"Sammy!"
Dean waggled a cold beer in front of his brother's nose, but there was no response. Sam's eyes were blank, staring at something only he could see, his left thumb rubbing over the scar on his right palm.
Dean sighed, settled into the chair next to Sam, and took a swig of his own beer, wishing he had something stronger. But Bobby had finished off the last bottle of whiskey and there wouldn't be more until the next grocery run.
The day was beautiful, the trees surrounding them coated in the reds and oranges of fall. The air was crisp and clear. Everything one could ask of the Montana mountains. It was something Sam, who liked to run and eat organic food, might pause to admire. But Dean knew that Sam wasn't seeing any of it.
Sam wasn't happily enjoying the cool afternoon, or the golden leaves. Sam was locked in a vision of Hell, and there wasn't anything Dean could do but wait. He hummed 'Back in Black' in his head. He made it through three choruses, and still nothing.
Finally, Sam blinked and dropped his hand.
"Oh, thanks." Sam snagged the beer and took a drink, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if he had no idea that he had been somewhere else for a good ten minutes.
It wasn't just the spacing out, either. Dean could see Sam's eyes flick sideways to look at empty space, the pause as he considered whatever vision presented itself, and the slight shake of the head as Sam turned away, deciding that what he saw wasn't real. Sam never said a word, and the whole process took less than a second, but Dean noticed. It happened far more often than he was comfortable with.
Dean leaned back in his chair with a frown and flexed his fingers. He liked simple problems with simple solutions. When the Impala had engine trouble, Dean could find the part that wasn't working and fix or replace it. But he couldn't pop the hood on Sam's brain and find the broken part.
He'd just have to find another way.
"Whatcha lookin' at there, Dean?" Bobby asked.
Dean blinked and looked up from the computer screen. The clock on the wall said he'd been at it for several hours. Bobby turned off the TV. Murder, scandal and terminal cancer had all played out in Spanish for the past hour, and Dean, who could name every character, hadn't seen a bit of it.
"Dogs," Dean muttered.
"What?" Bobby levered himself off of the couch and came over to look at the screen. Sam glanced up from his book, and Dean quickly shut the computer.
"Think I might have found a hunt." Dean grinned and flexed his leg, newly freed from its cast. "I've held still for too long. I'm hitting the road. After dinner." Dean eyed the pie sitting on the counter. Bobby had gone for groceries this time. They both agreed that until Sam stopped zoning out at random times, he shouldn't drive.
Sam closed his book. "Where are we going?"
Dean shook his head. "Not you, Sammy."
Sam gave Dean a Look. The one that said, "It's Sam, not Sammy." It also said, "I'm fine, I can handle it."
Dean held up his hand before Sam could follow the Look with an argument about his ability to hunt despite his hallucinations and black outs. "One of us needs to be here with Bobby, keep looking for something about those Leviathans."
"You know how busy the phones have been ever since they oozed their slimy way out of Purgatory," Bobby said.
Sam shrugged. "Alright." But his face said that he wasn't fooled, and he'd go off alone again if his brother didn't let him hunt soon.
Dean needed to be on the road as much as Sam. His feet were itchy. He ran his hand over the hood of the Impala and tossed his bag in the back seat. "Sorry it's been so long, Baby. Come on, we've got to go get something for Sammy. You might not like it. I know we'll be breaking the rules. But if this works, it'll be worth it."
He knew it was a good match as soon as he saw her. Slim torso, dark eyes, long legs, sharp black nose. The German Shepherd sniffed his hand curiously, then sat back on her hind legs and looked up at him with the same exact expression Sam used so often. Dean reached for her collar and saw the name stamped in the golden tag, and grinned. Kansas. It was perfect.
"Well, Kansas. You've been trained to take care of war vets with PTSD. I've got a brother with a similar problem. Sees the devil everywhere, and who knows what else that he won't talk about. Think you can help him?"
She looked at him with big black eyes, and then licked his face.
"Ga!" Dean pulled his head back and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Ok, but first we have to set a few ground rules. This is my car, Baby, I've got the back seat fixed up for you—Hey!"
Kansas jumped into the card and settled herself firmly in the passenger seat. She stared up at Dean with soft black eyes, daring him to comment.
"Right. You and Sam will get along great," Dean grumbled.
Sam was sitting on the porch when Dean pulled up. For a moment Sam stared at the open window. Dean glanced sideways. Kansas had her head pointed into the wind, tongue hanging out in true dog fashion. Sam blinked, shook his head, and rubbed his hand. Dean snickered quietly and opened the door for the dog.
"Go on, then. Go get him." Dean pointed Kansas toward Sam, who was looking at them both with furrowed brows. Kansas trotted up the porch steps and put her wet nose directly into Sam's hands. Sam, still rubbing at his scar, yelped at the interruption of wet nose, then warm fur under his skin. He blinked again, then rubbed Kansas' ears.
