Disclaimer: I don't own Dean or Sam, and it pains me to have to say that.


Part 2 of 2

Sam just stares.

He's seen a whole lot of fugly in his young life, just not this much fugly all in one place. He sees rough grey skin, covered in patches by thin wispy grey fur. The front legs of these critters are shorter than the back legs, and the tail looks like an oversized rat's tail, long, whip-like and scaly. The face is something only a mother could love, and she'd have to be either drunk, high or insane to appreciate it. Long blunt muzzles, thick foreheads topped by floppy ears, and that terrible overbite isn't going to win them any beauty contests, either. Warts and boils dot their skin everywhere, in places that he'd rather not think about. They have big floppy ears, and the thing that most surprises Sam is the smell. Mildewed leather, so heavy it makes the hairs in Sam's nostrils curl.

They're growling, Coyote's growling. The Old Man puts himself between them and Sam.

The closest one is fairly large, German Shepherd-sized. It stares at Sam up and down, and Coyote snarls as it slinks forward.

"You don't come out here and threaten me and mine, boy," Coyote's hackles are up, his head's down, and he sidesteps in front of Sam, the tip of his thick tail twitching back and forth. "Think you bastards have forgotten who you're dealin' with. Maybe I oughta remind you." He lowers his gaze on the chupacabra like a gunsight. Those green eyes of his glint gold and the fugly actually flinches.

Sam blinks and Dean is suddenly standing there right beside him, emptyhanded.

"Need some help?" Dean says softly. He sounds bored, but Sam isn't fooled.

Coyote huffs. He never breaks eye contact. "Oh hell no. I got this."

Dean shrugs.

"Now here's where it gets ugly," Dean blurts out.

"Dean?"

"Man, they're ugly enough to break day--"

"Dean—"

"They got beat with the ugly stick--" Dean's rambling on in a vain attempt to describe what he's seeing.

"Dean?"

"They fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down."

"Damn it, Dean, are you finished?" Sam snaps.

"Don't get ugly with me, Sam," Dean quips.

"Dean?" Sam's bitchface is out in full force.

"Dude, they're fugly.'"

"Dean!"

"Okay. I'm done." Dean smirks as his eyes flash golden, and the rest of the goat suckers shrink back.

A smaller one darts out and nips the larger one on the hindquarters. He whines and gives Sam the evil eye as he turns tail, but he won't look Coyote in the eyes again.

Coyote stands there, just as beautiful as they are ugly. He's the perfect alpha male, with his ears and head up, a dominant male all the way, and the smaller one bows to him.

The voice is a surprise. It's more cultured than Sam would expect, sounds like a talking head on tv. Hell, the fact that it can talk at all is a shocker, but after spending the last year with Dean and Coyote, Sam doesn't stay surprised for too long about anything.

The small chupacabra bows deeply, and won't look any of them in the eye. "Old Man Coyote, First Artist, First Scolder, please forgive the actions of that hot-headed young fool. We come in peace and we mean you and your pack no harm. You have many names, and we revere them all. You are the Creator, the Magician, Roamer, Ban, Sinchlep, Akba-Atatdia, Fine Young Chief Howling In the Dawn in the East…"

Coyote's expression softens slightly. He looks wistful. "Damn. I really miss hearing that one."

"You never had much sympathy for us, Old Man." It's the one that tried to move on Sam first. He apparently feels more secure hiding behind the others. "You're one'a them pretty boys." He yelps when one of his mates nips him on the flank and hisses at him to keep quiet.

"Please, we need your help," the smallest chupacabra murmurs.

"All right." Coyote sounds bored. "What do you want?"

"We need sanctuary."

Coyote doesn't say anything. His eyes narrow.

"The humans will come and hunt us."

"Whose damn idea was that, huh? Which one'a you idjits" (Huh, Sam thinks, Coyote's been hanging around Bobby a lot) "had the bright idea to get caught on tape? By a cop, no less? You made Yahoo. What part of keeping a low profile did you not understand?"

"It was him," one of the others whines, indicating the punk that challenged Coyote in the first place.

