"Now, don't get too attached."
Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to get attached. It's just a stupid mutt with an ankle sprain. Couple of weeks and he should be right as rain." He scratched behind the golden retriever's left ear, making the dog thump his tail in contentment. At least, Dean thought it was a he. He could never tell with animals. "Won'tchya, boy?"
Sam crossed his arms and huffed in indignation. "Dean, we should probably be going, don't you think?"
Dean looked up at his younger brother who had seemingly grown five feet from the criss-cross applesauce position Dean was sitting in. The dog nuzzled his way under Dean's arm, earning a lighthearted chuckle from the hunter. "Are we in a hurry?" he asked. "I mean, I thought you liked dogs."
Sam audibly ground his teeth. "Yes, but I also like hunting, Dean. Remember hunting?"
"You hunt?"
The brothers jumped at the sound of the female voice coming from behind Sam. It seemed that Sam's gargantuan form was covering the short woman who had crept into earshot of their conversation. Dean could already see the love between them blossoming as Sam jumped back and virtually slammed into a wire kennel containing a now much disheveled yorki.
"Oh… um… no, of course not," Sam managed to choke out.
Give the guy a book in Latin and he'll exorcise the hell (mind the pun) out of a demon with flawless dictation. Stand him in front of a pretty face, well… he wouldn't be able to piece together a complete thought.
The smile returned to the woman's face. She was chief veterinarian at the animal hospital and Sam had immediately developed a crush on the woman as soon as he laid eyes on her. I mean, how could he not? With that perfect of blond hair and that sharp of cheek bones, it was impossible not to. Sure, she was half Sam's height, but the chick was hot, no doubt about it.
"Good," she said, voice dripping like honey. "I thought I'd have to hold that against you."
Sam gawked as she walked by to crouch down next to the brothers' newly acquired companion.
"Look," Dean said, glancing down to the black rectangle pinned to her white lab coat. "Laura. My brother and I are on a tight schedule, so if we could wrap this up and you go ahead and take Sparky here, that would be—"
"You're just going to leave him here?"
Dean glanced at Sam. "Well, yeah. That was the plan."
Laura put on an accusatory glare. "So after all you did, you're just going to leave him here at the shelter. Even after he's obviously grown attached to you." She gestured at the dog whose head was now laying fully in Dean's lap. "At least keep him until his ankle has healed." She batted her eyelashes pleadingly at Sam once she realized it had no effect on Dean.
"Listen, sister. I'm not a dog person. So if you'll just take Lucky and we'll be on our—"
Dean was shut up by Sam covering his mouth. "Sorry, my brother can be… difficult at times. I'll take him."
Dean eyes grew wide while Laura's lit up with glee. "You will?" they said in unison.
Sam smiled smugly. "Of course." He glanced at Dean and said smoothly, "What kind of people would we be if we didn't help the helpless?"
"I'm so happy you feel this way! You know, it's hard enough trying to find homes for the rest of the lost souls here. It's so nice to finally find someone willing to take responsibility of their actions." Laura was absolutely giddy. "Who's got a home?" she said in dog-talk to the now panting golden retriever as she ruffled his ears. "You do! You dooooo!"
Dean glared at Sam who flashed him an apologetic smile translating to Oops.
"What happened to not getting attached, Sam?" Dean growled as he pulled on the brand new leash they'd bought from the Pet Smart connected to the hospital. They were finally released a half an hour later after filling out the required paperwork for adoption and the mutt was already giving them troubles.
"Oh, come on," Sam defended. "He's actually kind of cute. What's the worst that could happen?"
As soon as Sam said this, the dog bolted into oncoming traffic, tearing the leash from Dean's hands. "Hey!" he shouted as a black Hummer slammed on the breaks, inches from hitting the dog. "Hey, dog! Thing! Come back!"
They spent the remaining half hour trying to coax the dog out of oncoming traffic and into the Impala, much to Dean's distaste. It was one final "C'mere boy!" from Dean and an empty clasped fist of imaginary treats that led the dog to Dean's arms.
Sam checked his phone. "Crap," he said, running a hand through his flowing mane.
Dean wrapped the leash around his wrist twice for good measure. "What?"
"That meeting with the sheriff. We were supposed to be there five minutes ago."
Dean looked down at his now dog-slobber-covered t-shirt and army green jacket. Those were not the clothes of an FBI agent investigating a string of murder suicides.
"Crap indeed, little brother." Dean said, jogging to the Impala. "Crap indeed."