A/N: Happy Birthday, Terry! For all you do, this one's for you! This is another crack fic from the Coyote 'verse. I had a co-conspirator with this fic – none other than PADavis. She's not as normal as you think she is, folks. She made some really good suggestions about this story, and I decided to run with them. I'll never look at ring-tailed lemurs quite the same way again.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Rosemary's Baby. This is for fun, not profit.


Chapter 1 – trading places

Coyote stands on his hind legs, lifts the netting around the basinet, leans in, and takes a long look. His ears go straight up and those wide green eyes of his get even wider.

Daamnn.

"Rosemary," he grumbles, "that's one ugly baby."

Rosemary Woodhouse rolls her eyes as she leans down and picks up her suitcase. "Like that's the first time I've ever heard that, Old Man. I'm calling in that favor now. We'll be gone for only five days."

Little ugly coos and wraps a pudgy hand around Coyote's left paw. Roamer's expression softens a little. Well, it's a kid, after all. "What's Hellboy's name?"

"Andrew," Rosemary snaps.

Guy Woodhouse comes out of the bedroom loaded down like a pack mule with luggage. Rosemary looks at him and her eyes narrow dangerously. Coyote can feel the tension in the air. Kid wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for ol' Guy's deal with the coven in the Bramford, and ever since then you better believe Guy pays for it. Every damn day.

"And please don't call him Hellboy," Rosemary huffs wearily.

"Wouldn't think of it," Coyote lies cheerfully and easily.


"Dude," Dean says with a smirk. "This is one creepy ass building." He punches the elevator button for the eighth floor.

Sam looks around doubtfully as he switches his duffel to his right hand. "The Bramford. Place has a history all right. Not a good one either."

"Aw, come on, Sammy. Lighten up. We're here. How bad could it get?

Sam's bitchface is right on the horizon. "A babysitting gig, Dean. Babysitting?"

"So?" Dean shrugs. "It's a job. You said you wanted something different." He waggles his eyebrows at his brother. "This is different."

"Yeah I did, but…" Sam sees that wicked gleam in Dean's eyes and decides to drop it. "Okay. Fine. Back to round two, Captain Macho."

Dean straightens up a little. "Bring it, Poindexter."

"So who's hotter? Lily Munster or Morticia Addams?"

Dean snort chuckles. "You kiddin' me? Morticia Addams is a babe."

"Carolyn Jones or Angelica Huston?" Sam huffs.

"Both."

"Huh."

The elevator door slides open, and the boys have to step quickly to the side to avoid being trampled.

Rosemary comes in first, followed by Guy the pack mule (Dude's whipped, Dean thinks to himself. Ka-chow!) and several other older people with suitcases and bags. "Get out of our way, young'uns. We're outta here!" one cackles.

Sam and Dean are very nearly tossed out on their ears. Sam eyes the elevator door as it closes. "That would be the coven."

Dean nods. "That would be them. Gee…I'm…I'm…underwhelmed."

When Sam and Dean walk in Coyote's still four legged and furry, but he's sitting in a big overstuffed easy chair, burbling and cooing to the baby in his arms. The kid's wrapped up in a blanket, and the noises the Old Man's making are syrupy sweet and fairly disgusting.

"Goo goo gaa gaa. Yeahhh. You like that, huh? Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?"

Dean rolls his eyes as he locates the bedroom and tosses his duffel bag in a corner.

Sam stands there looking around the apartment. It's pretty spacious for one in New York City. Got a really nice view…and is that Central Park over there? Sam goes over to the window for a closer look.

"You tell the woman to her face that her baby's ugly." Dean shakes his head. "That was velvety smooth, fuzzy. Not." Dean leans down, lifts the baby blanket, then jerks back. "Whoa! That's not a baby. That's a special effect!"

"Don't listen to him, booboo," Coyote purrs to the baby. "He just doesn't understand."

Booboo? Dean frowns. "So, uh, what's ugly's ---I mean the baby's name?"

"Andy."

"Uh huh." Dean smirks. "Hey, Sammy! C'mere. Want you to meet Andy."

How ugly could it be? Sam thinks to himself. Dean flips back the blanket.

Sam stares. "Damn. That is one seriously ugly baby."

"See? I rest my case," Dean says smugly.

Sam's eyes unfocus a little. "That is hardcore ugly."

"Sam ---"

"And I don't mean your run of the mill ugly."

"Uh, Sammy?"

"I'm talking apocalyptic, hide the virgins ---"

"Sam ---"

" ---- Katie bar the door and break out the Latin and the holy water ugly."

Dean and Coyote look at each other and silently mouth Who's Katie? to each other.

"Sam, we get it," Dean says. "We do."

"Sorry," Sam says mildly.

"And you," Coyote's ears flatten slightly at the tone in Dean's voice. "Just what the hell are we doing here?"

"Babysitting." Coyote continues to rock the baby. "I, uh…owed a favor to Zephis the Unspeakable Horror."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. "Who?"

"Zephis the Unspeakable Horror," Coyote says. He's staring at Dean like he thinks Dean should know who that is.

Dean shrugs. "Don't have a clue, dude."

"Oh-kay, pup." Coyote shakes his head ruefully. "The original debt was between me and Zephis the Unspeakable Horror, who traded it to Aron the Desolate and Hungry so Aron wouldn't eat him."

"Uh…yeah," Dean says warily.

"Aron got into a tight spot and traded it off to the Cult of Mahom Alt."

"And?"

