Summary: Dean has a run in with a poodle. Dogs and Dean don't mix too well. Just a ficlet based on Dean's personality.
It's Tough Being Cool by frostygossamer
The first thing Sam heard was a tapping at the door. After a couple more keystrokes, he reluctantly rose from the table, where he was using his laptop, to open the motel room door and let him in.
Dean, who was shifting uneasily from foot to foot on the threshold, darted in the room quickly, brushing roughly against Sam in his hurry to get indoors. Once inside he heaved a little sigh of relief.
Sam furrowed his brow and leaned out the doorway, glancing suspiciously up and down the street, just in case there was some 'thing' out there that had scared Dean inside. The street was empty. Sam closed the door firmly and locked it, before turning to Dean with a question on his face.
Dean, who was now sitting on the bed nearest the door trying to look unconcerned, returned a blank gaze as he rubbed his head nonchalantly.
... "What? !"
"Not a thing out there, Dean", Sam declared. "What's the rush, Dude? Something give you the willies?"
... "S'nuthin."
Sam sighed. Dean wasn't the kind to admit getting nervous about anything, even when he had good reason.
Somewhere outside a dog bayed suddenly. Dean froze despite himself, his body suddenly tense. A smile of understanding appeared on Sam's face.
"That's the motel manager's poodle. Guess he spotted you in the parking lot again, right?"
Dean's expression was belligerent.
... "Huh!"
Sam grinned. "Yeah, I know. You're a match for any damn hound, Dean. Just a shame they don't know that, right?"
Dean swore gruffly under his breath and stretched out on his bed.
"You hungry?", Sam asked, deciding it best to change the subject.
Dean pretended to ignore him, but Sam could tell, from his body language, he was still listening.
"OK, let's go across to the diner. I'm ready to eat and I'm sure you can. C'mon. That pretty waitress Kitty loves you. Bet she'll have them rustle you up something special again tonight."
Sam slipped on his jacket and grabbed his wallet. Dean went right on feigning sleep. Sam walked to the door and opened it. He glanced back at Dean's unmoving form.
"C'mon, Dude", he encouraged cheerily. "Dinner? Sound good?"
No response. So, less than happily, Sam clicked his tongue a couple times. That was wrong and he knew it, and he knew Dean knew it. He hated to do it, and he knew Dean hated that he did it. It was kind of demeaning. Dean wasn't a dog, for God's sake.
But it worked. Responding subconsciously to the familiar stimulus, Dean was suddenly at his side. Sam leaned down and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and set him on his shoulder.
"Case that pesky damn poodle's still around someplace, Pussy Ass", Sam chuckled.
Dean dug his claws vindictively into the big guy's shoulder. Sam needed to know who was boss around here. Sam got the message.
The End
A/N: Anybody fooled?