Dog Dean Night, for serawade

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Title: Dog Dean Night
Recipient: serawade
Rating: PG/gen
Word Count: 1891
Warnings: none other than spoilers for season 9

Summary: Maybe Dean was wrong about the animal communication spell wearing off.

The eight ball rolled smoothly across the worn felt and dropped into the corner pocket.

Sam smiled sloppily, swaying a bit as he held out his hand to his opponent. "Guh game, man."

The other man shook Sam's hand, his lips pinched together tightly.

Sam looked over at Dean, still sitting at the table in the corner. "Ya wan' anuffer beer?" He slurred.

"Nah, Sasquatch." Dean stood and stretched. "One of us has to be sober enough to drive, and it obviously won't be you. Let's get you home and pour you into bed."

The brothers made their way to the door, Sam staggering along and Dean following along, hands outstretched, ready to catch his drunken brother if necessary.

A waitress dodged a catcalling group of frat brothers, ended up running headlong into another patron, causing her to stumble into Sam's path.

Before he thought about it, he gracefully caught her with one arm around the waist while steadying her tray with his other hand.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

Within seconds, the man he had just defeated at pool was beside him.

"You son of a bitch! I knew you were faking being that drunk! You conned me!"

Even more quickly, Dean was between the other man and Sam, actually baring his teeth and growling.

The whole bar suddenly went silent. A few of the other locals flanked their buddy. The waitress and college boys cleared the area.

"Look man," Sam said, reaching for his wallet. "I'm sorry. We needed some cash, but it's not worth all this. I'll give it back to you."

The guy to the left of Sam's opponent slapped the wallet out of Sam's hands. "It's not about the money, boy! You don't come into our town and try to steal from us like we're a bunch of dumb hicks!"

Sam held up both hands. "I'm sorry." He looked over to his opponent. "Sorry." He knelt to pick up his wallet.

The man who had knocked the wallet away swung a fist toward Sam's cheek.

It never connected.

Sam grabbed the man's hand, twisted his arm, and caught the underside of the guy's chin with an uppercut that drove his head backward.

At that point, it was on.

The other three locals rushed Sam, who took the first one down with a steel toed boot kick to the knee.

The second was caught and flipped over the nearest table by Dean. The third jabbed at Sam with a pitifully small knife.

Sam caught the man's wrist and held outward so that the would-be assailant couldn't reach anyone with the blade.

The one who originally tried to punch Sam rose to his feet, but Sam knocked him down again with an elbow to the chest.

The pool player foolishly came back at them again, but was doubled over when Dean punched him in the solar plexus.

The man whose arm Sam still held tried to twist away, stomped on Sam’s foot, and tried to maneuver his way into being able to cut Sam with the knife.

Dean bit down on the man’s arm until he screamed and dropped the knife.

Sam shoved him away roughly, causing him to trip over the guy who had been kicked in the knee and was still on the floor.

“Stay down there.” Dean snapped.

The guy with the knee injury nodded vigorously and grabbed his friend’s jacket to keep him beside.

The pool player bent over and reached for the knife.

Dean stepped on his hand, and when the guy looked up, he pushed his jacket back to reveal the gun in his waistband.

“He’s packing too,” Dean said, nodding his head toward Sam. “So what do you say you just let us get out of here and we won’t come back.”

The pool player looked around at his friends, two of whom sat on the floor almost hugging each other, and the third who sat ten feet away rubbing the side of his head.

He nodded slightly and sat back, abandoning his attempt to reach the knife.

“Dammit, where’s my wallet?” Sam asked, looking around on the floor littered with peanut shells and crumpled napkins.

Dean stepped closer, his eyes flicking toward the figures still on the floor.

“Got ‘em.” Sam said softly enough that only Dean could hear.

Dean scanned the area around them, then paused for a moment to sniff the air. He turned slightly to the right, and pointed under a nearby chair.

“There.”

Sam had to look for a moment before he spotted the wallet, the worn brown leather blending into the scuffed wooden floor.

He retrieved the wallet, and by the time he had straightened back up to stand, Dean was pushing him toward the door.

They moved quickly, resisting the urge to run to the car, but Dean spun the tires and slung gravel on the way out of the parking lot.

They didn’t say anything until they were two towns away, and then it was only a two sentence discussion of whether they should stop for the night now or drive on.

Sam paid for the room with cash from his winnings and Clint Barton’s ID.

As soon as they walked inside the room, Dean turned around and walked back out.

“What?” Sam tossed his bag on the nearest bed and followed Dean outside.

“What do you mean, what?” Dean frowned. “Do you not smell that?”

“Eau de motel room?” Sam scoffed. “It smells like ninety per cent of the other places we’ve stayed in our life.”

“Yeah, well the smell of unwashed miscreant is a little stronger here than in most.” Dean looked toward the room and folded his arms. “I’m gonna go get some air freshener. We passed a 24 hour Wal Mart a couple miles back.”

