A/N: I'm pretty sure there's a serious sick!Dean and sick!Coyote story in me somewhere. I'm also pretty sure this isn't it.

Summary: Sick!Coyote/Dean, cussing right from the get-go, more hurt!comfort and Sammy angst that you can shake a stick at, with John and Bobby caught in the middle. This is a three part crack fic.

Disclaimer for the whole darn fic: I do not own Supernatural, Bewitched, Aliens, WALL-E, or any other character that you recognize, damn it.

Chapter 1 – it's not easy being green

It starts small, like all great clusterfucks do.

Sam's sitting at Bobby's dining room table with his laptop, mountains of books and parchments all around him. He's researching ancient texts for his next job. Seems that word of Sam's skills as a counselor has reached all kinds of supernatural creatures. He needs all the background he can get on his next clients, the surviving members of the turburi.

One of their names is They Who Do Not Play Well With Others.

Not good.

But if stupid breaks out, well, Sam's not worried. Dean and Coyote will be there. They've been Sam's self-appointed bodyguards from the first time Sam sat down and counseled a clan of wayward chupacabra down in Texas.

Dean's sprawled on Bobby's couch, and Coyote is lying on the floor at his feet.

Dean leans forward a little bit, stares at the large leather bound grimoire in his lap, blinking like he needs glasses and can barely see the red symbols and large print.

Coyote's doing the same slow, dazed blink, like somebody's tagged him in his flank with a tranquilizer dart or something, but Sam's too busy surfing the 'net on his laptop to notice.

Dean's right hand shakes as he turns the page, and so does Coyote's right front foreleg. They both blink hazily, in tandem.

Coyote sneezes explosively.

And so does Dean.

At the exact same time.

Sam looks up. Sam starts frowning.

Huh. Dean doesn't look so good.

Neither does Coyote.

Matter of fact, they both look kinda…green around the edges.

Dean closes the book. His head bobbles a little, and he swings his legs down to the floor with obvious effort. Coyote struggles up, and the Old Man's moving like a wobbly newborn pup.

"Uh…guys? What's the matter?"

The golden glow in their eyes stutters like a neon sign with a short circuit in the wiring.

"S-Sam-mm-y," Dean says faintly.

"S-Sam-mm-y," Coyote says faintly.

Sounds like a whimper, but nah, couldn't be.

Sam feels a chill rocket straight up his spine. Dean doesn't even react as the book slides off his lap and hits the floor in a fan of beige paper, red letters and ink black leather.

A second later Dean and Coyote hit the floor too. Face first, at the same damn time.

Sam stares, frozen in disbelief. It hits him that it had been quiet at Bobby's place for the last two days, too damn quiet, and why the hell didn't he notice, why didn't he say something?

If Sam had asked his big brother what was up, Sam knows that Dean would have rolled his eyes and disappeared. Literally. Dean's gotten pretty comfortable with teleporting in the blink of an eye, especially if it means escaping a chick flick moment quick fast and in a hurry whenever Sam asks him those four dreaded words:

"How you feeling, buddy?"

Wouldn't have worked to ask Coyote either. He and Dean are two sides of the same coin. The furball loves to talk about himself, but his feelings? Please. No way he's gonna gaze at his belly button and ponder the mysteries of life and the universe. He's too busy having fun and being with his family. Still waters run deep with that one, but like Dean, Coyote likes to show off in the shallow part of the pool.

I don't even know if the Old Man has a belly button. Oh well…I'm getting off topic here.

Sam throws himself out of his chair exactly one second after Coyote and Dean face plant into Bobby Singer's hard wood floor. He lands so hard beside them that his knees are pretty banged up, but he doesn't realize that until later.

His hands shake as he checks their vitals. Breathing is slow and shallow, and that shouldn't be. Sam wants this to be a trick, a prank. He'd give anything for Dean or Coyote to open their eyes, smirk at him and snark, "Quit touchin' me, you perv."

Doesn't happen.

Sam starts yelling for Bobby and John, and if he sounds freaked out, who could blame him?

