A/N: I blame that video about the Chupacabra sighting in Dewitt County, Texas for this one. My muse wouldn't let me alone until I finished it; that's why Unaware is late this week. If you haven't read Dog Eat Dog, here's all you need to know: in this AU Dean Winchester is the avatar for the Trickster God Coyote. This story takes place in the same 'verse as Dog and Death By Golden Retriever.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchester boys. Eric Kripke does, you lucky SOB…
Part 1 of 2
"They're ugly, and they're late," Dean grumbles.
A few feet away Coyote rolls over on his back in the grass, grinning, obviously enjoying the wind carding his thick grayish brown fur. He's twice the size of a normal coyote, and, as befits a deity, twice as beautiful. His coat's Hollywood perfect, not a scar to be found. Flies don't even come near him. Fleas? They wouldn't dare.
"Relax kid, they'll be here," the Old Man yawns. "Punctuality ain't one of their strong points."
"No, but goat sucking is." Dean tries not to yawn, fights the urge to look at his watch. He hates standing still. "I saw the video. Cop said it looked like a coyote with a bad case of mange."
Dean's spiky dark blond hair is bleached by the sun. He stands relaxed and easy against the tall stump of that dead tree. Despite his closed off body language (arms folded across his chest) he's actually feeling pretty mellow. He's gorgeous, broad shouldered, slim hipped. Godhood totally agrees with him.
Coyote sniffs disdainfully. "Shows you how much they know."
"Yeah, and the word coyote kept coming up, along with the words deformed, and mutant." Dean cocks an amused eye on his trickster half. "Something you wanna tell me before they get here?"
Dean looks at his watch for the third time in as many minutes. Coyote huffs. The kid can't stay still in one place for too long. Well, if he was laying in wait for some fugly he could, which in a way they are, but this is different. They're not hunting right now.
A small cloud of mosquitos takes aim at Dean, but thinks better of it and moves off when they get closer and realize what he is.
"This wouldn't be family that you forgot to tell me about?" Dean's slight grin is sly and somewhat crooked.
Coyote actually looks offended. Deeply offended. It's surprising the depth of emotion he can show with that furry face of his. His wide eyes are deep green, framed by ridiculously long eyelashes, just like Dean's.
"I got standards to maintain. Standards," Coyote snaps indignantly. "They called us for help, we came. That's it, that's all. Us canines gotta stick together."
Something rustles inside those thick bushes nearby. There's no need for alarm; they already know what it is.
Just a cat. Somebody's pampered pet roaming around loose for the day. The black and white furball sticks its head out, takes one look at them and streaks off in the opposite direction.
"Hmph." Coyote stares after it just a little too long. He licks his lips, reveals perfect white teeth, nice and sharp. "Plump old rascal, ain't he?"
"Plump?" Dean scowls. "That's just wrong."
"Aw, don't be like that," Coyote says, grinning. "I could eat something right now. 'm feelin' a mite peckish."
"Peckish?" Dean grins despite himself. "Damn, you're so full of shit."
"Yep. I could go for some chicken. Or beef. Or cat."
"Yeah, y' know." Coyote cocks his head to one side. "Feline?"
Dean remembers a couple of mornings recently when he woke up and his throat felt funny, like he'd swallowed a wad of cotton. Or fur. He wouldn't put it past the Old Man to go joy-riding in the body they shared when Dean was asleep at night.
"Damn." Dean tries not to gag. He clears his throat. It's scratchy and he swears he tastes cat fur on his tongue.
"Dude, you didn't—"
"Relax, kid." Coyote grins as he rolls over on his back. "Haven't eaten a cat in, oh, over twenty eight years now." He lies there with one forepaw folded up over his chest, the other one straight up in the air. "Meow." His thick tail waves lazily back and forth. "Tastes like chicken."
Dean burps a little, despite himself. He's determined not to hurl. Coyote's grin gets even wider. He waves one paw in the air. "Secretly I knew you wanted to know."
