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Part One.
"No, not azaleas," Sam said for about the fifteenth time. Dean scowled down at the ratty bush.
"Fine. What the fuck is it, then?"
"Those are mums, Dean." Sam sounded like he had a headache. Dean knew he had one.
"I think I'm fucking allergic to plants," Dean muttered, stomping down the sidewalk. Jesus, what was wrong with people, anyway? Why in hell did they have to put so much stuff in their yards? What was wrong with plain old grass, maybe one of those pink flamingos? "If we haven't found azaleas by the end of the block, man, I'm outta here. I need a drink." At least it was only one side of the street – the other side was the cemetery, nicely creepy in the moonlight.
"We've only got about four more blocks to go," Sam said, squinting down at his map. He flicked the flashlight beam over the next couple of houses, trying to find a number. "What the hell is it with people who don't put their number on their house?"
"What the hell is it with people with numbers?" Dean grumbled. The whole place was giving him hives. If you stood between two houses you could practically touch both of them with your spread arms and that was just wrong.
"It's so nine one one can find them," Sam replied absently, taking off down the street. A car roared past and then screeched to a stop halfway down the block and Sam broke into a jog. "Hey, does that car look familiar?"
"Huh?" Dean trotted after Sam, frowning. "Oooh, yeah, that car looks real familiar." They both stopped and stared at the DeSoto. It had jumped the curb and was halfway on the sidewalk, engine ticking. Music was playing inside at a remarkable volume. Then the door opened and it got louder and Dean rolled his eyes, exasperated. So much for subtle. It wasn't even nine o'clock – half the street was probably calling the cops at that very moment.
Xander was climbing out of the car, hampered by a bulging backpack. He looked a little sea-sick. When he saw Dean and Sam his mouth came open and then he heaved a silent sigh and stood up, slamming the door shut.
"Hey, wow – imagine seeing you guys!" He spoke way too loudly and Dean cringed. Jesus.
"Yeah, imagine," Dean said.
Xander made a 'Huh?' face at him. "Oh – wait – hang on." Xander reached up and pulled a pair of bright yellow foam earplugs out of his ears – worked his jaw for a moment, stuffing the plugs into his pocket. "His music kind of hurts my ears."
"Kind of hurts my soul", Dean said, grimacing, as the singer wailed her way to a jangling silence.
"You don't like Souixsie, you don't have a bloody soul," Spike said, climbing out of the driver's seat and glaring at Dean and Sam over the roof of his car. "What are you buggers doing here?"
"Our job," Dean snapped. He had the sudden urge to punch something. Never good.
"We're just hunting down the person who made the loup-garou," Sam said, shooting Dean a warning look. Dean glared back.
"Oh, well, that's all right then – don't want to interfere with your hunt." Spike slammed the car door shut and stalked around the hood of the car. "C'mon, Xander – don't want to get in the way of a hunt. Might get hurt. Might see something nasty –"
"Jesus, you are pissing me off," Dean snarled, advancing. Okay, not punch something. Punch Spike.
"As if I give a fuck," Spike snarled back. He dug cigarettes and lighter out of his coat and lit up, not giving an inch when Dean loomed over him. "Can't abide amateurs," he sneered, glaring up at Dean.
"Speak for yourself, blondie –"
"Whoa! Hey, okay." Xander was suddenly there, insinuating himself in between Dean and Spike, hands upraised in the universal 'really don't want to fight' position. The one Dean usually ignored.
"Dean – we need to get going." Sam was insinuating right along with Xander, pushing Dean back with his shoulder and looking pissed off. At Dean, which was totally unfair.
"So do we, so do we – people to find, things to steal – uh! Borrow, just borrow, ha ha." Xander was shoving Spike away, and Spike was letting him, gimlet stare boring into Dean as the two of them moved away up the sidewalk.
"Just stay the hell out of our way," Dean muttered, and let Sam spin him around by the arm. "Jesus, Sam, knock it off!"
"Stop acting like a fucking dog pissing all over its territory," Sam hissed, striding along on his fucking legs. His long fucking legs taking long, angry strides so Dean had to walk extra-fast to keep up.
"We don't need those guys running around making a fucking racket! They'll tip off the witch!"
"We don't even know it is a witch!" Sam stopped dead, exasperated, and Dean almost plowed into him.
"She made her lawn-care guy into a loup-garou, Sam! I'd say there's something witchy going on!"
"She's – oh fuck."
"What – what?" Sam was staring furiously at the next house up and Dean followed his stare. Watched Spike and Xander stomp up the sidewalk and knock on the door. "So, they're visiting a friend here or something, what the hell?"
"That house has azaleas, Dean. It's the only house we've seen with azaleas so far. Mangled azaleas." Sam's stare could have melted steel and Dean sighed and took out the EMF meter. It squealed alarmingly, lights going right into the red.
"Oh man! This sucks." Spike and Xander were going inside now – disappearing into shadow – and then the old woman that had answered the door looked over at Dean and Sam and grinned, her eyes winking the yellow-green of a marauding coyote. No way was she human. "Maybe she'll eat 'em and then we can kill her while she's sleeping it off," Dean said, stuffing the EMF meter away.
Sam smacked the back of his head. "We're not killing her. We're not killing anybody. We just have to find the talisman she's using and destroy it."
"Yeah, right, whatever." Dean strode away from Sam, up the walk and right up to the door, Sam scrambling to catch up. Dean lifted his hand and rapped sharply on the door.
"Dude – what are you doing?"
"I'm knocking, Sam. It's this thing you do –"
"I know that – stop it!" Sam grabbed Dean's upraised fist. "We're supposed to be keeping a low profile about this!" he said in a strangled sort of whisper. There was a thump from inside.
"Too fucking late now, isn't it? She saw us when the boy wonders went in. Time to just –" Dean drew his .45, flicking off the safety. "Just go in kickin' ass and takin' names."
"Oh for God's sake –" Sam started, but then the door splintered out onto the porch, clipping them both and spilling Xander down the stairs. A furious growling was coming from inside, followed by a shout and then a roar.
"There's animals in there!" Xander yelled, hauling himself upright and brushing splinters off his chest.
"Maybe she made more than one?" Sam wondered, looking at Dean.
"Bet she did." Dean's hand went out, connecting solidly with Sam's chest as Sam started inside. "Whoa, dude – where do you think you're going?"
"We have to help him, Dean!"
"Who, Spike? I don't think so."
"He'll be fine," Xander said, coming up the stairs. "It really pisses him off when I get thrown through doors."
"Does that happen to you a lot?"
Xander grinned at Dean – adjusted the eye patch. "A lot more than I'd like, let me tell you." There was another roar from inside and then a smash of something fragile and probably expensive breaking. "Ah ha. Wait for it..." He held up his finger, head cocked in a listening pose. There was a series of thuds and snarls, followed by a ragged howl and then a bang – a flare of too-bright light. Then there was Spike, staggering out through the hole where the door used to be, cursing and crashing into the door-jamb, blood on his t-shirt and knuckles – on his lip. Xander shoved past Dean and Sam and grabbed him.
"Spike? You okay?"
"Bloody witch used some kind of bloody light spell and there were animals in there!"
"Yeah, kinda noticed."
"What kind of animals?" Sam asked, and Dean wanted to smack him.
"Who cares?"
Sam gave Dean his best 'oh my God, you are so dumb' look. "Well, you know, we might, since this person is making loup-garous and we need to stop them."
Spike was patting Xander down in a way that Dean found uncomfortably familiar and he looked away from Sam's smirk.