Five minutes later Dean's sitting upright in the bed by the window in one of Bobby's spare rooms, propped up by two large pillows. Coyote is curled up at the foot of the bed with his ears pinned back, grumbling.

"I like pie," Dean mutters to himself dazedly. His voice is deeper than usual, like he has a really bad head cold. His golden eyes flicker, and a blueberry pie materializes in his lap.

"Separate beds, people, separate beds!" Coyote barks irritably, like one of those yappy little dogs that like to snap at people's ankles. The Old Man's the size of a very large German Shepherd now, so that high-pitched voice coming out of that huge body is kinda weird. He jerks his head at Dean. "He's bossy and he doesn't know how to share!"

Dean narrows his eyes and the pie disappears, only to appear in another eye blink upside down on top of Coyote's head.

"Ssuckerr!" Coyote yips happily. His long pink tongue comes out of his mouth like a windshield wiper blade, cleans the pie off his fur in one swipe.

"Damn," Dean mumbles. "Tha' was m' last one."

John Winchester's not the gawking type, but there's a first time for everything.

He's gawking now.

Dean's freckles have turned green. His eyes are completely golden. His short spiky blond hair is streaked with green, and his ears are pointed, like Mr. Spock. Dean looks like somebody photoshopped him into some exotic looking male woodland spirit, high cheekbones, full lips, and all.

The only thing missing is a brown leather loincloth and a lute.

Coyote's eyes are pure golden, no green anywhere. Long blades of green grass and vines poke out of his thick grayish brown fur.

I am so gonna kill the bastard that did this, Sam thinks. He's channeling Dean now, and it feels damn good. It feels right. Everything supernatural within a fifty mile radius is gonna die. Slowly. Painfully.

John rubs the back of his head with his hand. Whole lotta tension back there all of a sudden.

Bobby makes a huffing noise that sounds dangerously like a choked off laugh. Sam gives him this look, sharp and pointed, and Bobby rolls his eyes. "Lighten up, will ya? It could be worse. He could have a tail."

Dean smirks and that's when Sam notices this long, thick plume of a tail emerge from underneath the sheets. It's the same color as Dean's hair, dark blond, streaked with long blades of green grass. The tail flicks at Coyote's left ear and then dives back under cover.

"Ow! Quit it!" Roamer yelps.

"Oh, Jesus," John mutters softly.

A muffled snort comes out of Bobby. He puts his hand over his mouth and turns away to the side.

Coyote glares at Dean, who does a pretty good job of looking innocent. Who me? Nahhh…

Sam's suddenly reminded of two bratty little kids going at each other. A minute later Dean's tail comes back out and slaps the back of Coyote's head.

"Ow! Quit it!"

John turns and gives Bobby a dirty look. Bobby grumbles. "Ah, I give up."

"Boys," John rumbles quietly.

Dean and Coyote blink at the same time, and their heads bobble as they look at John. Two voices chirp as one: "Hi, Dad!"

"So what's going on with you two?"

"We dunno," they slur softly.

"My head hurts," Dean mutters.

Coyote whines. "Me too."

John doesn't say anything else, and Coyote and Dean lose interest. Dean leans back against the pillows, exhales and closes his eyes.

Coyote puts his head down and covers his eyes with his tail.

"This is way out of our league," John says gruffly. Sam knows he's thinking the same thing: if some fugly really wanted to screw over Dean and Coyote, wouldn't they have picked something a little more…lethal?

Bobby nods. "You wouldn't know any trickster doctors, would you, Sam?"

Sam pulls out his cell and makes a phone call to Bertha Two Dogs out in New Mexico. She's not a doctor, but she's Dean's and Coyote's daughter. She's way older than Dean, which is something Sam is still unable to wrap his head around. Sam doesn't break the news about their current predicament, just makes small talk and then asks if Bertha's seen any kachinas around, specifically, Bear.

He feels awkward about it, and somehow crunchy. Yep. Crunchy. That's a damn good word for what he's feeling right now.

Bertha takes a deep breath. "Father's sick, isn't he?"

Sam mentally kicks himself because Bertha has mojo. She can sense things.

