|Nine Lives And Then Some
Author: silver ruffian PM
Next time, Dean decided as he licked his paws, I really gotta stop with the smart ass remarks. 4 chapter fic. Completed.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Supernatural - Dean W. & Sam W. - Chapters: 4 - Words: 8,255 - Reviews: 57 - Favs: 55 - Follows: 8 - Updated: 03-15-09 - Published: 02-26-09 - Status: Complete - id: 4887415
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Well, folks, this is it. The last chapter of this twisted little tale. You may recognize some diologue from "Mystery Spot" that I adapted for this chapter. I'm a little behind on responding to your reviews, so please bear with me. I appreciate the attention and the support this fic has gotten. I really do. I couldn't have done this without you.
POV: Paige, Sam, and Dean
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment purposes only, not for profit.
They sat in the diner across the street, while Dean ate.
"Damn," Dean crowed. "I tell ya, we need to stop by the nearest supermarket and buy one'a those rotisserie chickens."
"Yeah?" Sam couldn't help but smile. "What flavor, Deanna? Herb, BBQ, or lemon pepper?"
Dean shrugged. "Any of 'em. All of 'em. Hell, all the credit cards are good." He dug into his sandwich with even more enthusiasm, and that was when Sam realized something.
"Uh, dude? That's salmon."
"Yeah? So?" Dean chewed noisily.
"You hate salmon."
Dean stopped chewing. He peered at the sandwich in his hand, and shrugged. "Today I don't. Maybe tomorrow."
And he attacked the sandwich again.
"Okay," Sam chuckled. "So you were in the body of a Siamese cat."
"Yep. Name's Tucker. Real nice house. Real nice lady. I didn't mind rubbing up against her ankles, lemme tell ya," Dean leered. Sam looked slightly nauseous. "There was another cat there. Older dude. Rollie. Not bad for a cat. Said that this happened all the time, that his buddy went somewhere while we swapped bodies."
"Yeah, he did," Sam nodded. "Into your body."
"Damn! I knew it! So how was it?"
"How was it? Was it all cool and weird and exotic like it is in the movies?"
Out came Sam's bitchface. "Dean, you peed yourself."
"I --- what? Really?"
"Yep. Bobby and I didn't think about getting a litter box."
"Oh. Litter box? Wait a minute. Bobby and you. Bobby saw---"
"Bobby saw quite a bit. Yeah. We had to strip you down and make you take a shower."
"Well, of course a man's--- I mean a cat's -- gonna answer nature's call if there's no litter box around. I mean, come on!"
"Uh huh. And that same man oughta remember that none of this would have happened in the first place if he hadn't mouthed off to a certain Haitian witch doctor."
"That's over. Let's move on." Dean made a hand flap with his left. "Was that the only time he missed the litter box?"
The tips of Sam's ears got even redder. "There was, uh, the next day."
"The next day?"
"I mean, this was a smart cat. He got the concept of the toilet down right away, but he…" Sam's ears went even redder. "He needed help."
Dean leaned forward. "Help?"
"Aiming." Sam huffed. He couldn't look at Dean.
"I…helped him, and he still couldn't hit the bowl."
"Still had better aim than you do."
Dean blinked. "Bitch."
Her boys were up to something; Paige knew it for a fact.
She tried not to smile when she was around them. It was hard not to. Tucker was careful to delete the browsing history, but Paige knew he'd been on the computer anyway.
"That's it," she told San Louise and the others. "No more. I'm revoking Tucker's pre-birth body swap agreement."
"It's binding," They whined. They stopped whining when Paige quirked an eyebrow at them. "It's dishonest. You get these idiot little nearly born kittens to sign their lives away, just so you can use them for body swaps. They don't know what they're getting into, and you don't tell them what it's really like."
"But. But ---"
"No buts," Paige snarled. "And no more of this. He's done, he's out. Swap him again and I will end you."
And that was that.
She never let the boys know that she was retired from that life. As far as she was concerned witchcraft was something useful, and she still used it occasionally, but she had it good now. Good and normal. She loved hearing Tucker's voice, loved feeling him rub against her ankles. He had questions and comments about everything. The death threats against the squirrels next door, the snide comments he and Rollie made among themselves whenever she bought the wrong food home from the store.
"Good grief," Rollie said that one time. "She bought the wrong food. It's not juicy enough. We can't eat this. If we do, she'll buy it again."
"But it's food!" Tucker whined.
"Didn't I tell you not to eat that?" Rollie scowled.
Tucker lifted his head up from the bowl. "But…but…IT'S FOOD!"
She especially loved seeing Tucker when he was on a tear. That incident with the stolen tortilla chip was hilarious.
And Rollie? Well, he had his good days and bad days. Same old lovable goof who laid on her arm while she worked and made her feel guilty if she had to move. Paige respected the so-called circle of life, and she knew he'd tell her when he was ready to go. But not yet, apparently. Good for him.
Some of the folks that inhabited Tucker's body were idiots, plain and simple. One of them decided to have sex with her leg, and another one was so freaked out that she had to lock the poor thing in the bathroom for the entire two days.