"Loup-garous, at least four. Silly bitch. Have to make her undo the spell, then we get the books," Spike muttered. Xander nodded along.
Dean wanted to punch him too, now. "What books? Make her do what? What the hell is going on!" There was a sudden, low snarling from the shadows of the hall and Spike hustled Xander down the stairs.
"Make her release 'em. Steal all her shite – s'what we do," Spike yelled back.
Xander twisted in Spike's grip. "Maybe we should all go have a drink? Talk things over?"
"We'll follow you!" Sam grabbed Dean's coat and pulled and Dean let himself be dragged along.
"Dude, what the hell?"
"I wanna know what's going on, Dean, and we can't hurt the animals if they're really people – we have to break the spell."
"Yeah, so – we just – stake the house out and follow 'em home and –"
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath – shoved Dean toward the car. "These guys seem to think she can break the spell. And that sounds a lot easier than trying to follow a bunch of pissed off magical monsters home and get their names."
"Yeah, okay. Fuck." Dean shoved the gun away and dug his keys out – got into the car. Spike's DeSoto roared past, music blaring. Dean stared after it, frowning. "That guy just bugs me, man. Cocky son of a bitch."
"Takes one to know one," Sam muttered, and slammed the car door.
The bar was dark and smoky and crowded but Spike seemed to radiate a 'Get away from me or I'll have your guts for garters' field. Well, and he actually said that to some drunken idiot who nearly spilled a beer over him. They had an empty table within five minute, and a free pool table in about seven, and Dean felt his bad mood starting to fade in the face of cold beer and the soothing click of cue balls.
"So – this woman's some kind of witch?" Dean asked, studying the table.
"Some kind of brainless twat, if you ask me," Spike said. He lit a cigarette and watched Dean sink the three.
"Most of the people we deal with who call themselves 'witches' are –" Dean made a sort of swirling gesture and Spike snorted smoke.
"All patchouli and flowing dresses and unshaved legs?"
"Exactly." Dean bent over and tapped the cue ball – watched it roll gently into the seven and watched the seven tremble and then drop into the pocket. "Not like they can't cause all kinds of trouble, anyway, considering most of 'em don't know the first thing about what they're doing. This one's a little different, though."
"This one's gotten herself into a nasty little corner with no way out. Any joy, pet?" Spike asked, when Xander wandered up, hands full of beer bottles.
"Nope, sorry. It's Sam Adams all around," Xander said, putting two bottles down on the little ledge that ran around the walls of the pool table area.
"Bugger." Spike eyed the bottles with a curled lip. "Better make my next one a Jack, then."
"Only if you're buying." Xander took a step away and then stopped and shot Spike a squinty look. "That other one's for Dean."
"Yeah, yeah," Spike muttered.
"I'm going to fill Sam in on – uh – stuff. You know? Everything." Xander looked excited and lifted his beer bottle in a little salute to Dean before going to sit with Sam and the laptop at the table in the corner.
"So – he's your geek, huh?" Dean said, stretching past Spike for his beer.
Spike leaned on his cue, cigarette smoldering between long fingers. "Yeah. Knows the secret code, has the bloody collector's plates, you name it."
"There's collector's plates?" Dean asked, leaning next to Spike and taking a drink of his beer.
"For every sodding thing under the sun," Spike sighed.
"Huh." Dean watched Xander talking – Xander's hands waving around. Sam was leaning on one elbow and listening with a faintly incredulous expression, long legs hooked through the rungs of his stool. "Hope he doesn't tell Sam about 'em."
Spike was actually...kind of cool. Dean drained the last of his beer – beer number he-had-no-clue – and watched Spike line up a neat little bank shot. The four ball dropped into the side pocket and the cue ball rolled to a stop right behind the eight ball. That's the game.... "Dude, sweet," Dean said. Spike looked up with a lazy grin – tapped in the eight ball and stood up, the cue twirling easily in his hands.
"All in the wrist," Spike said – made a little motion with his hand in front of his crotch and Dean snorted laughter.
"Oh, man –" Dean pushed away from the wall and blinked, using his cue to steady himself. "I'm a little...buzzed."
"Lightweight." Spike had switched to Jack after the first beer and been steadily drinking it ever since. The bottle was nearly gone and he was steady as a rock.
Cast fucking iron. Damn. "What's the word?" Dean thought for a second. "Wanker," he said finally, remembering, and Spike grinned, lighting up.
Then he glanced over at the table where Xander and Sam were deep in conversation. "Suppose we should break that up, then. Fuck only knows what bloody schemes they're hatching."
"Jesus, yeah. They're too quiet." Dean racked his cue and picked up his beer – walked with Spike toward the table. Sam was hunched over his own beer – probably only his second one – listening intently to Xander. Both of them too focused on what they were saying to notice Dean and Spike.
"I was possessed by the spirit of a hyena once," Xander said, sketching a little growly-face in the wetness on the table-top.
"Yeah? Really? What'd you do?"
"Tried to jump my best friend's bones and almost ate the high school principal for lunch."
"Huh. I was kinda...possessed by this crazy psychiatrist once. Or – infected? Something."
"Yeah? What'd you do?"
"I tried to kill Dean with a .45."
"Bad aim, huh?" Xander asked, and Sam slowly shook his head.
"No, um...Dean figured something was up and unloaded the gun before he gave it to me."
"Gave it to you?"
"Yup."
"Huh."
"Yeah. I did shoot him with a load of rock salt, though." They both stared down at the table-top, looking a little too gloomy for Dean's taste.
"Well, isn't that just a lovely story," Spike drawled, startling them both. "But it's late, and I'm horny. Time to fly, pet."
"Is it late?" Xander asked, looking around, and Sam squinted at his wrist.
"A little past one."
Xander nodded, patting at his pockets and getting his jacket off an empty stool. Dean leaned on the table, watching Sam power down the laptop and get his own coat. "So, Sammy – learn anything new?"
"Dude, you won't believe the stuff I learned."
"Yeah?" Dean reached over and grabbed Sam's beer – drained the last couple of inches. "Anything about collector's plates?"
Sam give him a funny look. "What?"
"Nothin', nothin'." Dean stood up straight, slapping his hands on his thighs. "Wow, yeah – late! Should be going, lotta – stuff – to do tomorrow."
"Like getting that witch to break the curse," Xander sighed, and Spike made a disgusted noise.
"Miserable old hag. Should just take her out –"
"We don't kill people," Sam said, his best 'horribly offended' voice, and Spike's eyebrow went up.
"Why not? S'a big world – could do with a few less. Especially when they're mean-minded old bints who fuck with people for the joy of it."
Sam jerked his jacket up onto his shoulders and then slung the laptop bag up as well, frowning a little. He was kind of looming over Spike. "It's not part of the job."
"Maybe not your job," Spike said, lift of his chin and lip that looked too much like a snarl and Dean stepped between them, little snarl of his own on his mouth.
"Really not our job," Dean said, and Xander put an arm around Spike's shoulders and tugged at him.
"You were saying something about horny, right? 'Cause I'm really not in the mood for the 'fighting' part of 'fighting and fucking', okay?"
"Killjoy," Spike muttered, but he let Xander pull him away – let Xander plant a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"Fucking queers," somebody said, and Spike pushed Xander gently away, turned on his heel and punched the guy square in the face. The guy actually flew backward a couple feet, crushed a table under his falling weight and then lay there, eyes closed and nose bleeding in a spectacular spatter of scarlet all over his face and shirt.
"Whoa, dude. Good shot." Dean grinned in admiration and Spike grinned back – looked up and around at the small crowd that had gathered.