"I'll tell Bear to come," Bertha says calmly, and Sam wonders if Bertha thinks he's a damn fool. Probably.

Bear shows up three minutes later in a blaze of golden light. He looks exactly like actor Michael Clarke Duncan in human form. It's not often that Sam meets anybody taller than him, but Bear's six feet five inches tall, a solid three hundred fifteen pounds. He's dressed in an expensive looking black tuxedo, and Sam has this mental image of the kachina filling in for the actor at some fancy schmancy awards dinner.

When Sam doesn't look directly at Bear he sees this huge black grizzly bear, which is kinda freaky on top of everything else. Bear's a warrior kachina, but he's also a healer, and sometimes Dean and Coyote call upon his folks for help, like they did in that hellhole up in Illinois.

Bear takes one look at the pair of befuddled tricksters, changes into denim and cowboy boots in a flash, and gets to work.

They won't stay still long enough for him to examine them. Dean and Coyote howl loud and mournful when Bear touches them. Dean curls up into a ball, his knees tight against his chest and slaps at Bear's fingers with his tail.

Coyote does the exact same thing.

John clears his throat, quirks an eyebrow at them and gives them both The Look.

"He started it," Dean mutters as he points at Roamer.

Bear is finally able to press his fingers against the pulse in Dean's neck. Dean grunts as Bear cocks his head to one side and listens intently.

Coyote squirms like a newborn puppy when it's his turn, but John's the only reason he behaves himself. Bear fingers the underside of Coyote's jaw and frowns. "I think I know what's wrong." He shakes his head as he steps back from the bed. "I need a second opinion on this."

John, Bobby and Sam just stare at him. Nobody here but us hunters, dude. There's not a medical professional in sight.

"Calling Dr. Bombay!" Bear bellows loudly. "Emergency! Come right away!"

The doorway leading to the hall shimmers and a man-sized pink rabbit steps through. "Damn it all, can't a warlock have a little down time for himself? My nurses are getting impatient!"

Sam, John and Bobby blink. What the hell?

"Damn warlock…" Dean mutters softly.

Bear rolls his eyes. "That's a great way to make a first impression."

The man wearing the pink rabbit suit scoffs. "I've been on call all weekend. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, as they say." He sounds all too British and very cultured. He looks at Sam and winks. "Take a picture, my dear fellow, it'll last longer."

Heads tilted slightly to one side, Dean and Coyote look at the damn big furry bunny at the same time. Dean's full lips curve upwards in a smirk that's sly and oh so predatory. So does Coyote's. Their eyes sparkle mischievously. Big Pink Fuzzy Bunny Rabbit is new and different, possibly something to play with.

Dean starts growling, deep and low, and the sound goes stereo as Coyote starts growling too. Dean crouches forward, head down, on his hands and knees. His tail is arched over his back, slightly bushed out. Coyote's his mirror image, except the Old Man has more fur, of course.

John huffs. "Dr. Bombay, huh?" He glances at Bear, and Bear stares right back at him. "Let me get this straight. I'm supposed to let some clown in a pink rabbit suit examine my sons?"

"Yeah," Bear says mildly. "Free healthcare. You get what you pay for."

Bobby snorts. John shoots him another dirty look.

"I am not a clown, my good man," Dr. Bombay says grandly. "I am a licensed healer, duly appointed by the Witches' Council."

"Damn witches," Dean grumbles. His tail twitches back and forth.

"I have expanded my practice to include all manner of beings in need of my services. And you are John Winchester, I presume? I've heard a lot about you. The trickster Coyote and his family of hunters. The Powers That Be are sadistic bastards, aren't they?"

Judging from the way both John and Sam are glaring at Bombay it's clear they're not going to tolerate much more small talk. Bear clears his throat. "I need a second opinion. Sometime this year would be nice?"

Dr. Bombay scowls. "That's the problem nowadays. It's all rush and hurry up. Ah, I long for the good old days, when you had time enough to hone your incantations and practice your bedside manner." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Bear jerks a thumb towards the bed.

Dr. Bombay leans past John, Sam and Bobby, sees Dean and Coyote and stops short. "Oh my. Oh dear. Boinked any dryads lately?"

