Take Me Home -Part 6
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,843 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 5
*****
In Maidsville, West Virginia, they come across a demon.
If it weren't for Sam, Dean might not even have noticed it. They're not even supposed to be stopping, except that the Impala's fan belt gives up the ghost and Dean has kind of run out of spare pantyhose to jury-rig something together. So he stops, finds a mechanic who makes appropriate cooing noises over his baby, enough so that he feels comfortable leaving her to be serviced for a few hours. Then he's stuck with a dog who's really wound up from being stuck in a car for half the day and nowhere to go. He checks them into a motel, cursing the delay, then takes Sam for a run, figuring he'll wear him out and then he won't have to deal with the bouncing and the barking and the freaking out at squirrels.
Turns out, shepherds have a lot of energy. In retrospect, he realizes that he should have known this. They're working dogs, meant to spend all day and sometimes all night running in circles around giant flocks of sheep. So the fact that Sam can, in dog form, literally run circles around him all day and night shouldn't come as a surprise. He's drenched in sweat and run ragged by the time he's done, and Sam is still raring to go, if a little winded. So after a shower and a change of clothes he goes to Wal-Mart, buys a couple of Rubbermaid bins and a tube of tennis balls, and takes the dog out to a nearby park for a game of fetch.
Laura was right: Sam loves it. It takes a while to get the message through his skull that if he gives the ball back, then Dean can throw it again and he can keep the exciting game going for as long as he wants, but after a couple of times of chasing each other around the park, he gets it, and they settle into a rhythm of throw-fetch-return. By the end, Dean is pretty sure he's developing a nasty case of tennis elbow, and the ball is covered in slobber, but at least the dog is doing all the running this time. Then he discovers that he can make him run for the ball by just pretending to throw it and hiding it behind his back, and laughs so hard he thinks he might rupture something while Sam casts about in the grass, looking confused but still kind of happy all the same. He makes Sammy dance for the ball, switching it from hand to hand, holding it up out of reach and making Sam bark and jump and twist in circles. Sam finally lowers himself stiffly on his front paws, hindquarters in the air, tail lashing excitedly, and barks insistently before Dean throws the ball as hard as he can and watches him take off at top speed across the grass.
“Attaboy, Sammy! Go get 'im!” he crows, wishing he had a camera to tape this.
“Cute dog.”
He looks up, and decides that maybe Sam isn't a total cockblocker after all. Chicks dig dogs, and this chick is very, very cute. Not like Laura, this one is shorter, looks like she might be East Indian, or something along those lines. Olive skin, luminous brown eyes, she's encased in jeans that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination and a white t-shirt that reveals a lot more than it hides.
“Thanks. Where's yours?”
“Oh, I don't have a dog. My roommate's allergic, and besides, I live in an apartment.”
“Roommate, huh?” He watches as Sam digs around for his tennis ball where it rolled under some bushes.
“That's right. She's out of town, though, visiting her parents. My name is Alo, by the way.”
“Dean. Is that short for something?”
“Allison. I hate 'Ali,' so my friends came up with something more creative. I haven't seen you around here before. You new?”
“Not so much. Car broke down, we're just passing through.”
“We?”
“Me and my dog,” he points to where Sam is loping back, drooling over his tennis ball, looking smug as only a dog with a tennis ball can.
Sam drops the ball a couple of feet away, looks up at Dean, tail wagging, sniffs the air, then whips around to face Alo, his whole attitude changing in a split second. To Dean's astonishment Sam's hackles rise, and a low, menacing growl rumbles deep in his chest. He snarls, teeth bared, gathers himself, looking for all intents and purposes as though he's about to launch himself at her throat and tear out her jugular. It hits him then that Sam is a freaking huge dog, that those teeth make the big bad wolf look like a chihuahua with gum disease. He seems to have grown to twice his usual size, too, all his fur standing on end, and if Dean didn't know his brother was in there, somewhere, he wouldn't be ashamed to admit that he was this close to taking to his heels like a little girl.
“Woah, buddy, easy,” he hurries over, puts a hand on the dog's neck, feels the tension vibrating in him. His gaze flicks back to Alo, who hasn't so much as flinched. Well, that's certainly not normal. “What is it, buddy?”
“Your dog is psycho,” Alo says, shifting her weight so that one hip is jutting out provocatively.