"Right. That's one down. Me and my mates here, we're 'fucking queer', as Sleeping Beauty there so eloquently put it. Anybody else give a shite?" The crowd shuffled and murmured and faded away and Spike snagged a shot off a passing waitresses' tray and downed it. "I bloody well thought not. Tossers. C'mon, pet." He grabbed Xander around the waist and they made their way toward the door. Sam shot Dean a look from under his bangs and Dean shrugged, following in Spike and Xander's wake.
"I guess we're outed in Ashtabula, then," Sam said and Dean yanked him close by his collar and kissed him.
"Guess so."
Dean wouldn't call what he had a hangover, exactly. But he didn't really feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, either. It hadn't helped that 'drown out Spike and Xander' had gone two rounds after they'd got back to the hotel and Dean was pretty sure the other two had gone on to round three and then four sometime near dawn.
Sam, of course, in that irritating way he had, was up and at 'em far too early, going out for coffee and breakfast and then bouncing around the hotel room, waiting for Dean to get awake enough to tell him about whatever it was Xander had told him about the night before. Which turned out to be....
"That's just weird, man. Are you sure he's not just, you know, yankin' your chain?"
"Dude, I looked it up. This Sunnydale place just vanished a few years ago. Look –" Sam spun the laptop around to show Dean an aerial photo of a huge-ass crater. Scrolling down the page showed pictures of the tumbled, rock-and-dirt drowned wreckage of houses and buildings and roads. Breathless 20-point font in bright yellow spelled out the story and the theories and Dean rubbed his eyes, looking away.
"Jesus, okay. Slayers, huh? New one on me."
"Me too, but...man, we've seen weirder." Sam bookmarked the page and then closed the browser – took a long gulp of his coffee. "If they know how to de-curse the people without attacking them, that's really gonna be cool."
"Hell of a lot easier, that's for sure." Dean drained his own coffee and shoved a doughnut into his mouth, wiping powdered sugar off his lip with a thumb. "So we just gonna sit around today, wait on them to do the de-cursing thing?"
"Well, Xander said they had to wait until after sunset so the loup-garous would all be, uh, in their animal forms. He said she has to do the un-cursing then or it won't work or something."
"Okay." Dean yawned – dusted his hands together, knocking more powdered sugar onto the floor. "Maybe I'll just lay back down –"
"You're gonna go back to sleep?"
"Well, yeah." Dean gave Sam the once-over, leering just a little. "You got something else in mind?"
Sam shifted – winced ever so slightly – and held up the remote. "Aliens marathon?"
"You're on."
Sunset was drowned in a low sheet of goose-grey clouds, and when Dean and Sam stepped out of their room, their breath fogged, pale in the orange glow of the parking lot lights. Spike was shoving things around in the trunk of the DeSoto and Xander was watching him from the sidewalk, rubbing his hands together.
"Gentlemen," he said, mock-serious, and Spike cursed, something clanging against something else in the depths of the trunk.
"Hey," Sam said. He hitched his duffle a little higher and headed for the car, and Dean wandered after him, digging for his keys.
"Listen." Spike was standing there, hands in his pockets and a look on his face and Dean sighed, leaning on the roof of his car.
"We're not amateurs. We've done this before. We know what we're doing," Dean said, and Spike rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, sure, if you say so. Just – stay the hell out of my way, right? I'm not in the habit of watchin' out for civilians."
"Neither are we," Dean said.
Sam slung his duffle into the back seat. "Guys, come on. We worked this out last night. Nobody's going to get in anybody's way, the loup-garous are all going to be un-cursed and then we can – we can – "
"Then we can all have a drink and go our separate ways, right? Sounds awesome!" Xander clapped his hands together and walked quickly to Spike's car, pulling open the door and leaning there for a moment. "C'mon, Spike, things that go 'bump' need their asses kicked, let's get kicking, huh?"
"Right with you, pet," Spike said, and Xander slid into the seat and shut the door. Sam looked back and forth between Dean and Spike for a moment and then he did the same, slamming the car door with a little too much force and Dean winced.
"Just keep the hell out of my way. Anything touches my boy, I'll make you the sorriest bloody arsehole in the history of arseholes."
"You wish. Anything gets through, gets Sammy – " Dean cocked a finger and pointed it right at Spike. "You're toast."
They stared at each for a moment, and both jumped when Xander blasted the DeSoto's horn. "Just so we're clear," Dean added, and Spike nodded once, sharply.
"We're clear."
"Good."
"Good."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Let's go!" Sam yelled, and Dean shot Spike one final glare before getting into his car and starting her up. "So – you guys get a nice, clear measurement? Who's got the biggest dick?" Sam asked, and Dean tried to dead-arm him while backing his car up. Spike revved the DeSoto's engine and tore past them, burning rubber, and Dean put the Impala into gear and tromped heavily on the gas.
"I'm the biggest dick," he muttered, and Sam cackled, rubbing his shoulder.
"Got that right."
"Have the biggest – shut up, Sam!"
Who'd have thought a skinny old woman with a cane could be so friggin' tough? Dean thought, and ducked down behind the overturned couch. The reanimated cat-thing – or possibly purse-dog thing – hit the couch cushions with a brittle crunch. A puff of rank dust drifted up from it and Dean cursed – sneezed – and trained his home-made flame thrower on it. It went up with a satisfying foomph and the witch wailed.
"You bad, bad, horrible boy, I'll hurt you, I'll –"
"Shut up, you freakin' witch," Dean yelled, and ducked another mummified missile. Sam was somewhere in the kitchen, dealing with a loup garou that seemed to be trapped in a rolling rack of thrift-store clothing. The whole house looked like a thrift store, and Dean tripped over a half-crushed box of empty Big Gulp cups as he waded toward the witch.
She was barricaded in her bathroom, peeking out through the door to hurl a spell or a reanimated pet. The loup garous – four, at least – were being, apparently, beaten into submission in the master bedroom by Spike and Xander.
That, at least, was what Dean assumed was going on in there – the noise-level was indescribable and frankly a little terrifying. There was a sharp crack from the kitchen, and then a thud, and Sam emerged, hair in a sweaty tangle over his forehead and a nice, big bruise coming up on his jaw.
"Shit, you okay? You got it?"
"I'm good – I got it." He bent down and dragged the limp, furry form part way into the kitchen and then stopped, bent over and panting. "S'fuckin' heavy."
"Ribs still hurt from the other day, huh?" Dean said, grinning, and Sam shot him a pissy look. A look that morphed into one of shock.
"Dean! Fire!"
"Huh?" Dean spun on his heel and saw that the remains of the cat-thing had ignited a stack of crumbling paperbacks. "Fuck, God damnit!" He waded back at top speed, picking up a ratty afghan and doing his best to smother the flames.
"What the hell, guys?" Xander's voice, and then Xander, looking ruffled and out of breath. Spike stalked into the living room behind him, impossibly cool – smoking, for fuck's sake, and Dean rolled his eyes. Stomped on the last, smoldering book and turned around.
"I think she's out of dead house pets to attack us with. What say we get that counter-spell going and get the hell out of here?"
"I say hell yeah," Xander said. He stepped aside for Spike, who strode past, cursing when he slipped on a tongue of magazines spilling out of a ruptured Hefty bag. He leaned back, kicked the bathroom door open in one, hard motion and dragged the witch out by her arm.
"My kitties, my kitties, my little dogs, you horrible boys, I'll kill you, I'll kill you –!"
"Shut it, you," Spike snapped. He shoved her into the wall, and Dean all but felt Sam's flinch. Spike fished a ragged paper out of his pocket and shoved it in her face. "You'll do this spell, right now, or you'll be the one ends up in the pet cemetery."