"Thought so," Bear nods.

"Yep!" Dean says cheerily. He sits down on his haunches and flicks his tail at Coyote.

Coyote grins from ear to ear, then his eyes eyes go to slits. So do Dean's. They glare at each other.

"I saw her first!" they both say out loud.

Sam rolls his eyes. John shakes his head.

Bobby snorts. Again. With Winchesters in the house he doesn't need cable.

"She was sweet," Dean says.

"An' cute," Coyote says.

"An' perky," Dean says.

"An' bouncy," Coyote says.

"Man, was she bouncy!" Dean mumbles.

"Details, people! I need more details! Was it a threesome?" Bombay leers.

"Hell no!" Coyote jerks his head at Dean. "Told you he's too damn bossy."

Dean sniffs noisily. "And you howl too damn much."

"Hmph. Do not."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Do too."

Bear sighs ruefully. "This is way too much damn information. You guys know that, right?"

Dean and Coyote smile loopily. "We don't care!" they chirp.

"All right, Doc," John growls. "Does this mean my sons have the clap?"

"D-Dad?" Sam sputters, shocked.

Bobby snorts again, a little louder.

John rolls his eyes at Sam. "Oh come on, dude, what are you, four?"

Dr. Bombay's floppy rabbit ears go straight up. He draws back a little and looks at John in awe. "Good grief, man! I was going to pretend it was, just to see what you'd say. And you beat me to the punch, didn't you? Didn't hesitate. No, Mr. Winchester, your sons do not have the gift that keeps on giving."

John quirks an eyebrow at him.

"That isn't the sound of one hand clapping---"

"Okay, all right, we get it," John growls.

"They are allergic to the young lady. That's all."


"Dryad pollen. It happens sometimes. Of course, I'm speaking from a clinical point of view. Not from personal experience, you understand."

Bear smirks. "Yeah. Riight."

"Hmpf. Beings with power exude a certain amount each and every day, through their skin, aside from the amount they generate on purpose. I take it that these two have been unusually quiet for the past few days?"

Sam nods quietly. He couldn't feel any lower than he feels right now.

"Ah, just as I thought." Bombay nods. "Interacting with the dryad has stuffed up their pores."

"Okay," John says slowly. "How do we unstuff them?"

"Oh, we don't. There's no treatment."

"What?" John says sharply. There's a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"These things usually unstuff themselves." Dr. Bombay makes a lazy handflap. Ah, paw flap. "Nature takes its course, so to speak."

"How long?"

"Factoring in trickster physiology, and also taking into account that Coyote here is one of the First, I'd say seven more days. The rest of you are human, correct?" Dr. Bombay clucks his tongue. "Not good. If I were in your place I'd get to the minimum safe distance, like the next state. Or country."

"Meaning?" John grates out.

"My dear fellow, I don't think you really want to be around when what's inside these two comes out."

Coyote stretches out on his belly and playfully gnaws at his left paw. Dean rumbles, nips at Coyote's ear, and pretty soon they're mock growling and snarling, batting at each other with paws and hands.

Sam feels a headache coming on.

Bobby wisely keeps quiet.

Bear huffs. "I'll take you three to Bertha's place in New Mexico. I'll stay here. Make sure things don't get too…lively."

"The hell with that idea," Bobby growls. "This is my place. My house. I'm not leaving."

John nods.

"We're staying," Sam says. "How bad could it get?"

Hours later, Sam barricades himself in the bathroom. He looks over at the window over the sink, actually thinks about going out that way, but the window's too small and his shoulders are too wide.

Sam actually cusses Bobby for having freakishly small windows in his house.

Dean scratches at the door frame, rattles the door knob. "Aw c'mon, Sammy. We didn't mean it. Come on out, huh?"

Coyote whines. "He doesn't wuv us anymore."

Sam pushes against the door with his back and tries not to shudder. His own words come back to haunt him: How bad could it get?

Crap. Stupid macho crap.

Sam really wishes he'd kept his big fat mouth shut.

Next post Tuesday.