"Thought Tricksters were freaks for sugar, not meat."
"Sometimes we are." Coyote shrugs. "If you wanna scarf down a whole bag of Peanut M&Ms, feel free. I ain't gonna stop ya. That sugar stuff is mostly for those young'uns. We're one of the First, remember?"
"Yeah," Dean mutters under his breath. "This life does have its perks."
Dean drums his fingers, then his palms, against the dead wood of the tree trunk. Coyote tilts his head to one side, narrows his eyes as he listens. He doesn't recognize the song at first, and when he finally does he flattens his ears. It's "Master of Puppets". Not one of his favorites. He's tone deaf. Can't carry a tune, except when he's howling at the moon or drunk on Ambrosia.
After another minute or so Dean huffs impatiently and checks his watch. Again.
"You got someplace else you need to be?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact. Need to check out my girl when Dad gets back from town. Engine's sounding a little rough. Got to clean our weapons stash. There's laundry." Dean shrugs. "I got better things to do than stand around and wait for fugly to show up."
Coyote rolls his eyes. "All you gotta do is think about it, and it's done. Hel-lo, trickster god here, remember? Powers beyond those of mortal men?"
Dean shrugs. "Not my style, Old Man."
"You with all those rules of yours," Coyote huffs, amused. "You won't manifest living beings. Only weapons and inaminate objects. You won't read people's minds unless you absolutely have to. Niño, you are such a girl."
"Yeah, and I'm the girl doing the driving, remember?"
"Being able to draw weapons out of thin air is pretty sweet." Dean lifts up one hand, turns his wrist smoothly from side to side.
Coyote does that eye roll again as the weapon manifests itself and Dean makes ever-widening passes in the air around him. Not that damn two bladed lightsaber again. "Being able to heal yourself after slicing your hand off is pretty sweet, too," Coyote drawls.
Dean shrugs it off. "Yeah that's the way of it. I made a mistake once and you never let me forget it."
"All that whimpering and screaming gave me a headache. It was a clean cut."
Dean makes a few more passes with the lightsaber. The energy blades glow soft blue, and the weapon hums as it cuts through the air. One of the mosquitos, the dumbest one of the lot, is too bloodthirsty and throws caution to the wind. She decides to go after Dean after all, and he separates her wings from her body with a slight flick of his wrist, then cuts the body neatly in half in mid-air. That's one less bloodsucker in the world.
Dean recognizes a familiar scent (uswebloodfamily) in the air and grins a little. "Hey, Sammy."
Sam Winchester eases out into the open from behind that grove of trees fifty feet back. He sticks his hands in his pockets and whistles this nameless tune. Sam's trying for innocent, and usually he's pretty darn good at it. This time though, he's caught dead to rights and he knows it. Trying to slip around undetected around Dean was hard before; it's damn near impossible now.
As usual, Dean doesn't hide what he can do now, not in front of Sam and John, at least, but he's not exactly holding daily press conferences about his new god status now, either. One of the first things Dean and Coyote did was give John Winchester his life and his body back, so naturally Sam's got a lot of questions. At least half of the questions are about how Dean feels about things nowadays. Sam wants chick flick moments, just like people down in hell want ice water.
And just like people down in hell, so far Sam isn't getting what he wants, either.
When Dean clammed up, Sam naturally tried to do an end run around him and approach Coyote directly. That didn't work either. Even though the furball's thrilled with Sam's questions about his life and his abilities, and loves to talk about himself, Coyote's not one much for sharing and caring either.
Hmph. What were the odds?
Sam won't stop trying. They all know that.
Sam stands back a respectable distance as Dean smirks a little and slows down the rotation of his wrist. Sam knows Dean would never hurt him, but still and all, there was that business with Dean's severed hand.
Dean lets him hang a little while longer. Then: "So, uh…Sam…what'cha doin' out here?"