The woman squinted up at Spike, her dirty-white hair cobwebbed across her forehead, her glasses askew. "I won't unmake my pets, I won't! You need a lesson taught you, just like Madeline down the street, letting her dog poo in my yard; just like Chester at the Hillcrest; just like –"
"Christ, shut up!" Spike shook her and this time it was Xander that flinched.
"Spike, c'mon, she's just an old woman –"
"Who's turning people into animals and siccin' them on her neighbors! And diggin' up graves to get her bits and bobs - you want I should say 'pretty please'?"
"Eww, jeez. No, I mean...yes? I mean – she's still an old woman."
"She's still human," Sam said, looming up beside Dean. Spike ignored him.
"Listen, you miserable old hag, you will do this –"
"Begone, foul, unclean thing!" the witch screamed. She shook something out of her sleeve and drove it straight into Spike's chest.
"Spike!"
Spike roared, and his face shivered and then he was one of those things, he was a vampire and the witch was screaming and Spike reached up and twisted, a short, sharp jerk of the old woman's head. There was a wet crackle as her skull parted company with her spine and her body sagged, lifeless, to the floor.
"Spike, Jesus Christ –" Xander all but threw himself at Spike and Spike stepped back – let Xander paw wildly at his chest. The hilt of what looked like a barbeque fork was sticking out of the dark blue fabric of his button down and Xander put a shaking hand on it. "Are you – does it – should I –?"
"I'm good, it does, and no," Spike said. He reached up and wrenched the fork out of his chest and tossed it aside and Xander put his hand on the bloody splotch on the shirt.
"I really – really hate when...."
Spike sighed – reached out and put his hand gently on the side of Xander's face, smiling at him. "I know." The alien contours of his face shivered – settled – and then he was just Spike again, and Dean barked out a short, sharp laugh.
"Are you kidding me with this shit? Seriously? You're a – a freakin' vampire?" Dean waved his hands in the air, the flamethrower describing a fat arc. It was out. He pointed at Xander. "And you –"
"All human," Spike snapped.
"You're fucking a vampire?"
"Twice nightly and thrice on Sundays and what's it bloody matter to you, hunter?" Spike sneered, and Dean dug out his Zippo and flicked it open, relighting the flame thrower.
"It's just another notch on my belt, Spike. And seriously, Spike? What the fuck kind of name is that? Lestat not 'cool' enough for you?" He stomped forward over crumpled newspapers and ad circulars toward Spike and Xander, pulled up short by Sam's hand on his arm.
"Dean – wait. Just...wait."
"Sam! Vampire!"
"Yeah, I get it, Dean. But – it's not like he – I mean, he's been helping us."
"He killed the old woman, Sam!"
"Oh, that's rich – like you bloody give a fuck. She was a loony old coot and you know it – you wanted to off her the minute you walked in here!" Spike patted Xander's shoulder absently and stepped easily in front of him, digging into a pocket and pulling out a slightly squished pack of Marlboro Reds. He slid one out and held it up, grinning – face morphing. "Got a light?"
"Talk about biggest dicks," Xander muttered. "Now's really not the time, Spike, c'mon –"
"Light you up like a frickin' bonfire, you freak," Dean said, and Sam jerked him roughly around in a half circle.
"Dean – we're surrounded by loup garous, in a witch's house with the witch lying dead on the floor. Don't we have more important things to worry about right this second?"
Dean stared up at Sam in horrified surprise. "We don't work with monsters, Sam!"
"He's not a monster!" Xander said. He glanced over at Spike, who had lit up and was puffing like a dragon, golden eyes slitted through the smoke. "Okay, yeah, he is a monster, but he's a friendly monster. A – a good monster! Think – Cookie Monster, only with a lot of hair products and a three-pack-a-day habit."
"Effing Christ!"
"A muppet?" Dean waved the now-lit flamethrower and Sam ducked, scowling. "You want me to think he's some kind of – of – furry little puppet who eats Chips Ahoy?" Sam snorted.
"It kinda runs in the family," Xander said, and shot Spike a sly look.
Spike glared at all three of them. "Listen, all of you lack-brains. The real – I mean the other monsters are gonna be wakin' up pretty damn soon, and since Ding-Dong the Witch is dead, they're gonna be wanting to take a nibble or two out of us."
"Yeah, well, you killed her, so she can't exactly do the counter-spell, can she?" Dean said. He twitched irritably from Sam's hand and then turned the knob on the flamethrower, dousing the flame.
"No, well – I mean, yeah, she's dead, but we can still do the spell. We just have to get them all together –" Xander had the paper in his hand, looking it over and patting at his pockets and Spike took a last, long drag from his cigarette and ground it out underfoot, sending up a faint odor of singed carpet.
"Let's get this bloody well over, then." He stomped across to the inert, furry form that Sam had dragged from the kitchen and hoisted it easily over his shoulder – stomped away toward the master bedroom. Xander pulled what looked like a chicken foot out of an inner pocket with a little cry of triumph and followed him.
Dean slumped. "What the hell, Sam? I thought they were the good guys? Or – some kind of good guy."
"They still are." Sam was looking longingly after the other two, curiosity warring with in ingrained habit of sticking by Dean. "They're just.... I mean, they're still helping the loup garous, and they didn't attack us or anything so, um...."
"Jesus. Go, Sam, just go already." Dean flapped his hand. "Get your geek on. I'll just...." He looked around the cluttered wreck of the living room and brightened. "I'll just stage a tragic home accident. With fire."
"Yeah, cool, okay," Sam said, stumbling off through the drifts of junk. Dean shook his head and then got to work. A good accident took time.
They went back to the same bar, after, because the beer had been cheap and the cues mostly straight. Sam and Xander immediately went into a nerd huddle over their drinks and Dean sighed and racked up the balls. "Okay, so – tell me what the fuck a – " He glanced around and lowered his voice. "What a vampire is doing running around like some kinda caped crusader."
"Capes are for shite – they get caught in doors, mostly," Spike said. He bolted a shot of Jack and chalked his cue, ignoring Dean's look of disbelief.
"Look – it's really rather simple. Boy meets vamp, boy hates vamp, boy and vamp have brain-melting hate sex in every conceivable place and position, boy and vamp ride off into the sunset to kill oogie-boogies and shag." Spike bent over and lined up his shot – sent the cue ball hurtling down the felt. The balls broke with a sharp little crack, and a stripe fell into a pocket with a thump.
"Yeah, okay, but...vamps are usually, you know, evil," Dean said. He swallowed his own shot, grimacing a little, but liking the mellow burn. Over at the table, Sam was listening to Xander with a look of frank incredulity on his face.
"I am evil. I just – keep it in check. Don't kill the snack packs, don't kick puppies, don't get chanty with the wrong crowd, don't start any apocalypses."
"Apocolypses?"
"It's been done," Spike said. He missed his shot and straightened, looking for a waitress. Dean eyed the table.
"So...are you sure...? 'Cause if you try to get your fangs into Sam, I'm gonna have to cut your fuckin' head off. And then set you on fire."
"And if you so much as look sideways at Xander, I'll rip your arms off and stuff 'em up your arse. Deal?"
Dean lined up his shot – sent the green six spinning down the table and into the corner pocket with a satisfying thunk.
"Deal."
Spike serenades them with Pretty Vacant by the Sex Pistols.
Now that we're finally dug out and can get up and down our way-too-steep drive with ease, they say more snow. Nice! Not.
"No, not azaleas," Sam said for about the fifteenth time. Dean scowled down at the ratty bush.