"Got your pictures all over the news." The Old Man gets up, paces back and forth." You gave 'em everything but a map on where you live, and how to get out here."

"They got Betty last month," another whines fearfully.

Dean quirks an eyebrow at Sam. "Betty?"

"They came here asking for help." Dean knows that look on Sam's face. Stubborn, determined. Sam's a man on a mission now. "What are you gonna do?"

"What do you think we oughta do?" Dean says slowly. He already knows the answer, and he's not too thrilled with it.

"Help them," Sam says simply.

"What? Dude, you gotta be freakin' kidding me. Since when do we go around cleaning up messes we didn't make in the first place?"

Sam just stares at his brother. "We do it all the time. It's our job, remember?"

"We usually hunt things that look like them."

"Well, yeah. They're not that bad looking."

Dean stares at his brother in disbelief.

"Have they ever attacked a human? I researched them before I came out here, Dean. I don't know about the ones down in Mexico, or anyplace else, but this group doesn't attack humans. Even that big one over there ran away from the camera. He didn't attack. There's something kind of sad about them." Sam shrugs. He's solidly into emo territory, and it's too damn late to turn back now. "Maybe...maybe they act that way because they don't feel good about themselves."

"Are we even related?" A little bit more and Dean would be speechless. "Tell me you're not playing Dr. Phil to a bunch of chupacabra."

"We hunt evil, Dean. We don't kill things just because they're supernatural."

Both Dean and Coyote flinch slightly at the same time. Dean remembers Leonore and her nest of good vampires. They fed only on cattle, and Dean still wanted to slaughter all of them (if it's supernatural, we kill it), until Sam convinced him otherwise. "Damn, that stings. That's a low blow, Sam."

"Awkward," Coyote mumbles.

Sam steps away from Dean and past Coyote. The smaller chupacabra looks up fearfully and backs up as Sam approaches.

"Sam, don't get that close. Dude, you don't know where they've…of course he's not listening to a damned thing I say." Dean finishes up lamely as Sam kneels down in front of the creature.

Less than five minutes later Sam Winchester's sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by chupacabra talking about their feelings.

Dean doesn't say anything. He sits down with his back against the dead tree trunk, fills his hand with a leather baseball glove and a baseball. He amuses himself by bouncing the ball off that rock wall nearby. Coyote flattens his ears with each loud thock of the ball.

Sam's got work to do.

000

"I don't believe this," Coyote grouses.

"That's Sammy for you," Dean drawls fondly. "Kid has a soft spot a mile wide."

"Are you sure he's your brother?"

Dean gives him a look. Coyote shakes his head.

"Never mind. Hunters come in here, it's gonna be like shooting fish in a damn barrel."

Dean nods. "Looked it up on the internet. Some damn rock star's organizing a hunting party." He frowns a little as he throws the ball with a whiplike snap of his wrist and catches it less than a second later. "Show him the money and you're guaranteed to bag a goat sucker."

Captain Virgil Hilts, Dean thinks to himself as he makes another catch. The Great Escape. Steve McQueen. Damn, that never gets old.

"I remember what it was like before, back in the day. Coyote hunts. Bodies hanging up on fences. Pelts with the ears and feet cut off." Coyote's fur ripples uneasily with the memory.

"Make a fortune on ebay selling body parts," Dean says quietly. Another toss, another catch. "Got a place in mind for them to go?"

"Yeah." The Old Man gets up and shakes the dust out of his fur. "Kind of like a witless protection program."

Dean snorts. "You mean witness."

Coyote stares at him pointedly. "I know what I said. Witless." He sighs. "I can get 'em in. Raven owes me big time. So does Badger and some of the other folks down at the kiva." He glances at Sam and his little therapy group and shakes his head. "In the meantime we're gonna have to do something about their damn social skills. They don't play well with others."

Dean snorts again. "And we do?"

Coyote has to grin a little about that one himself. "Nobody likes a smart ass, kid."

"Maybe we can do something about the way they look. Sam might be onto something there."

Another eye roll. "Not you too?"

