Okay, so this is one of those things that I think are called 'plot bunnies' - it's been stalking me, and apparently the only way to deal with them is to get them outta yer system...

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, none of it. Wouldn't mind the car, though.

SUMMARY: It's a very sensitive area – topic, a very sensitive topic – with Dean right now. The more sensible and reasonable Sam is, the more practical Bobby is, the worse it gets…

SETTING: Another Jimi the half-hellhound story. Set a few months after "Hot Stuff", when he's about seven months old.

RATING: Rated T for language. There's always language. Dean could swear underwater. Dean could swear under concrete.

BLAME: The silly people who keep saying that they like my loony writing style and the character of Jimi Junior. And who wouldn't like a gorgeous Rottie who could set fire to things on command?

BALLS

Dean sat on the hard bench, squirming uncomfortably. Why are benches in police stations always so damned uncomfortable? he wondered to himself. Because they want you to squirm uncomfortably, idjit, he could imagine Bobby telling him.

"Rumph", rumbled Jimi beside him, putting a paw on his knee. Dean smiled, and ruffled the pup's ears, silently thanking him for the moral support. The paw on his knee was enormous; at nearly seven months, Jimi was big, and had a lot more growing to do. Dean wondered if he would end up bigger than his daddy had been…

"Grrrf," Jimi let out a soft whuff of warning. Dean saw the sergeant making her way towards him, carrying a clipboard in a way that suggested it was actually a loaded weapon. He stood up, putting on his best "I'm-Too-Sexy-To-Charge" face. Jimi sat to attention, radiating helpful obedience and dialling the Big Brown Eyes all the way up to eleven.

"Mr Dean Singer." The police officer shot him a look that managed to convey a lot of things, among them "I Don't Get Paid Enough To Deal With Crap Like This", "Somebody Up There Really Hates Me," and "I Don't Care If You're Brad Pitt If It Was Up To Me I Would Just Lock You Up On General Principles."

"Yes ma'am," answered Dean, "That's me… Sergeant Cutlack," he peered at her name tag. "Please call me Dean."

"And this is your dog, Mr Singer?" she asked. Jimi sat a little straighter, gave an adorable doggy grin, cocked his head in a brain-explodingly cute pose, and offered his right paw.

"Yes ma'am," Dean repeated, smiling a low-cal version of The Killer Smile, "This is Jimi."

She stared unsmilingly at the dog.

Jimi whined, dropped his ears and his head, and peered up at her from under his orange eyebrows, cranking the Sammy Eyes up another notch. It was so endearing, Dean feared that his own brain might explode from the cute.

She was unmoved. She shifted her unsmiling stare to Dean. Wow, hard case, he thought.

"Mr Singer, according to a number of reports from different officers, your dog has created a certain amount of… excitement today," she said.

"Er, yeah, so they told me," agreed Dean. "He got out of the car…"

"A dog out in public must be secured or under the control of its owner at all times, Mr Singer," she informed him. "Running loose through the streets causing 'excitement' does not constitute being under control."

"Er, no. It doesn't. Definitely not," said Dean, nodding vigorously, "Which is why I left him in the car, I was only gone for two minutes…

"Yet he was able to make his escape, Mr Singer." She consulted her clipboard. "Officer Hanson informed me that the window of your car was rolled down just enough, and I quote, 'To let out an anorexic chihuahua if you broke its ribs, but not a frigging great Rottweiler'."

"Yes, yes he did." Dean grinned desperately at her.

"How do you suppose that happened, Mr Singer?" She peered down at Jimi. "He does not appear to have opposable thumbs."

"No, but… he's very intelligent," answered Dean. "He's probably seen me open the doors a hundred times, and worked it out."

"Good of him to learn to shut it behind him," she remarked with a smile that would've looked more at home on the front end of an annoyed shark. She consulted her clipboard again. "Now, once he'd opened and shut the car door, he made his way along Main Street, where he paused to steal a, yes, it says here a side of beef from a refrigerated truck unloading outside a butcher's store…"

"Um, I think there must be some mistake," interrupted Dean, "He's a big boy for his age, but he's just a pup, still, and not even a full-grown Rottweiler could carry a whole half a steer carcass."

"That's what I thought," agreed Sergeant Cutlack, "Until I saw the phone footage. Marvellous things, these mobile phones. Damned things have better resolution than my digital camera. Having stolen a side of beef, he made his way to Kincaid Park, where he was challenged by Officers Gray and Luger, whereupon…" she double-checked her notes, "He chased Officer Luger up a tree."

"Oh, I guess Officer Luger is not a dog person, then?" Dean risked a small smile.

"Officer Luger is a 130-pound oversize German Shepherd," she said. "He is a multi-decorated veteran siege dog. Last year, he disabled two Rottweilers, a Pitbull and a wolf half-breed in a drug raid. Under fire, he has brought down several gunmen during his career."

"Well, Jimi can be a bit… boisterous when he meets new people, or dogs," Dean explained, desperate smile pinned in place.

"Officer Luger once stopped a getaway car by tearing off a tyre. On vacation, he fought off a grizzly bear. Your puppy chased him up a tree."