"Fine. What the fuck is it, then?"
"Those are mums, Dean." Sam sounded like he had a headache. Dean knew he had one.
"I think I'm fucking allergic to plants," Dean muttered, stomping down the sidewalk. Jesus, what was wrong with people, anyway? Why in hell did they have to put so much stuff in their yards? What was wrong with plain old grass, maybe one of those pink flamingos? "If we haven't found azaleas by the end of the block, man, I'm outta here. I need a drink." At least it was only one side of the street – the other side was the cemetery, nicely creepy in the moonlight.
"We've only got about four more blocks to go," Sam said, squinting down at his map. He flicked the flashlight beam over the next couple of houses, trying to find a number. "What the hell is it with people who don't put their number on their house?"
"What the hell is it with people with numbers?" Dean grumbled. The whole place was giving him hives. If you stood between two houses you could practically touch both of them with your spread arms and that was just wrong.
"It's so nine one one can find them," Sam replied absently, taking off down the street. A car roared past and then screeched to a stop halfway down the block and Sam broke into a jog. "Hey, does that car look familiar?"
"Huh?" Dean trotted after Sam, frowning. "Oooh, yeah, that car looks real familiar." They both stopped and stared at the DeSoto. It had jumped the curb and was halfway on the sidewalk, engine ticking. Music was playing inside at a remarkable volume. Then the door opened and it got louder and Dean rolled his eyes, exasperated. So much for subtle. It wasn't even nine o'clock – half the street was probably calling the cops at that very moment.
Xander was climbing out of the car, hampered by a bulging backpack. He looked a little sea-sick. When he saw Dean and Sam his mouth came open and then he heaved a silent sigh and stood up, slamming the door shut.
"Hey, wow – imagine seeing you guys!" He spoke way too loudly and Dean cringed. Jesus.
"Yeah, imagine," Dean said.
Xander made a 'Huh?' face at him. "Oh – wait – hang on." Xander reached up and pulled a pair of bright yellow foam earplugs out of his ears – worked his jaw for a moment, stuffing the plugs into his pocket. "His music kind of hurts my ears."
"Kind of hurts my soul", Dean said, grimacing, as the singer wailed her way to a jangling silence.
"You don't like Souixsie, you don't have a bloody soul," Spike said, climbing out of the driver's seat and glaring at Dean and Sam over the roof of his car. "What are you buggers doing here?"
"Our job," Dean snapped. He had the sudden urge to punch something. Never good.
"We're just hunting down the person who made the loup-garou," Sam said, shooting Dean a warning look. Dean glared back.
"Oh, well, that's all right then – don't want to interfere with your hunt." Spike slammed the car door shut and stalked around the hood of the car. "C'mon, Xander – don't want to get in the way of a hunt. Might get hurt. Might see something nasty –"
"Jesus, you are pissing me off," Dean snarled, advancing. Okay, not punch something. Punch Spike.
"As if I give a fuck," Spike snarled back. He dug cigarettes and lighter out of his coat and lit up, not giving an inch when Dean loomed over him. "Can't abide amateurs," he sneered, glaring up at Dean.
"Speak for yourself, blondie –"
"Whoa! Hey, okay." Xander was suddenly there, insinuating himself in between Dean and Spike, hands upraised in the universal 'really don't want to fight' position. The one Dean usually ignored.
"Dean – we need to get going." Sam was insinuating right along with Xander, pushing Dean back with his shoulder and looking pissed off. At Dean, which was totally unfair.
"So do we, so do we – people to find, things to steal – uh! Borrow, just borrow, ha ha." Xander was shoving Spike away, and Spike was letting him, gimlet stare boring into Dean as the two of them moved away up the sidewalk.
"Just stay the hell out of our way," Dean muttered, and let Sam spin him around by the arm. "Jesus, Sam, knock it off!"
"Stop acting like a fucking dog pissing all over its territory," Sam hissed, striding along on his fucking legs. His long fucking legs taking long, angry strides so Dean had to walk extra-fast to keep up.
"We don't need those guys running around making a fucking racket! They'll tip off the witch!"
"We don't even know it is a witch!" Sam stopped dead, exasperated, and Dean almost plowed into him.
"She made her lawn-care guy into a loup-garou, Sam! I'd say there's something witchy going on!"
"She's – oh fuck."
"What – what?" Sam was staring furiously at the next house up and Dean followed his stare. Watched Spike and Xander stomp up the sidewalk and knock on the door. "So, they're visiting a friend here or something, what the hell?"
"That house has azaleas, Dean. It's the only house we've seen with azaleas so far. Mangled azaleas." Sam's stare could have melted steel and Dean sighed and took out the EMF meter. It squealed alarmingly, lights going right into the red.
"Oh man! This sucks." Spike and Xander were going inside now – disappearing into shadow – and then the old woman that had answered the door looked over at Dean and Sam and grinned, her eyes winking the yellow-green of a marauding coyote. No way was she human. "Maybe she'll eat 'em and then we can kill her while she's sleeping it off," Dean said, stuffing the EMF meter away.
Sam smacked the back of his head. "We're not killing her. We're not killing anybody. We just have to find the talisman she's using and destroy it."
"Yeah, right, whatever." Dean strode away from Sam, up the walk and right up to the door, Sam scrambling to catch up. Dean lifted his hand and rapped sharply on the door.
"Dude – what are you doing?"
"I'm knocking, Sam. It's this thing you do –"
"I know that – stop it!" Sam grabbed Dean's upraised fist. "We're supposed to be keeping a low profile about this!" he said in a strangled sort of whisper. There was a thump from inside.
"Too fucking late now, isn't it? She saw us when the boy wonders went in. Time to just –" Dean drew his .45, flicking off the safety. "Just go in kickin' ass and takin' names."
"Oh for God's sake –" Sam started, but then the door splintered out onto the porch, clipping them both and spilling Xander down the stairs. A furious growling was coming from inside, followed by a shout and then a roar.
"There's animals in there!" Xander yelled, hauling himself upright and brushing splinters off his chest.
"Maybe she made more than one?" Sam wondered, looking at Dean.
"Bet she did." Dean's hand went out, connecting solidly with Sam's chest as Sam started inside. "Whoa, dude – where do you think you're going?"
"We have to help him, Dean!"
"Who, Spike? I don't think so."
"He'll be fine," Xander said, coming up the stairs. "It really pisses him off when I get thrown through doors."
"Does that happen to you a lot?"
Xander grinned at Dean – adjusted the eye patch. "A lot more than I'd like, let me tell you." There was another roar from inside and then a smash of something fragile and probably expensive breaking. "Ah ha. Wait for it..." He held up his finger, head cocked in a listening pose. There was a series of thuds and snarls, followed by a ragged howl and then a bang – a flare of too-bright light. Then there was Spike, staggering out through the hole where the door used to be, cursing and crashing into the door-jamb, blood on his t-shirt and knuckles – on his lip. Xander shoved past Dean and Sam and grabbed him.
"Spike? You okay?"
"Bloody witch used some kind of bloody light spell and there were animals in there!"
"Yeah, kinda noticed."
"What kind of animals?" Sam asked, and Dean wanted to smack him.
"Who cares?"
Sam gave Dean his best 'oh my God, you are so dumb' look. "Well, you know, we might, since this person is making loup-garous and we need to stop them."
Spike was patting Xander down in a way that Dean found uncomfortably familiar and he looked away from Sam's smirk.
"Loup-garous, at least four. Silly bitch. Have to make her undo the spell, then we get the books," Spike muttered. Xander nodded along.