“My dog is just fine, thanks,” Dean glares, and Sam snarls louder, explodes into a frenzy of barking. For the hell of it -because when have their lives not been complicated?- he stands up, reaches back to put a hand on the butt of the pistol tucked into the back of his pants. “Cristo.”
And there it is: Alo's eyes flicker black, like a third eyelid. It never looks less freaky, he thinks, no matter how many times he sees it. She doesn't move, her lips pulling back into a mocking smile. Demons and hubris, it's a winning combo.
“Well, who's a clever doggy?” she says derisively, but he can see she's eyeing Sam carefully, and it gives him a moment of pride. “Got yourself a guard dog now, Dean-o? It won't keep you safe, you know. You have all the legions of hell on your tail.”
Dean snorts. “Please. You think you count as all the legions of hell? You have one hell of a superiority complex. I suppose, coming from a demon, I shouldn't be surprised.”
“Oh, I'm not the legions, but it would be a pretty good kick-start to my career to offer your head to Lucifer on a platter, don't you think?”
“Sweetheart, you're welcome to give it your best shot. Come on, I dare you.”
He's stalling, and they both know it. He's kicking himself for getting complacent, for thinking he could just take a dog to the park and play a normal goddamned game of fetch, for walking into a situation without planning his exit strategy. They're caught out in the open, and all he has now is his gun, which is next to useless in this situation, and Ruby's knife, which is a whole metric assload of not-subtle when it comes to demons. The park is bordered by trees, and he figures they can make a break for it if there's enough of a diversion, gank this bitch where no one will be there to see. He's still working on how to create a diversion when the demon loses her patience and with a sweep of one hand sends him flying a good dozen yards backward. He hits the ground, winded, scrabbles for purchase on the grass, feels himself lift off again. This time he connects violently with a tree, feels his head smack against the rough bark, sinks to the ground, dazed.
There's a blur of motion as Sam gathers himself and launches himself at the demon with a snarl, and if there was any doubt in Dean's mind before that Sam wanted to rip out her throat, there's none now. Alo, caught off-guard by the sudden onslaught, goes rolling in the opposite direction, and Dean only sees a tangle of arms and legs and tail and fur, accompanied by the most gruesome snarling he's ever heard -and that's saying something for him.
“Sam!”
He snatches the knife from its holster, tries to find an opening, but dog and girl are in a fight to the finish, neither giving ground, and he can't see how to get at the demon without running the risk of seriously hurting Sam. At least they've rolled toward the trees, and a quick glance around tells him that no one has noticed the fight, at least not yet. He chases after them, finds Sam with a near-death grip on Alo's throat, worrying at her like a rat. Then her eyes flicker black-brown-black-brown, her back arches, and smoke pours from her mouth in a primal scream before she falls back to the ground, limp and unresisting.
Immediately Sam backs off, sits on his haunches a few paces away, starts grooming his coat as though nothing at all was the matter. Dean sprints to the girl's side, pats her cheek. “Hey, hey! You alive in there? Hey!”
Her eyelids flutter a moment later, but her gaze is unfocussed. “Wh-what happened?”
He casts about for a good story. You-were-possessed-by-a-demon never seems to go over well, for some reason. “Uh, you got attacked by a dog. Me and Sam here, we got here just in time.” That'll explain away the bite marks on her arms and the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, the torn clothing.
“Sam?”
“That's my dog. Can you get up?” he tugs on her hands, and she lets him pull her to her feet, leans heavily on him.
“How did I get here?”
“I don't know, sorry. The dog ran off, so I think you're safe for now. Is there anyone I can call for you? A friend, roommate, boyfriend?”
“Uh... it's okay, I live like a block away from here with my boyfriend.” She's shaking, obviously in shock, her skin grey under the bronze tone.
“You sure you don't want me to call someone? You need to see a doctor, make sure you get a rabies shot,” he adds, thinking that he ought to see about getting Sam his shots, too, if this turns out to take longer than a few days to sort out. Dogs getting rabies is definitely a bad thing.
“No, no, I'm okay. I just... I have to go.” She pulls away, and reluctantly he lets her go, watches as long as he can, just to make sure she gets out of the park safely.
“Goddamned demons,” he mutters.
Sam growls deep in his throat, and he takes that as agreement.
