A/N: Merisha, here's something extra for you. Hey, I tried to give this the classiest title I could think of, because the subject matter is definitely low brow. Pheromonotherapy is using pheronomes (in either a spray or diffuser) to alleviate stress of cats and dogs. Pheronomes make them happy, less likely to fight or mark their territory.
Summary: Castiel has a problem and he comes to John Winchester for help. This is pure crack, another day in the Coyote 'verse. I have no shame.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is for entertainment, not for profit.
John Winchester and Bobby Singer had just settled in for a lazy afternoon on Bobby's porch. The place was quiet, for once. Dean and Sam and Coyote were somewhere else, on business. "Nothing we can't handle," Dean said with a smirk, just before they disappeared, even though "nothing" was an ancient hell goddess who suddenly turned up right smack in the middle of Belleville, Illinois, of all places.
She hadn't done anything, hadn't killed anybody. Not yet, anyway. She just sat there in the middle of Main Street, in downtown Belleville, which was quite a sight considering she was fifty feet tall, had a face only an armadillo could love and was covered in bright red scales.
According to the grapevine she wanted to talk to Sam Winchester.
She had issues.
John settled down in the rocker. Bobby took up the porch swing. Right now there was a nice breeze coming through Singer Salvage Yard and the beer was damn good.
Ten feet away from the house the air lit up bright and white. Bobby's yard was warded, but there were still a few things that could slip in. Bobby and John shielded their eyes, and when the glow vanished, Bobby growled. "What are these damn angels doing in my damn yard?"
There were twelve of them. They looked like normal folk, but neither John nor Bobby were fooled. The two in the front were male. One was a tall, bald-headed black man in a white shirt, no tie, and grey suit.
The other one looked like a younger version of Lieutenant Columbo, rumpled tan raincoat and all.
Columbo stepped forward. "Uh, Mr. Winchester? I am Castiel."
"I am an angel of the Lord."
"Yeah. We got that part."
"Since you are the eldest Winchester, the father figure, as it were, I have come to speak to you about your son."
John quirked an eyebrow at him. He knew they'd been keeping an eye on Sam. It was that damn nonsense about Sammy being the Anti-Christ again. Or letting Lucifer loose, or some other stupid crap like that. John was just about to suggest that they mosey on over to one of those Alternate Universes before he got really pissed when Rumpled Tan Raincoat frowned slightly, cleared his throat and spoke again.
"I am referring to Coyote. The First Artist, Roamer, First Scolder, Akba-Atadia, The Fine Young Chief Howling In the Dawn In the East, the Old Man –"
"Okay, okay, I get it. My four legged son. What'd he do?"
"Ah, for the last month he has snuck into our garrison exactly twenty nine times."
"Wait a minute." John blinked. "Your garrison?"
"Up in Heaven?"
"Damnn." John looked impressed. And kind of proud. Bobby had his game face on, but his eyes widened underneath his trucker's cap. Just a little.
"We were ah, hoping you could speak to him. We have tried to keep him out. Nothing works. Trickster repellent. Coyote pheromonotherapy. Even the Archangels can't stop him."
"Okay. I get it. Why?"
"He has urinated on all the beds, especially mine and Uriel's." Columbo nodded at the black man standing next to him. "Coyote even paid my commander, Zachariah, a visit, and sprayed his quarters as well."
"Coyote ---he did what?"
"He was under surveillance. At first we thought he was using a fire hose, but ---"
"Hold on, hold on, way too much information there, Casper," John growled.
"My name is Castiel."
"Wait a minute," Bobby drawled slowly. "You dudes have beds?"
Lieutenant Columbo just stood there, fidgeting slightly. John guessed the big black dude with the impressive glower was high up on the pay scale. Uriel, huh? That hard glare might have intimidated your average civilian, but it didn't do jack to John or Bobby.
Not in my house, you damn idjit. Bobby glared right back at him.
John huffed. "I'll say something to Coyote."
Castiel's blue eyes actually brightened a little. "Thank you."
The group disappeared in a flash of bright white light.
"Damn show-offs," Bobby mumbled.
Exactly one hour later Dean and Sam Winchester and Coyote faded in on the driveway leading to the house.
"Dude, you shoulda seen your face when she said she wanted to know you in the Biblical way," Dean crowed.
Sam blushed, bright red. "All she wanted was someone to listen to her. She was depressed."
Coyote snorted, his wide green eyes bright with mischief. He slinked around his two humans as they walked, rubbed up against first Sam's legs, and then Dean's.
Dean poked his brother in his right arm. "You coulda taken one for the team."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you?"
"She didn't want me. She wanted some Sammy," Dean purred with a smirk.
"Hey, boys," John called out. Bobby nodded.
"Hi, Dad! Hey, Bobby," all three chorused.
"How'd it go?"
Dean grinned. "Piece of cake. All is right with the world." He tilted his head at his brother. "And Sam still didn't get any."
Sam blushed even redder.
"Got some barbequed chicken and ribs in the oven," Bobby said lazily. He tilted his beer bottle at the screen door. "Cole slaw, potato salad, and beer's in the fridge."
"Oh hell yeah!"
Coyote looked suddenly thoughtful, which was a clear indication that he was surely up to no good. He got a little larger just then, about the size of a big Shetland pony. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up."
Dean looked down at his furry half and winked. Sam looked puzzled.
The Old Man went incredibly shifty-eyed, then barked happily. "Lucky number thirty. Gotta make room."
Coyote turned in a tight circle and vanished from view.
"Come on, Sam. More for us. Better get moving while the furball's gone."
Bobby sighed as the boys walked past them into the house. "Thought you were gonna handle this, Father Winchester."
John raised his bottle to his lips. "Hey, I said I'd speak to him. Didn't say a damn thing about asking him to stop."
"Eh." John shrugged modestly. "I do what I can."
I blame Phoebe for this. Yep. I do. She wrote What's New, Pussycat? Captured Coyote/Dean's voices perfectly. I feel soo unnecessary.
Thanks for reading!