He sat by the door and whined and moaned the entire damn time. Paige felt so guilty that afterwards she went out and got a pound of cooked E-Z peeled shrimp and didn't care if Rollie and Tucker gorged themselves all night long.
That should have been the last time. Wasn't. It was good to go out on a high note, though.
That Dean Winchester? A natural born feline.
He was the best of the lot, hands down.
Things got back to normal. After.
"Dude, I was turned into a cat for two days. I missed my baby. I'm driving my baby."
Sam knew the rule: "Driver calls the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." So Dean was surprised and yeah, shocked when Sam leaned over and switched the radio channel, right in the middle of AC/DC's Bad Boy Boogie:
They said stop, I said go
They said fast, I said slow
They said yes, I said no
I do the bad boy boogie
to Total Eclipse of the Heart by Air Supply:
Turnaround, every now and then I get a
little bit lonely and you're never coming around
Turnaround, Every now and then I get a
little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears
Dean's eyes narrowed, and Sam could swear Dean's ears laid flat against his head somehow.
Dean hissed, loud and long.
Sam couldn't turn the dial back fast enough.
Sam thought about putting the camera pics of Cat!Dean slurping milk from a bowl, or batting French fries around up on Facebook, or MySpace, or even Live Journal, but seeing as how they were both considered "persons of interest" by the FBI he decided not to.
That didn't stop Sam from sending copies of the pictures to Bobby Singer and Jo and Ellen Harvelle.
The next time the boys stopped by the Roadhouse Ellen served Dean a glass of milk instead of a beer. Jo sauntered up and said that she'd just scooped out the litter box, and she hoped Dean liked clay litter because that was all they had, little buddy.
Dean blushed. Ellen took a picture with her cell and sent Sam and Jo and Bobby a copy.
When Bobby Singer presented Dean with a ten pound bag of cat litter and told him to "have at it, big boy," Dean growled, low and dangerous.
Enough was enough. The joke had gotten old.
Three weeks later Sam and Dean were in Woodbury, New Jersey, of all places. They stood in the living room of one Maria Whitewolf Fallon, a practicing white witch who had, naturally, another amulet the boys needed for a barghast hunt. She was an older woman, rather plain. Thank God, there wasn't anything about her that would have pulled Dean's smart-ass trigger. He was overly polite, but it was obvious she was attracted to Sam.
Sam just stood there, all shy and awkward, as she handed the amulet to Dean and then slipped a yellow Post-It note with her phone number into Sam's hand.
Dean waited until they got outside. "Sammy! I'm proud of ya. When ya gonna call her?"
Sam frowned. "Like never." He balled up the Post-it and threw it onto the curb.
The next morning Sam barely flinched as the groom came in with a bucket of oats and filled his feed bag up. Sam stood there gently swishing his tail, savoring the taste, and it finally hit him seconds later.
He was a horse, of course.
Turn me down, will you? Maria Whitewolf Fallon's voice raged inside Sam's head. Forty eight hours, Winchester. Forty eight hours on this stud farm as a gelding. Maybe that'll loosen you up, teach you some manners…
Two minutes later, half a state away, Dean Winchester stood in the middle of his motel room and waited for Bobby Singer to pick up. Dean hummed the theme song to "Mr. Ed" while he waited.
Once he realized what had happened Dean immediately went to the diner next door, ordered a large black coffee and five uncooked carrots. The cook hesitated until Dean politely explained that his brother was a vegan and liked 'em plenty raw.
That twenty Dean flashed helped convince the dude even further.
As he strolled out with his coffee and carrots Dean stole that bowl of sugar cubes on the table nearest the door. Nobody saw a thing.
Maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do, having a horse hyped up on all that sugar, but hell, it would have to do until Bobby got there.
Sammy the horse was getting kinda fractious, but he calmed down a little when Dean started running his fingers through his bangs. Dean supposed Sammy thought that was part of his mane. It was kinda creepy, because Sammy the horse kept trying to lip at Dean's fingers, but he quieted the hell down, so Dean concentrated on the ringing of the cell phone and ignored the slobber coating his fingers.
And Sam's tongue against his skin.
Dean hoped Bobby was home, or he'd pick up.
Right the hell now.
At one point Sammy stuck his tongue out and stood there, huffing. It took Dean a moment or so to realize that he was supposed to stroke Sammy's tongue with his hand.
"No way in hell am I doing that," Dean snarled roughly. "Dude, you'll take what you can get."
Sammy the horse snorted and idly pawed the worn carpet with his left foot.
It was gonna be a long day.
A/N: That's it. I'm finished. I might continue this one later on, but for now, I can't even imagine how it would go. I have Meggin Lane to thank for the bit about Dean hissing at Sam in the Impala, and Phoebe for the suggestion of Gelding!Sam. If there's anyone else out there I should blame –I mean, credit-- drop me a line and please let me know. A big thank you to everyone who enjoyed this story, read and reviewed, or just lurked! I really do appreciate it.