"You got a dog." He said it the same way someone would say, "I saw a pig fly."
"Yep." Dean hauled the giant bag of dog food and a fluffy dog bed out of the back seat.
"You don't like dogs." Sam stared at Dean, waiting for an explanation.
"You always wanted one." Dean nudged the door open with his toe and hauled the food and bed inside. When he came back to the porch, the dog's head was in Sam's lap, and the line of tension in his shoulders had eased.
"You let her ride in your car." Sam was still staring at Kansas, who had rolled over on her back to have her belly rubbed. "Seriously. You have two rules about the car, and the first one is, No dogs."
"I got a seat cover."
"What?"
"For the Impala. I got a cover for the back seat. So Kansas can sit back there."
"Kansas?" Sam looked down at the dog and fingered her collar. "Huh. How about we call you Sassy for short?"
"No, her name is Kansas."
Sam grinned. "So, Sassy, how long are you staying with us? Till we find you a new home?"
"Kansas," Dean said pointedly, "Is home. She's our dog now."
"Why-"
"Because of those ooze puddles we've got to deal with."
Sam sat back and stared at Dean, waiting.
"Well, they're just like shifter, right, except they don't have to shed their skin. But they can look like anyone. It's in all the lore, it's even in Terminator, dogs can tell the difference between real people and…other things."
"Huh. That's not a bad theory. But you bought a dog before you even tested to see if it would work?"
Dean shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough." Dean pushed through the door, arms full of dog supplies.
Bobby stared. "I thought you were on a hunt. What's all that for?"
"Sam's dog." Dean handed Bobby the pamphlet about dog therapy for PTSD and whispered, "Don't let Sammy know." Then, louder, "She's our new Leviathan detector."
Bobby's eyes ran over the pamphlet. "You might've asked before you brought a dog to my home." But there was not bite in his bark today. Dean grinned and went to set up Kansas' food and water bowls.
There it was again. That slight flicker of Sam's eyes, the thumb rubbing on his scar.
Kansas hopped up from her bed and stuck her nose in Sam's hand, insisting on being petted. Sam smiled and leaned back, relaxed. Something about having a wet nose jammed into his hand seemed to help ground Sam in reality. It also brought him back when his mind tried to wander off without him.
Dean gave himself a mental pat on the back, then grabbed a Frisbee. "Come on, Kansas."
Kansas turned around and stared at Dean pointedly.
"Oh, come on. Kansas!" Dean waggled the Frisbee invitingly and kicked open the door with his toe.
Sam grinned and lunged out of his chair, snatching the Frisbee from Dean's hand. "Come on, Sassy girl!"
Kansas woofed enthusiastically and chased after Sam, the door banging behind them.
Bobby cackled on the couch. "You're losing that fight, son."
"Her name is Kansas."
Bobby just shook his head and laughed some more. Dean rolled his eyes and turned to follow the dog out the door. "Hey, gimme that Frisbee, girl!"
A week after Kansas' arrival, Dean announced, "Pack you bag, Sammy, it's time to go."
Sam looked up from the computer with a puzzled expression. Kansas, curled up under the table, sat up and place her head in his lap. "Go where? I've been searching all afternoon, and there isn't a hunt anywhere, unless you want to drive to Maine, but Bobby said he's already got someone on that one."
"This isn't a hunt. You're going back to school." Dean placed the PTSD pamphlet on the keyboard. "So you and Kansas-"
"Her name is Sassy."
"Kansas," Dean said firmly. "You and Kansas can work together better."
Sam picked up the pamphlet and read silently for a moment. "She's a therapy dog. Dean! I thought we agreed-"
"Yeah, no doctors, no medicine. But you and...Sassy...are getting along pretty well, right?"
Sam looked down at the furry head in his lap. He'd started scratching her ears without even realizing it. "Well, yeah."
"And she's helping with the hallucination thing? I mean, she knows when you're seeing Lucifer, right?"
Sam considered Kansas for a moment. "Yeah, actually. Every time."
Dean nodded smugly. "So, that's step one. But there's a lot more to learn. The course lasts for a month. You two pass, and we can hunt again."
"You think I've just got a simple case of PTSD?"
Dean shook his head. "No. I know it's not that simple. But I know you've been better since Kansas arrived."
"Her name is Sassy," Sam insisted.
Dean glared. "Her name is Kansas."
"She's my dog."
"I bought her."
Sam grinned and held up the pamphlet. "She's my therapy dog. I'm her boss, I decide what we call her."
"It's the name she came with! It's on her tags!"
"She answers to Sassy. Right, girl?"
Sassy gave a happy woof, then abandoned Sam for her food bowl.
"We leave in the morning." Dean didn't wait for an argument, just walked out the door as if it was all settled.
Sam went to pack his bags.