"Er, well, maybe he thought his snack was being threatened…"

"When Officer Gray radioed for back-up, he was joined by Officers Pickering and Dakota," the sergeant continued, "While Officer Gray attempted to persuade Officer Luger to come down from the tree – a pine, incidentally, how he made it up the first eight feet with no branches is something of a mystery – Officers Pickering and Dakota attempted to apprehend Jimi." She glared down at the dog again. "Your dog, Mr Singer, then perpetrated what I shall refer to in mixed company as an 'indecent assault' upon Officer Dakota."

He did?" Dean gawped, then looked down at Jimi, who was managing to radiate contrition in the megawatt range. "That's terrible! Please tell Officer Dakota that I will of course pay for any dry cleaning expenses…"

"Mr Singer, Officer Dakota is a police horse."

Dean blinked. "Jimi humped a police horse's leg?"

Sergeant Cutlack gave him a look that would've frozen lava fresh from the volcano. "If only it had been as… innocuous as humping a leg, Mr Singer."

Dean's jaw dropped. "You can't mean…"

"Would you care to see the cell phone footage for yourself, Mr Singer?" she asked. "I will understand if you do, because I for one did not believe it until I saw it."

"Oh." Dean was at a loss for words. "Are you sure it wasn't consensual?" he tried, grinning.

"Officer Dakota is a gelding."

"Okay, but maybe he's, you know, maybe he bats for that team…"

"Officer Dakota also tried to climb a tree."

Dean gave her a blank look. She waggled a cell phone at him, and raised her eyebrows.

"Er," he said. "Um, was it the same tree that Officer Luger went up?"

"The tree is irrelevant, Mr Singer," scowled Sergeant Cutlack, "What is relevant is that your dog, which you supposedly left secured in your car, managed to get out, shut the door behind him, commit theft, then assault two members of the police force. Rottweilers have a bad enough rep without morons who have no idea how to handle them letting them run loose. The biggest problem I have here, Mr Singer, the biggest problem I have here, is trying to work out which one of you is really the public nuisance."

A torso in uniform appeared around the door. "There's a guy here for Singer?" said the officer.

"Yeah, send him in," the sergeant replied in a tired voice. "Frankly, I'd like to send you to the city Pound, Mr Singer. The problem is usually with the owner, not the dog."

Sam came hurrying into the small room. "Officer Crameri has just filled me in," he said apologetically to her, "And I'm horrified. Just horrified."

"And you are?" Sergeant Cutlack asked.

"Sam Singer. I'm Dean's brother. And I'm just absolutely horrified." He turned to Jimi and Dean. "What were you doing? I've just been to the butcher store, to apologize, and pay them for a stolen side of meat! I can't take my eyes off you for five minutes, and you're in trouble!"

"Hey, he's just a puppy," protested Dean.

"I'm not talking to the dog, Dean!" yelled Sam angrily. "What if he'd been hit by a car? What if he'd got lost? And we have the appointment in two days…"

"Appointment?" echoed Dean.

"Yes, the appointment, don't you even remember?" repeated Sam, with a small twitch of one eyebrow, "The vet appointment." He turned back to the decidedly disgruntled sergeant. "He's booked in to be desexed in a couple of days," he explained, "His behaviour has been a bit… disruptive recently, and the vet says it's just raging hormones. Once he has the operation, he should be a lot calmer, and much less inclined to cause trouble." He gave her his I'm-Peeking-Up-At-You-Adorably-Through-My-Hair-Even-Though-You're-Down-There smile. "The thing is, to get him home for his appointment, we really have to leave this afternoon."

Sergeant Cutlack sighed, and looked, if not actually happy, a bit more gruntled. "You've been to see the butcher?"

"Absolutely," confirmed Sam, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, "He very kindly wrote me a receipt. Mr Parisi. He was very understanding, under the circumstances. Says he had a Mastiff who was just as cheeky as a pup."

"To tell you the truth, I am not looking forward to doing the paperwork on this one," she confided. She stared hard at Dean and Jimi, who both wilted slightly under her glare.

"Okay," she decided. "I am releasing you into the custody of your brother, and trusting him to see that the vet appointment is followed through. I think it's in everyone's best interests." She even gave Sam a small smile. "Responsible pet ownership is kind of a hobby horse of mine," she told him, "I have a Ridgeback myself, and I know what a handful they can be at this age."

"I have no intention of letting him breed," Sam assured her.

"Right, then," she turned back to Dean and Jimi. "Get Tweedledum and Tweedledumber here out of my sight before I change my mind."

"Thank you, Sergeant," said Sam sincerely, shaking her hand, "In a few days, this problem won't exist any more."

"Whuff?" went Jimi, cocking his head and offering his paw. Sergeant Cutlack relented, and shook it.

"Behave yourself, mister," she chided him. The Sammy Eyes blew the relays on the gauge.

"Let's get out of here before she offers to do it herself with her teeth," Sam hissed at Dean.

"Amen to that," replied Dean, picking up Jimi's leash and following his brother.

As they left, Sergeant Cutlack called out,

"Oh, Sam?"

"Yes, Sergeant?" he smiled.

"While you're at the vet," she deadpanned, "You might enquire about getting your dog desexed, too."

This would stand as a one-shot, but if I can think of a job to send the Winchesters on with horny teenage Jimi in tow, I might write some more. There's great scope for a 'to desex or not to desex' argument between Sam and Dean - guess who'll be on which side? Whaddyareckon? Reviews poke the Chocolate-Powered Inspiration Update Fairy with a pointy stick!