"I'm just sayin'."

"You can't fix stupid, niño."

"No, but you can fix ugly. Beverly Hills? Plastic surgeons? Any of that ringing any bells? If they look better, maybe they'll act better. Hey, they don't call you the Magician for nothing, do they? Come on, don't tell me you can't work some of that coyote magic here."

"You gettin' emo on me now?"

"I'm the insensitive macho jerk," Dean sniffs. "Don't mess with the status quo, okay? I'm happy with it just the way it is."

"We're giving make-overs," Coyote says thoughtfully.

"Extreme make-overs," Dean says with a laugh.

"To damn chupacabras now."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Son of a bitch," the Old Man mutters.

000

After a couple more hours Sam gets up, brushes the dust off his jeans. Dean looks over, sees him coming, and gets rid of the ball and glove. "Okay Doctor Phil, how'd it go?"

Sam smiles a little as Dean gets to his feet. "They'll do whatever we ask them to. They're scared. They just want to be left alone. Dean, I just spent the last two hours having a conversation with chupacabras." Sam 's grin gets a little wider. He looks giddy.

"Yep. I think your nickname should be Talking with Goat Suckers from now on." Dean claps him on the shoulder. Sam looks blank. "You know, Dancing With Wolves? It's…it's a play on words…" Sam still looks blank. Dean gives up. "Aw, forget it."

Coyote sits there staring past them at the horizon. "If we can just get past this little Maalox moment, I don't think we're done here just yet."

"You mean Kodak moment," Dean snarks.

The look Coyote gives him is sharp like a pointed stick."I know what I said."

Dean tilts his head to one side as his eyes widen slightly. He lets out a low whistle.

"Aw, crap," Coyote mutters darkly.

"Uh, Sammy? Dr. Phil? Dude, I wouldn't put the couch away just yet." Sam freezes in place, then slowly turns to follow Dean's line of sight.

The first Bigfoot Sam sees has to be about ten feet tall, at least. It has greyish-brown fur, bright intelligent brown eyes. The one behind it is slightly smaller, obviously female, and those two smaller ones must be the kids. The smallest one clings to its mother's side and tries to hide behind her when it sees the brothers and Coyote.

Several yards back something slinks low to the ground on four cloven feet. It's barrel chested, about the size of a small pony, covered with slick pinkish brown skin, big red eyes, a bird's beak and a stubby tail that twitches back and forth as it walks. God (or somebody) must've had a sense of humor when He created the damn thing because the tiny leathery wings on its back are about as useful and makes as much sense as a pig riding a bicycle. The five others behind it are carbon copies of the first, only smaller.

Sam stops counting after the first thirty fuglies or so. They walk, crawl, slither and hop.

Apparently news travels fast in these parts.

Coyote gets up and shakes himself. "Well, come on, Doctor Phil. Your public awaits."

"Don't sweat it, Sammy. We got your back." Dean walks back over with Sam. It's more of the same, they ask for sanctuary, and even though Roamer rolls his eyes and grumbles, Dean knows that nobody's gonna be turned away. Sam knows that too. Dean hangs around just long enough to make sure that stupid isn't gonna break out. If it does, he intends to have the final word, but everybody wants help, so everybody's well behaved.

Too bad Dad missed this, Dean thinks as he excuses himself. Sam's good with those damn emotions. This is Sam's gig. Dean's just the muscle, and he's fine with that.

Dean puts his ass on the ground and his back against the tree.

He positions himself so that he can keep an eye on Sam. Just in case. Sammy sits crosslegged in the middle of a ring of newcomers as the chupacabras sit restlessly nearby. Coyote sits nearby, pretends that patch of grass in front of him is just so damned interesting. He gives that big male chupacabra a dirty look and chuckles to himself when it goes submissive like a week old cub.

This life does have its perks after all.

Dean sighs as he brings the ball and glove back.

Another toss, another catch.

It's gonna be a long day.

000

Finished, thank goodness. Now maybe this particular plot bunny will leave me alone so I can update other stories. If you made it this far, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave a review, let me know what you thought.