Sam follows the moving lightblade with his eyes. He grins a little, somehow a little shy, awkward. "Uh, thought I'd go for a walk."
"A walk." Dean drawls slowly. "Out here."
Sam shrugs those broad shoulders of his. "Yeah."
"Hey, Sammy. Watch this." Dean winks. He fills his other hand with another double-bladed lightsaber and it dances slowly in the air, suspended on Dean's talented fingertips. The second set of blades glow green.
Several of the mosquitos make a beeline for Sam, and Dean's eyes narrow slightly. That's it, they've overstayed their welcome. He flicks the edge of the second lightsaber out in the air, and they all join their sister in Bug Heaven.
"Whoa!" Sam steps back. John taught his sons to be ambidextrous, but still… Dean increases the rotation of both wrists, and the air around him goes bluish green.
"Not bad, huh, Sammy? Told ya I got the hang of it."
Coyote gets up, walks over and sits down right next to Sam. Coyote cocks his head. "Don't worry, kid," the Trickster says out of the side of his mouth. "Anything he cuts off will grow back."
"I heard that," Dean mumbles softly. "Never distract a dude at a time like this."
Coyote yawns. "At a time like this dude should be careful he doesn't cut off something he'll need. Again."
Dean's eyes widen in mock fear as he deliberately throws at few shakes and stutters into his wrist action, just to amuse himself. Sam shakes his head. He's not buying it. He's not in any danger, and they all know it. Sometimes perfection can be as boring as hell.
After a minute or so Dean's motions smooth out again. Sam stands there watching and even though he's six feet four and will never be a child again in this lifetime he feels like he's two years old again. Dean's showing off, putting on a show just for him. Quiet moments like this are few and far in between. The lines of tension in Dean's face relax, and he looks younger, his eyes bright and alive. He's enjoying himself, doing something just for the pure joy of it. He looks like a little kid again, Sam thinks to himself.
Dean magicks the lightsabers back and forth. The colors change, from yellow to purple, blue to green and then red. The double blades become single and back to double again. At one point Dean throws the blue lightblade up in the air, pivots and turns back around to neatly catch it in less than a second. Damn hotdog is showboating his ass off. Sam laughs, but it's not a nervous "Oh God we're all gonna die" kind of laugh. Dean's in the zone, and Sam's a very appreciative audience.
So's Coyote, but the Old Man isn't going to admit it. He's got this look that says yeah, I've seen this all before and man I'm bored to tears, but Sam can tell after a while the way the critter tips his head, his ears straight up and that bright look in his eyes, ol' Roamer is impressed too.
Thing is, Sam's seen this before on a smaller scale but he can't quite put his finger on it. He stares at Dean for another minute or so, and then it hits him.
"Dude." Sam grins. "You saw Tom Cruise on Oprah, didn't you? 'Last Samurai'? A few years ago?"
For a split second Dean looks startled, and Sam thinks, Ah hah, Gotcha.
Coyote snorts, and Dean glares at him. Shut up.
"Oprah?" Dean goes a little flushed around the edges. The blades slow down a little. Dean shakes his head. "Only you would see such an awesome display of manly dexterity and immediately think of Oprah, Sammie Sue."
"Uh huh. Sure, princess."
At the same time Sam feels something coming from Dean, a wave, a vibration that passes through the air. It rattles the ground, shakes the sparse grass and pebbles all around but by the time it reaches Sam it shimmies over his skin with a feather touch. Dean's still got the blades in motion, but his face changes in a blink, from relaxed to full-on alert. The pupils of Dean's eyes glow a soft pure yellow. "Sam?"
"Don't move." Dean's staring at him. Staring past him.
Sam looks down. Coyote's up and turned around in the opposite direction, facing behind Sam. The Old Man's hackles are raised and that growl of his is low and deep like distant thunder. Sam looks around, and that's when he realizes they're surrounded.
Twenty five chupacabra sit in a ring all around them. They're late, and damn, are they ugly.
On to part 2.