanfic tropes I'm yet to tackle?
It looks as though Option C – a Were!chesters AU AU (since the Jimiverse is already completely AU) gets the gig for our Special Bonus Feature. So, is it just a routine Hunt for the Werechesters, or do they actually avert the next Apocalypse?
Send your thoughts and your reviews, because Reviews are the Delicious Brownies Worth Brawling Over In The Kitchen Of Life!