Dean wanted to punch him too, now. "What books? Make her do what? What the hell is going on!" There was a sudden, low snarling from the shadows of the hall and Spike hustled Xander down the stairs.
"Make her release 'em. Steal all her shite – s'what we do," Spike yelled back.
Xander twisted in Spike's grip. "Maybe we should all go have a drink? Talk things over?"
"We'll follow you!" Sam grabbed Dean's coat and pulled and Dean let himself be dragged along.
"Dude, what the hell?"
"I wanna know what's going on, Dean, and we can't hurt the animals if they're really people – we have to break the spell."
"Yeah, so – we just – stake the house out and follow 'em home and –"
Sam huffed out an annoyed breath – shoved Dean toward the car. "These guys seem to think she can break the spell. And that sounds a lot easier than trying to follow a bunch of pissed off magical monsters home and get their names."
"Yeah, okay. Fuck." Dean shoved the gun away and dug his keys out – got into the car. Spike's DeSoto roared past, music blaring. Dean stared after it, frowning. "That guy just bugs me, man. Cocky son of a bitch."
"Takes one to know one," Sam muttered, and slammed the car door.
The bar was dark and smoky and crowded but Spike seemed to radiate a 'Get away from me or I'll have your guts for garters' field. Well, and he actually said that to some drunken idiot who nearly spilled a beer over him. They had an empty table within five minute, and a free pool table in about seven, and Dean felt his bad mood starting to fade in the face of cold beer and the soothing click of cue balls.
"So – this woman's some kind of witch?" Dean asked, studying the table.
"Some kind of brainless twat, if you ask me," Spike said. He lit a cigarette and watched Dean sink the three.
"Most of the people we deal with who call themselves 'witches' are –" Dean made a sort of swirling gesture and Spike snorted smoke.
"All patchouli and flowing dresses and unshaved legs?"
"Exactly." Dean bent over and tapped the cue ball – watched it roll gently into the seven and watched the seven tremble and then drop into the pocket. "Not like they can't cause all kinds of trouble, anyway, considering most of 'em don't know the first thing about what they're doing. This one's a little different, though."
"This one's gotten herself into a nasty little corner with no way out. Any joy, pet?" Spike asked, when Xander wandered up, hands full of beer bottles.
"Nope, sorry. It's Sam Adams all around," Xander said, putting two bottles down on the little ledge that ran around the walls of the pool table area.
"Bugger." Spike eyed the bottles with a curled lip. "Better make my next one a Jack, then."
"Only if you're buying." Xander took a step away and then stopped and shot Spike a squinty look. "That other one's for Dean."
"Yeah, yeah," Spike muttered.
"I'm going to fill Sam in on – uh – stuff. You know? Everything." Xander looked excited and lifted his beer bottle in a little salute to Dean before going to sit with Sam and the laptop at the table in the corner.
"So – he's your geek, huh?" Dean said, stretching past Spike for his beer.
Spike leaned on his cue, cigarette smoldering between long fingers. "Yeah. Knows the secret code, has the bloody collector's plates, you name it."
"There's collector's plates?" Dean asked, leaning next to Spike and taking a drink of his beer.
"For every sodding thing under the sun," Spike sighed.
"Huh." Dean watched Xander talking – Xander's hands waving around. Sam was leaning on one elbow and listening with a faintly incredulous expression, long legs hooked through the rungs of his stool. "Hope he doesn't tell Sam about 'em."
Spike was actually...kind of cool. Dean drained the last of his beer – beer number he-had-no-clue – and watched Spike line up a neat little bank shot. The four ball dropped into the side pocket and the cue ball rolled to a stop right behind the eight ball. That's the game.... "Dude, sweet," Dean said. Spike looked up with a lazy grin – tapped in the eight ball and stood up, the cue twirling easily in his hands.
"All in the wrist," Spike said – made a little motion with his hand in front of his crotch and Dean snorted laughter.
"Oh, man –" Dean pushed away from the wall and blinked, using his cue to steady himself. "I'm a little...buzzed."
"Lightweight." Spike had switched to Jack after the first beer and been steadily drinking it ever since. The bottle was nearly gone and he was steady as a rock.
Cast fucking iron. Damn. "What's the word?" Dean thought for a second. "Wanker," he said finally, remembering, and Spike grinned, lighting up.
Then he glanced over at the table where Xander and Sam were deep in conversation. "Suppose we should break that up, then. Fuck only knows what bloody schemes they're hatching."
"Jesus, yeah. They're too quiet." Dean racked his cue and picked up his beer – walked with Spike toward the table. Sam was hunched over his own beer – probably only his second one – listening intently to Xander. Both of them too focused on what they were saying to notice Dean and Spike.
"I was possessed by the spirit of a hyena once," Xander said, sketching a little growly-face in the wetness on the table-top.
"Yeah? Really? What'd you do?"
"Tried to jump my best friend's bones and almost ate the high school principal for lunch."
"Huh. I was kinda...possessed by this crazy psychiatrist once. Or – infected? Something."
"Yeah? What'd you do?"
"I tried to kill Dean with a .45."
"Bad aim, huh?" Xander asked, and Sam slowly shook his head.
"No, um...Dean figured something was up and unloaded the gun before he gave it to me."
"Gave it to you?"
"Yup."
"Huh."
"Yeah. I did shoot him with a load of rock salt, though." They both stared down at the table-top, looking a little too gloomy for Dean's taste.
"Well, isn't that just a lovely story," Spike drawled, startling them both. "But it's late, and I'm horny. Time to fly, pet."
"Is it late?" Xander asked, looking around, and Sam squinted at his wrist.
"A little past one."
Xander nodded, patting at his pockets and getting his jacket off an empty stool. Dean leaned on the table, watching Sam power down the laptop and get his own coat. "So, Sammy – learn anything new?"
"Dude, you won't believe the stuff I learned."
"Yeah?" Dean reached over and grabbed Sam's beer – drained the last couple of inches. "Anything about collector's plates?"
Sam give him a funny look. "What?"
"Nothin', nothin'." Dean stood up straight, slapping his hands on his thighs. "Wow, yeah – late! Should be going, lotta – stuff – to do tomorrow."
"Like getting that witch to break the curse," Xander sighed, and Spike made a disgusted noise.
"Miserable old hag. Should just take her out –"
"We don't kill people," Sam said, his best 'horribly offended' voice, and Spike's eyebrow went up.
"Why not? S'a big world – could do with a few less. Especially when they're mean-minded old bints who fuck with people for the joy of it."
Sam jerked his jacket up onto his shoulders and then slung the laptop bag up as well, frowning a little. He was kind of looming over Spike. "It's not part of the job."
"Maybe not your job," Spike said, lift of his chin and lip that looked too much like a snarl and Dean stepped between them, little snarl of his own on his mouth.
"Really not our job," Dean said, and Xander put an arm around Spike's shoulders and tugged at him.
"You were saying something about horny, right? 'Cause I'm really not in the mood for the 'fighting' part of 'fighting and fucking', okay?"
"Killjoy," Spike muttered, but he let Xander pull him away – let Xander plant a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"Fucking queers," somebody said, and Spike pushed Xander gently away, turned on his heel and punched the guy square in the face. The guy actually flew backward a couple feet, crushed a table under his falling weight and then lay there, eyes closed and nose bleeding in a spectacular spatter of scarlet all over his face and shirt.
"Whoa, dude. Good shot." Dean grinned in admiration and Spike grinned back – looked up and around at the small crowd that had gathered.