“That bad, huh?” Sam’s frown shifted from annoyed to thoughtful.

“Yes, that bad.” Dean waved a hand toward the room. “Can you not smell that? Is your nose stopped up or something?”

“It just didn’t really register with me, I guess.” Sam shrugged. He turned and locked the door behind him. “I’ll ride with you to Wal Mart.”

Once they reached the store, Sam said he wanted to look at something else, so the two split up, meeting back at the front of the store ten minutes later.

Dean had bought odor neutralizing spray, carpet powder, and solid air fresheners. Sam’s hands were empty.

“You good?” Sam asked.

At Dean’s nod, they left.

Once back at the room, Sam sprinkled the carpet powder around the room, while Dean squirted enough spray around that the comforters were damp before setting an air freshener on the table between the beds and another on top of the television.

“I’m gonna take a shower, wash off the bar.” Dean announced, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Sam counted off thirty seconds before removing the item he had bought from him pocket and using it.

“What the hell was that?” Dean shouted, bursting back out of the bathroom with his shirt half off.

“Sit down.” Sam nodded toward the bed.

“What was that noise, Sam?” Dean repeated.

“What did it sound like?” Sam countered.

“Like some kind of freakin’ whistle.” Dean threw his hands wide. “How did you not hear it? It sounded like the whistle telling everyone the shift was over at the factory, except, ya know, there’s no factory around here, Sam.”

Sam held up a small silver tube. “Dog whistle. I don’t think the dog whisperer spell has completely worn off, Dean.”

“What? Of course it has.” Dean snorted. “I can’t hear animals anymore.”

“Dean.” Sam sighed. “Sit.”

Dean sat, right next to Sam.

Sam sighed again. “Dean, how did you find my wallet in the bar?”

“I could smell it.” Dean shrugged.

“You could smell it.” Sam repeated. “What did it smell like?”

“Leather, cheap detergent, the inside of the car, and … you.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “What was it supposed to smell like?”

“Over the smell of beer, popcorn, peanuts, smoke, and redneck, you could smell my wallet.” Sam pointed out.

“Leather?” Dean offered.

“You could smell the last people who stayed in this room, when I couldn’t. You can hear the dog whistle, which is supposed to be out the range of human hearing.” Sam continued.

“I’ve been used to listening out for danger all of my life.” Dean argued.

“When the bar fight was about to start, you got between me and the other guy and friggin’ growled, Dean! You bit that one guy! How many times did Dad warn us about biohazards and the dangers of blood borne diseases and you go and bite some random asshole in a bar?” Sam’s voice got progressively louder and more intense.

“Dude, we’re always covered in blood – our own, each other’s, somebody else’s, or some monster’s!” Dean pointed out. “I’m starting to think we’re both immune to any kind of infection of that kind. Don’t be mad at me, Sammy.”

“Dean. You’re rubbing your head on my shoulder.” Sam told him.

“No I’m not.” Dean said, and then stopped, because he actually was.

“Look.” Sam pushed Dean to sit up a little straighter. “I texted Kevin. I asked if there was anything to say how long the spells lasts and he doesn’t see anything.”

“So what are you saying?” Dean asked, leaning over and putting his head on Sam again.

“I’m saying that we have no idea how long it’s going to take for the effects of the spell to go away.” Sam took a deep breath. “Or if they’re going to go away.”

Dean jerked upright. “You mean I might stay a dog? Like forever?”

“I’m saying we have no idea.” Sam shrugged.

“You know, it might have been a good idea to tell me that before I drank that crap!” Dean thundered.

“Dean. Calm down. It’s a spell. It will probably wear off. If not, we’ll see if we can reverse it.” Sam said.

“Reverse it? How? Am I supposed to un-drink that stuff?” Dean threw his hands wide. “Or what? Say the verse backwards?”

“I don’t know, Dean.” Sam replied with exaggerated patience. “When we get back to the bunker, Kevin and I will work on it.”

“But in the mean time, I’m a dog.” Dean huffed.

He took the two steps over to his bed, pulled back the covers, and stepped up onto the bed. He turned around three times before laying down.

“You know, it might not be a bad thing.” Sam offered, as he leaned over and turned off the light.

“Why not?” Dean asked.

“You’ve got better hearing and a better sense of smell right now.” Sam told him. “That might be useful on a hunt.”

Dean made a noise of acknowledgement.

“Besides, I always wanted a dog.” Sam teased.

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean said, but there wasn’t any heat behind it.

“I think you’re closer to a bitch now.” Sam shot back.

“I’m gonna show you who’s a bitch.” Dean threatened.

“So help me, if you pee on me, I’m gonna take you and have you neutered.” Sam said.

“Sam!”

“Good night Dean.” The little brother replied sweetly.

Ten minutes later, Dean threw back the covers, crossed the two steps between the beds, and laid down against Sam’s back.

Sam didn’t say a word.