"The Cult of Mahom Alt was a bunch of losers. Tried to raise their long lost leader, Aldo the Inglourious Basterd, and made hell freeze over instead."

Sam's eyes widen. "Hell froze over? I didn't hear about that."

Coyote huffs. "And you weren't gonna, either. Hell Incorporated clamped down on the news quicker than Disney going after folks who mess with the Mouse."

"So the favor got traded," Dean frowns. "Move it along. Work with me here, will ya?"

Coyote nods. "Geez, one stupid little favor and the damn thing gets passed around like a damn library card. Mercus the Unholy Flatulent got it next."

"Who?"

"Mercus the Unholy Flatulent. He Who Farts Fire and Brimstone. Never gets invited to A-list parties." Coyote quirks an eyebrow. "And he wonders why."

"I get it. I get it, Dean says quickly, but not quickly enough. "So somehow this Rosemary chick gets the favor. She needed some time off and decided to call it in. Which is why we're babysitting."

"Yep."

"I'm almost afraid to, but I gotta ask. What was the original favor?"

Coyote looks genuinely puzzled. "After all this time, I forgot."

Andy grumbles a little to get Coyote's attention. The Old Man smiles and tickles the little fugly underneath his chin, then gurgles happily and waves his fat little fists in the air. Frankly, Sam's impressed at the Old Man's parenting skills.

"Uh huh." Apparently Dean's not impressed. "Let me see if I have this straight: this kid is the son of Satan, and his mom and dad and the rest of the coven are dumb enough to let a trickster god and two hunters into their apartment to babysit the kid while said coven goes off on a five day cruise to the Bahamas. And instead of hunting said fiend down, you decide to honor said debt."

"Yep," the Old Man says smugly.

"You're an all day sucker, you know that? Kid's the Anti-Christ," Dean says flatly.

"No, he's not."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. "He's not? He's the son of Satan."

"He's a son of Satan. But he's not the Anti-Christ."

"Can I see him for a moment?" Dean says softly. Sam turns away from the window to watch. He can't read Dean now. Dean's pupils spark with golden fire.

Coyote hands the kid over.

Andy looks up at Dean goggle eyed at first. It's almost like he knows he's in the arms of the most lethal demon hunter on the planet. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Dean relaxes. Sam sees it, sees all the tension flow out of his brother's body, sees that slight golden tint fade from his eyes. Dean's face softens. Despite the leather and the stubble Dean looks young again, almost as young as Sam.

"Hey there, buddy," Dean says softly. A corner of his mouth twitches up into a slight grin. He tickles the baby's chin gently and Junior laughs as he wraps his pudgy little fingers around Dean's finger.

"Made a few adjustments to the apartment," Coyote drawls. He yawns and stretches. "Place needs some upgrades. We'll leave 'em. Rosemary's a good kid. Guy's a tool."

"Upgrades? Like what?"

"A high end superautomatic coffee machine for one." The Old Man grins slyly. "And a steam shower."

"Take the kid." Dean hands Andy off to Coyote. "Ah'll be back." It's Ahnald. One of Dean's better imitations. As usual, Sam doesn't get it. Coyote laughs.

So does the baby.


"The HESACM Mach 4000. I love you, baby." Dean practically purrs, soft and low, as he lovingly pats the stainless steel exterior of the coffee machine. Sam shudders. It's somehow disturbing to watch Dean do that.

Dean doesn't appear to notice Sam's reaction. He squints at the control panel and then grins. "And hey, they even got a feature for that half assed latte of yours, Francis."

Sam closes his eyes and breathes in the rich aroma. "Ah. Dude. This is the nectar of the damn gods right here." He opens his eyes, takes a sip, and his toes curl up in his boots.

"Oh yeah. Hey. Check out the note on the fridge." Dean removes the blue index card and stares at the neat block lettering.

"What's it say?"

"Crowd of assholes show up every Monday morning early. With pitchforks. Sorry! Give them a scare."

"Huh," Dean says thoughtfully. "And that's why she called in the favor, boys and girls."

"Dean, you read the baby, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Dean, you did. You read him."

"No, I didn't."

Sam's bitchface blooms. "Yeah you did. Now give. I want details. What is he?"

Dean blows out a breath. "Satan's the daddy, all right, but the kid isn't the AntiChrist. Far as I can tell, he's not evil. Just ugly."

"Yeah. About that. What the hell's gonna happen when he gets older?"

Dean shrugs. "He'll grow out of it."

"Grow out of it?"

"Yep. He's seven months old now? I figure when he's about a year...year and a half." Dean shrugs. "It's camouflage. Kinda like one'a those things you see on the Nature Channel."

Sam stares at Dean in mock-disbelief. "You watch the Nature Channel? You?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Shut up. They had a special on prehistoric sharks and I couldn't find the remote." He takes another sip of coffee and closes his eyes. "Damn, that's good!"

"Uh huh. Yeah."

"Anyway, it's something to throw hunters off. They go after the ugly ones while the real Anti-Christ goes on his or her merry way." As soon as Dean says that Sam flinches.

Damn.

"Uh, Dean, Dad thought I was ---"

"I know he did. Dad was wrong. Hey, look, if this is seriously freaking you out, you can go on a road trip of your own. You don't have to hang around here."

Sam grins a little. "Nah. I'll stay." That suddenly boyish look on his face is replaced by a more solemn look. "Damn."

"What?"

"Suppose they don't come back."

Dean grins. "Bet they do. Loser wears a dress and high heels around Bobby's house for twenty hour hours."

Sam's grin is just as bright. "You're on, Deanna."


On to chapter two!