"Right. That's one down. Me and my mates here, we're 'fucking queer', as Sleeping Beauty there so eloquently put it. Anybody else give a shite?" The crowd shuffled and murmured and faded away and Spike snagged a shot off a passing waitresses' tray and downed it. "I bloody well thought not. Tossers. C'mon, pet." He grabbed Xander around the waist and they made their way toward the door. Sam shot Dean a look from under his bangs and Dean shrugged, following in Spike and Xander's wake.
"I guess we're outed in Ashtabula, then," Sam said and Dean yanked him close by his collar and kissed him.
"Guess so."
Dean wouldn't call what he had a hangover, exactly. But he didn't really feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, either. It hadn't helped that 'drown out Spike and Xander' had gone two rounds after they'd got back to the hotel and Dean was pretty sure the other two had gone on to round three and then four sometime near dawn.
Sam, of course, in that irritating way he had, was up and at 'em far too early, going out for coffee and breakfast and then bouncing around the hotel room, waiting for Dean to get awake enough to tell him about whatever it was Xander had told him about the night before. Which turned out to be....
"That's just weird, man. Are you sure he's not just, you know, yankin' your chain?"
"Dude, I looked it up. This Sunnydale place just vanished a few years ago. Look –" Sam spun the laptop around to show Dean an aerial photo of a huge-ass crater. Scrolling down the page showed pictures of the tumbled, rock-and-dirt drowned wreckage of houses and buildings and roads. Breathless 20-point font in bright yellow spelled out the story and the theories and Dean rubbed his eyes, looking away.
"Jesus, okay. Slayers, huh? New one on me."
"Me too, but...man, we've seen weirder." Sam bookmarked the page and then closed the browser – took a long gulp of his coffee. "If they know how to de-curse the people without attacking them, that's really gonna be cool."
"Hell of a lot easier, that's for sure." Dean drained his own coffee and shoved a doughnut into his mouth, wiping powdered sugar off his lip with a thumb. "So we just gonna sit around today, wait on them to do the de-cursing thing?"
"Well, Xander said they had to wait until after sunset so the loup-garous would all be, uh, in their animal forms. He said she has to do the un-cursing then or it won't work or something."
"Okay." Dean yawned – dusted his hands together, knocking more powdered sugar onto the floor. "Maybe I'll just lay back down –"
"You're gonna go back to sleep?"
"Well, yeah." Dean gave Sam the once-over, leering just a little. "You got something else in mind?"
Sam shifted – winced ever so slightly – and held up the remote. "Aliens marathon?"
"You're on."
Sunset was drowned in a low sheet of goose-grey clouds, and when Dean and Sam stepped out of their room, their breath fogged, pale in the orange glow of the parking lot lights. Spike was shoving things around in the trunk of the DeSoto and Xander was watching him from the sidewalk, rubbing his hands together.
"Gentlemen," he said, mock-serious, and Spike cursed, something clanging against something else in the depths of the trunk.
"Hey," Sam said. He hitched his duffle a little higher and headed for the car, and Dean wandered after him, digging for his keys.
"Listen." Spike was standing there, hands in his pockets and a look on his face and Dean sighed, leaning on the roof of his car.
"We're not amateurs. We've done this before. We know what we're doing," Dean said, and Spike rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, sure, if you say so. Just – stay the hell out of my way, right? I'm not in the habit of watchin' out for civilians."
"Neither are we," Dean said.
Sam slung his duffle into the back seat. "Guys, come on. We worked this out last night. Nobody's going to get in anybody's way, the loup-garous are all going to be un-cursed and then we can – we can – "
"Then we can all have a drink and go our separate ways, right? Sounds awesome!" Xander clapped his hands together and walked quickly to Spike's car, pulling open the door and leaning there for a moment. "C'mon, Spike, things that go 'bump' need their asses kicked, let's get kicking, huh?"
"Right with you, pet," Spike said, and Xander slid into the seat and shut the door. Sam looked back and forth between Dean and Spike for a moment and then he did the same, slamming the car door with a little too much force and Dean winced.
"Just keep the hell out of my way. Anything touches my boy, I'll make you the sorriest bloody arsehole in the history of arseholes."
"You wish. Anything gets through, gets Sammy – " Dean cocked a finger and pointed it right at Spike. "You're toast."
They stared at each for a moment, and both jumped when Xander blasted the DeSoto's horn. "Just so we're clear," Dean added, and Spike nodded once, sharply.
"We're clear."
"Good."
"Good."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Let's go!" Sam yelled, and Dean shot Spike one final glare before getting into his car and starting her up. "So – you guys get a nice, clear measurement? Who's got the biggest dick?" Sam asked, and Dean tried to dead-arm him while backing his car up. Spike revved the DeSoto's engine and tore past them, burning rubber, and Dean put the Impala into gear and tromped heavily on the gas.
"I'm the biggest dick," he muttered, and Sam cackled, rubbing his shoulder.
"Got that right."
"Have the biggest – shut up, Sam!"
Who'd have thought a skinny old woman with a cane could be so friggin' tough? Dean thought, and ducked down behind the overturned couch. The reanimated cat-thing – or possibly purse-dog thing – hit the couch cushions with a brittle crunch. A puff of rank dust drifted up from it and Dean cursed – sneezed – and trained his home-made flame thrower on it. It went up with a satisfying foomph and the witch wailed.
"You bad, bad, horrible boy, I'll hurt you, I'll –"
"Shut up, you freakin' witch," Dean yelled, and ducked another mummified missile. Sam was somewhere in the kitchen, dealing with a loup garou that seemed to be trapped in a rolling rack of thrift-store clothing. The whole house looked like a thrift store, and Dean tripped over a half-crushed box of empty Big Gulp cups as he waded toward the witch.
She was barricaded in her bathroom, peeking out through the door to hurl a spell or a reanimated pet. The loup garous – four, at least – were being, apparently, beaten into submission in the master bedroom by Spike and Xander.
That, at least, was what Dean assumed was going on in there – the noise-level was indescribable and frankly a little terrifying. There was a sharp crack from the kitchen, and then a thud, and Sam emerged, hair in a sweaty tangle over his forehead and a nice, big bruise coming up on his jaw.
"Shit, you okay? You got it?"
"I'm good – I got it." He bent down and dragged the limp, furry form part way into the kitchen and then stopped, bent over and panting. "S'fuckin' heavy."
"Ribs still hurt from the other day, huh?" Dean said, grinning, and Sam shot him a pissy look. A look that morphed into one of shock.
"Dean! Fire!"
"Huh?" Dean spun on his heel and saw that the remains of the cat-thing had ignited a stack of crumbling paperbacks. "Fuck, God damnit!" He waded back at top speed, picking up a ratty afghan and doing his best to smother the flames.
"What the hell, guys?" Xander's voice, and then Xander, looking ruffled and out of breath. Spike stalked into the living room behind him, impossibly cool – smoking, for fuck's sake, and Dean rolled his eyes. Stomped on the last, smoldering book and turned around.
"I think she's out of dead house pets to attack us with. What say we get that counter-spell going and get the hell out of here?"
"I say hell yeah," Xander said. He stepped aside for Spike, who strode past, cursing when he slipped on a tongue of magazines spilling out of a ruptured Hefty bag. He leaned back, kicked the bathroom door open in one, hard motion and dragged the witch out by her arm.
"My kitties, my kitties, my little dogs, you horrible boys, I'll kill you, I'll kill you –!"
"Shut it, you," Spike snapped. He shoved her into the wall, and Dean all but felt Sam's flinch. Spike fished a ragged paper out of his pocket and shoved it in her face. "You'll do this spell, right now, or you'll be the one ends up in the pet cemetery."