*****
Part 7
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,843 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 5
*****
In Maidsville, West Virginia, they come across a demon.
If it weren't for Sam, Dean might not even have noticed it. They're not even supposed to be stopping, except that the Impala's fan belt gives up the ghost and Dean has kind of run out of spare pantyhose to jury-rig something together. So he stops, finds a mechanic who makes appropriate cooing noises over his baby, enough so that he feels comfortable leaving her to be serviced for a few hours. Then he's stuck with a dog who's really wound up from being stuck in a car for half the day and nowhere to go. He checks them into a motel, cursing the delay, then takes Sam for a run, figuring he'll wear him out and then he won't have to deal with the bouncing and the barking and the freaking out at squirrels.
Turns out, shepherds have a lot of energy. In retrospect, he realizes that he should have known this. They're working dogs, meant to spend all day and sometimes all night running in circles around giant flocks of sheep. So the fact that Sam can, in dog form, literally run circles around him all day and night shouldn't come as a surprise. He's drenched in sweat and run ragged by the time he's done, and Sam is still raring to go, if a little winded. So after a shower and a change of clothes he goes to Wal-Mart, buys a couple of Rubbermaid bins and a tube of tennis balls, and takes the dog out to a nearby park for a game of fetch.
Laura was right: Sam loves it. It takes a while to get the message through his skull that if he gives the ball back, then Dean can throw it again and he can keep the exciting game going for as long as he wants, but after a couple of times of chasing each other around the park, he gets it, and they settle into a rhythm of throw-fetch-return. By the end, Dean is pretty sure he's developing a nasty case of tennis elbow, and the ball is covered in slobber, but at least the dog is doing all the running this time. Then he discovers that he can make him run for the ball by just pretending to throw it and hiding it behind his back, and laughs so hard he thinks he might rupture something while Sam casts about in the grass, looking confused but still kind of happy all the same. He makes Sammy dance for the ball, switching it from hand to hand, holding it up out of reach and making Sam bark and jump and twist in circles. Sam finally lowers himself stiffly on his front paws, hindquarters in the air, tail lashing excitedly, and barks insistently before Dean throws the ball as hard as he can and watches him take off at top speed across the grass.
“Attaboy, Sammy! Go get 'im!” he crows, wishing he had a camera to tape this.
“Cute dog.”
He looks up, and decides that maybe Sam isn't a total cockblocker after all. Chicks dig dogs, and this chick is very, very cute. Not like Laura, this one is shorter, looks like she might be East Indian, or something along those lines. Olive skin, luminous brown eyes, she's encased in jeans that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination and a white t-shirt that reveals a lot more than it hides.
“Thanks. Where's yours?”
“Oh, I don't have a dog. My roommate's allergic, and besides, I live in an apartment.”
“Roommate, huh?” He watches as Sam digs around for his tennis ball where it rolled under some bushes.
“That's right. She's out of town, though, visiting her parents. My name is Alo, by the way.”
“Dean. Is that short for something?”
“Allison. I hate 'Ali,' so my friends came up with something more creative. I haven't seen you around here before. You new?”
“Not so much. Car broke down, we're just passing through.”
“We?”
“Me and my dog,” he points to where Sam is loping back, drooling over his tennis ball, looking smug as only a dog with a tennis ball can.
Sam drops the ball a couple of feet away, looks up at Dean, tail wagging, sniffs the air, then whips around to face Alo, his whole attitude changing in a split second. To Dean's astonishment Sam's hackles rise, and a low, menacing growl rumbles deep in his chest. He snarls, teeth bared, gathers himself, looking for all intents and purposes as though he's about to launch himself at her throat and tear out her jugular. It hits him then that Sam is a freaking huge dog, that those teeth make the big bad wolf look like a chihuahua with gum disease. He seems to have grown to twice his usual size, too, all his fur standing on end, and if Dean didn't know his brother was in there, somewhere, he wouldn't be ashamed to admit that he was this close to taking to his heels like a little girl.
“Woah, buddy, easy,” he hurries over, puts a hand on the dog's neck, feels the tension vibrating in him. His gaze flicks back to Alo, who hasn't so much as flinched. Well, that's certainly not normal. “What is it, buddy?”
“Your dog is psycho,” Alo says, shifting her weight so that one hip is jutting out provocatively.
