OMGOMGOMG FanfictionNet is working again OMGWTFBBQ! Hopefully this is a fix for all the gremlins - they've been particularly active in the largest of the fandoms - but now I can fix the details in the Story Properties! YAY! And lots of chocolate-coated internets to the gurus at FFN, because I bet the last couple of weeks have been horrible for them. (Boo hiss to all the nasty people who posted rude messages to FFN techs over this. Boo hiss! Boo hiss!)

Anyway, just a chapterlet to finish off. Thank you to The Usual Suspects who have evilly encouraged me. And a sincere apology to Firedancer885 - I hope it wasn't a splatter-on-the-screen incident. Or a choke-on-my-Cheetos incident, from which I'm sure we all hope that Elf has recovered...

Those of you who have read 'Just Like You' will understand the significance of Sam's comment to Jimi towards the end...

Chapter 6

Sam and Bobby pored over copies of a particularly ambiguous passage from a grimoire of Bobby's acquisition. It seemed unusually quiet after the noisy anguish of Jimi cutting his Hellhound teeth.

"He seems to be well on the way to getting control if them," Sam noted. Jimi was still trying to master his teeth, but a good supply of unholy water ice cubes and wet washcloths was clearly helping. That morning, he had experimentally extruded a dozen teeth at once and drawn them back in, then sat there looking pleased with himself, basking in the praise of his Pack.

A burst of noise, hysterical laughter, and excited barking interrupted from outside. Bobby groaned.

"Not again," he said in a pained voice. "They were at it yesterday, too, and I told him to knock it off."

There was a brief pause, then a serious of pings, followed by more laughing and barking.

"Come with me, Sam," growled Bobby, taking off his glasses carefully – the gesture made Sam think of a man in a bar carefully putting down his drink before beating the crap out of someone…

Dean's improvised shooting range was very organised: he had a large bag of cans, ten of which sat on a fence rail, and a neat row of handfuls of peas, carefully counted out into groups of ten. He smiled hugely as they approached.

"It's amazing!" he told them, feeding another handful of peas to Jimi, "He never misses! He absolutely never misses! Do you, fella?" The dog gave a happy doggy grin, and Dean pointed him downrange. "He must get his marksmanship from me. Okay, Jimi, aaaaaaaaand…. fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!* A tin can flew off the fence.

"Dean," began Bobby, "You were doing this for most of yesterday…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…And while I understand that you're happy that your dog's feeling better…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…And you're having fun, Sam and I are actually trying to get some work done…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…Which is difficult with you and your semi-automatic dog detonating every few seconds…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…Not to mention damage done by the odd richochet…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…So make this your last round, Dean, because not only do we not understand how his firing mechanism works…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…If you don't knock off this racket…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…So help me, I'll…"

"Fire!"

"Snrf!" bang *kping!*

"…Put you across my knee, and give you something to be really noisy about…"

"Fire!"

There was silence.

Jimi looked up adoringly at Dean, who looked in confusion from the dog, to the last can still sitting on the fence, then back to the dog.

"Er, I said 'fire', Jimi," he repeated, pointing to the can.

Jimi followed his point and looked to the can, then looked back to Dean with a happy doggy grin, wagging his tail vigorously.

"Er," said Dean.

"I think the phrase you're looking for is 'hang fire', or possible 'stoppage'," supplied Sam, carefully standing behind the dog.

"Well done, idjit," grumbled Bobby, "Your dog's jammed. How do you propose to clear the breech?"

"Um," Dean frowned in thought, "Maybe I can feed him more peas, that might clear it, and…" He gave them a bright smile. "I guess we put him somewhere where he can't do any damage if he goes off."

"Good idea," smiled Bobby, "A dog that can walk through walls, we shut him in somewhere. How do you propose we do that?"

"Oh, we just give him his favourite toy," said Dean, waving a hand airily, "That'll make him stay put."

Bobby and Sam exchanged a look, then grabbed an elbow each.

Jimi followed them all the way back into the house, where a protesting Dean was marched to the panic room.

"You can clear the mechanism in here," Bobby told him. "Any shots he fires will be safely contained." He looked around at the iron walls. "It may richochet around a bit, depending on how hard he sneezes, so you might want to take cover if his nose starts to twitch."

"What? What?" Dean's voice rose when he realised Bobby wasn't joking. "Hey, hey! Let me out!" He pounded on the door. "I can't stay in here!"

"Don't worry, Dean," Sam reassured him, "It must be thawed out by now, so it'll only leave a bruise. Probably." He paused. "Of course, if it works its way all the way through to the other end before he fires, there's no telling how much velocity the back pressure will generate…"

"Saaaaam!" called Dean, a little desperately, "Let me out! No, no," his pleading switched to Jimi, who was clearly enjoying the opportunity for some quality romping time with his Alpha, who was literally a captive audience. "No, fella, don't point your nose at me, good boy…"

Feeling slightly aggrieved with Dean's conduct during the worst of Jimi's teething, Sam couldn't help himself. He opened the door hatch, and spoke to Jimi.

Snuffle-whuff...

"No, Jimi, no, no," yelped Dean desperately as the dog writhed happily against him, "That nose is loaded, point it somewhere else… OH GOD DON'T POINT IT THERE!" Dean pounded on the door again. "LET ME OUT!" he yelled. "You can't leave me in here with a loaded dog!"

"Then unload him," suggested Bobby. "You can come out when we've heard the bang."

"How?" asked Dean, desperately, "How do I unload him? HEY! HEY! LET ME OUT!"

"If you're too noisy down here, Dean," Sam told him, "We won't hear the bang and know that you can come out…"

"I'm gonna shave your head for this, you giant freak!" threatened Dean, sounding slightly shrill. "And you, you smug scheming old fart, I'm gonna salt and burn your hat! While you're still wearing it!" There was no answer. "Guys? Guys?" There was still no answer. Sam and Bobby must've gone back to their grimoire. "I don't know how to unload him!" he shouted.

The small hatch in the door opened. A hand dropped a small plastic cylinder, which bounced on the floor.

Dean picked it up.

It was a pepper grinder.

The outraged yodelling wail of "BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!" floated upstairs, but at least after that Bobby and Sam had some peace for their discussions while waiting for the bang.

THE END

The instructors at obedience training are always saying that a dog's favourite toy is its handler… oh, and for those who don't speak Canine and haven't read 'Just Like You', 'snuffle-whuff' means 'Your Alpha loves you.' (A werewolf taught him that. No, really.) So, that's it for now. Hope you enjoyed! Jeez, this was a short one for me, next you know, I'll be writing one-shots. *looks around* Now, which plot bunny to stomp on next?...