The woman squinted up at Spike, her dirty-white hair cobwebbed across her forehead, her glasses askew. "I won't unmake my pets, I won't! You need a lesson taught you, just like Madeline down the street, letting her dog poo in my yard; just like Chester at the Hillcrest; just like –"
"Christ, shut up!" Spike shook her and this time it was Xander that flinched.
"Spike, c'mon, she's just an old woman –"
"Who's turning people into animals and siccin' them on her neighbors! And diggin' up graves to get her bits and bobs - you want I should say 'pretty please'?"
"Eww, jeez. No, I mean...yes? I mean – she's still an old woman."
"She's still human," Sam said, looming up beside Dean. Spike ignored him.
"Listen, you miserable old hag, you will do this –"
"Begone, foul, unclean thing!" the witch screamed. She shook something out of her sleeve and drove it straight into Spike's chest.
"Spike!"
Spike roared, and his face shivered and then he was one of those things, he was a vampire and the witch was screaming and Spike reached up and twisted, a short, sharp jerk of the old woman's head. There was a wet crackle as her skull parted company with her spine and her body sagged, lifeless, to the floor.
"Spike, Jesus Christ –" Xander all but threw himself at Spike and Spike stepped back – let Xander paw wildly at his chest. The hilt of what looked like a barbeque fork was sticking out of the dark blue fabric of his button down and Xander put a shaking hand on it. "Are you – does it – should I –?"
"I'm good, it does, and no," Spike said. He reached up and wrenched the fork out of his chest and tossed it aside and Xander put his hand on the bloody splotch on the shirt.
"I really – really hate when...."
Spike sighed – reached out and put his hand gently on the side of Xander's face, smiling at him. "I know." The alien contours of his face shivered – settled – and then he was just Spike again, and Dean barked out a short, sharp laugh.
"Are you kidding me with this shit? Seriously? You're a – a freakin' vampire?" Dean waved his hands in the air, the flamethrower describing a fat arc. It was out. He pointed at Xander. "And you –"
"All human," Spike snapped.
"You're fucking a vampire?"
"Twice nightly and thrice on Sundays and what's it bloody matter to you, hunter?" Spike sneered, and Dean dug out his Zippo and flicked it open, relighting the flame thrower.
"It's just another notch on my belt, Spike. And seriously, Spike? What the fuck kind of name is that? Lestat not 'cool' enough for you?" He stomped forward over crumpled newspapers and ad circulars toward Spike and Xander, pulled up short by Sam's hand on his arm.
"Dean – wait. Just...wait."
"Sam! Vampire!"
"Yeah, I get it, Dean. But – it's not like he – I mean, he's been helping us."
"He killed the old woman, Sam!"
"Oh, that's rich – like you bloody give a fuck. She was a loony old coot and you know it – you wanted to off her the minute you walked in here!" Spike patted Xander's shoulder absently and stepped easily in front of him, digging into a pocket and pulling out a slightly squished pack of Marlboro Reds. He slid one out and held it up, grinning – face morphing. "Got a light?"
"Talk about biggest dicks," Xander muttered. "Now's really not the time, Spike, c'mon –"
"Light you up like a frickin' bonfire, you freak," Dean said, and Sam jerked him roughly around in a half circle.
"Dean – we're surrounded by loup garous, in a witch's house with the witch lying dead on the floor. Don't we have more important things to worry about right this second?"
Dean stared up at Sam in horrified surprise. "We don't work with monsters, Sam!"
"He's not a monster!" Xander said. He glanced over at Spike, who had lit up and was puffing like a dragon, golden eyes slitted through the smoke. "Okay, yeah, he is a monster, but he's a friendly monster. A – a good monster! Think – Cookie Monster, only with a lot of hair products and a three-pack-a-day habit."
"Effing Christ!"
"A muppet?" Dean waved the now-lit flamethrower and Sam ducked, scowling. "You want me to think he's some kind of – of – furry little puppet who eats Chips Ahoy?" Sam snorted.
"It kinda runs in the family," Xander said, and shot Spike a sly look.
Spike glared at all three of them. "Listen, all of you lack-brains. The real – I mean the other monsters are gonna be wakin' up pretty damn soon, and since Ding-Dong the Witch is dead, they're gonna be wanting to take a nibble or two out of us."
"Yeah, well, you killed her, so she can't exactly do the counter-spell, can she?" Dean said. He twitched irritably from Sam's hand and then turned the knob on the flamethrower, dousing the flame.
"No, well – I mean, yeah, she's dead, but we can still do the spell. We just have to get them all together –" Xander had the paper in his hand, looking it over and patting at his pockets and Spike took a last, long drag from his cigarette and ground it out underfoot, sending up a faint odor of singed carpet.
"Let's get this bloody well over, then." He stomped across to the inert, furry form that Sam had dragged from the kitchen and hoisted it easily over his shoulder – stomped away toward the master bedroom. Xander pulled what looked like a chicken foot out of an inner pocket with a little cry of triumph and followed him.
Dean slumped. "What the hell, Sam? I thought they were the good guys? Or – some kind of good guy."
"They still are." Sam was looking longingly after the other two, curiosity warring with in ingrained habit of sticking by Dean. "They're just.... I mean, they're still helping the loup garous, and they didn't attack us or anything so, um...."
"Jesus. Go, Sam, just go already." Dean flapped his hand. "Get your geek on. I'll just...." He looked around the cluttered wreck of the living room and brightened. "I'll just stage a tragic home accident. With fire."
"Yeah, cool, okay," Sam said, stumbling off through the drifts of junk. Dean shook his head and then got to work. A good accident took time.
They went back to the same bar, after, because the beer had been cheap and the cues mostly straight. Sam and Xander immediately went into a nerd huddle over their drinks and Dean sighed and racked up the balls. "Okay, so – tell me what the fuck a – " He glanced around and lowered his voice. "What a vampire is doing running around like some kinda caped crusader."
"Capes are for shite – they get caught in doors, mostly," Spike said. He bolted a shot of Jack and chalked his cue, ignoring Dean's look of disbelief.
"Look – it's really rather simple. Boy meets vamp, boy hates vamp, boy and vamp have brain-melting hate sex in every conceivable place and position, boy and vamp ride off into the sunset to kill oogie-boogies and shag." Spike bent over and lined up his shot – sent the cue ball hurtling down the felt. The balls broke with a sharp little crack, and a stripe fell into a pocket with a thump.
"Yeah, okay, but...vamps are usually, you know, evil," Dean said. He swallowed his own shot, grimacing a little, but liking the mellow burn. Over at the table, Sam was listening to Xander with a look of frank incredulity on his face.
"I am evil. I just – keep it in check. Don't kill the snack packs, don't kick puppies, don't get chanty with the wrong crowd, don't start any apocalypses."
"Apocolypses?"
"It's been done," Spike said. He missed his shot and straightened, looking for a waitress. Dean eyed the table.
"So...are you sure...? 'Cause if you try to get your fangs into Sam, I'm gonna have to cut your fuckin' head off. And then set you on fire."
"And if you so much as look sideways at Xander, I'll rip your arms off and stuff 'em up your arse. Deal?"
Dean lined up his shot – sent the green six spinning down the table and into the corner pocket with a satisfying thunk.
"Deal."
Spike serenades them with Pretty Vacant by the Sex Pistols.
Now that we're finally dug out and can get up and down our way-too-steep drive with ease, they say more snow. Nice! Not.
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They were so fun to write - i loved tossing them into 'situations' and seeing what happened next.
Enjoy your re-read!