“My dog is just fine, thanks,” Dean glares, and Sam snarls louder, explodes into a frenzy of barking. For the hell of it -because when have their lives not been complicated?- he stands up, reaches back to put a hand on the butt of the pistol tucked into the back of his pants. “Cristo.”
And there it is: Alo's eyes flicker black, like a third eyelid. It never looks less freaky, he thinks, no matter how many times he sees it. She doesn't move, her lips pulling back into a mocking smile. Demons and hubris, it's a winning combo.
“Well, who's a clever doggy?” she says derisively, but he can see she's eyeing Sam carefully, and it gives him a moment of pride. “Got yourself a guard dog now, Dean-o? It won't keep you safe, you know. You have all the legions of hell on your tail.”
Dean snorts. “Please. You think you count as all the legions of hell? You have one hell of a superiority complex. I suppose, coming from a demon, I shouldn't be surprised.”
“Oh, I'm not the legions, but it would be a pretty good kick-start to my career to offer your head to Lucifer on a platter, don't you think?”
“Sweetheart, you're welcome to give it your best shot. Come on, I dare you.”
He's stalling, and they both know it. He's kicking himself for getting complacent, for thinking he could just take a dog to the park and play a normal goddamned game of fetch, for walking into a situation without planning his exit strategy. They're caught out in the open, and all he has now is his gun, which is next to useless in this situation, and Ruby's knife, which is a whole metric assload of not-subtle when it comes to demons. The park is bordered by trees, and he figures they can make a break for it if there's enough of a diversion, gank this bitch where no one will be there to see. He's still working on how to create a diversion when the demon loses her patience and with a sweep of one hand sends him flying a good dozen yards backward. He hits the ground, winded, scrabbles for purchase on the grass, feels himself lift off again. This time he connects violently with a tree, feels his head smack against the rough bark, sinks to the ground, dazed.
There's a blur of motion as Sam gathers himself and launches himself at the demon with a snarl, and if there was any doubt in Dean's mind before that Sam wanted to rip out her throat, there's none now. Alo, caught off-guard by the sudden onslaught, goes rolling in the opposite direction, and Dean only sees a tangle of arms and legs and tail and fur, accompanied by the most gruesome snarling he's ever heard -and that's saying something for him.
“Sam!”
He snatches the knife from its holster, tries to find an opening, but dog and girl are in a fight to the finish, neither giving ground, and he can't see how to get at the demon without running the risk of seriously hurting Sam. At least they've rolled toward the trees, and a quick glance around tells him that no one has noticed the fight, at least not yet. He chases after them, finds Sam with a near-death grip on Alo's throat, worrying at her like a rat. Then her eyes flicker black-brown-black-brown, her back arches, and smoke pours from her mouth in a primal scream before she falls back to the ground, limp and unresisting.
Immediately Sam backs off, sits on his haunches a few paces away, starts grooming his coat as though nothing at all was the matter. Dean sprints to the girl's side, pats her cheek. “Hey, hey! You alive in there? Hey!”
Her eyelids flutter a moment later, but her gaze is unfocussed. “Wh-what happened?”
He casts about for a good story. You-were-possessed-by-a-demon never seems to go over well, for some reason. “Uh, you got attacked by a dog. Me and Sam here, we got here just in time.” That'll explain away the bite marks on her arms and the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, the torn clothing.
“Sam?”
“That's my dog. Can you get up?” he tugs on her hands, and she lets him pull her to her feet, leans heavily on him.
“How did I get here?”
“I don't know, sorry. The dog ran off, so I think you're safe for now. Is there anyone I can call for you? A friend, roommate, boyfriend?”
“Uh... it's okay, I live like a block away from here with my boyfriend.” She's shaking, obviously in shock, her skin grey under the bronze tone.
“You sure you don't want me to call someone? You need to see a doctor, make sure you get a rabies shot,” he adds, thinking that he ought to see about getting Sam his shots, too, if this turns out to take longer than a few days to sort out. Dogs getting rabies is definitely a bad thing.
“No, no, I'm okay. I just... I have to go.” She pulls away, and reluctantly he lets her go, watches as long as he can, just to make sure she gets out of the park safely.
“Goddamned demons,” he mutters.
Sam growls deep in his throat, and he takes that as agreement.
*****
Part 7