Hola everyone. So this is my second story in my Doggie-Dean series. You can find it on AO3, where I update first, but I will also update here too.

The title translates to: Hold a Wolf by the Ears

I have had this written for... well, a while, and I have about half of season 2 written. Updates are probably gonna be sporadic. I will TRY to update once/twice a month, there will be probably 1-2 chapters per episode. It's probably a good idea to go and read "We Go Forward", before starting this, but it's not completely necessary.

Summary from "We Go Forward": Dean is bitten by a rouge Familiar. He turns. It takes a month for him to make his first transformation, but then he's stuck for another few months. With the help of another Familiar that John knows, he learns that he: needs someone to power him up (and vice versa), can bond with just about any witch (something that could be potentially constent-optional), and is a considerably harmless supernatural creature. The end of season 1 stays the same. John is dead and Dean and Sam try to stitch their lives back together.


The Voicemail


There was a voicemail on one of their father's phone that intrigued Sam.

Which... well ... wasn't saying much. It didn't take much to catch his attention these days.

Sam would have dropped everything for much less than a voicemail. Someone could cough and if it had sounded the tiniest bit like 'John' or 'Winchester' or a combination of the two he would have pounced on the opportunity. Hell. Someone had coughed in the bar one town over and Sam had damn near stared him into blazes.

Ask Dean and he would tell you that Sam might be a little more than obsessed.

Ask Bobby and he'd say the same.

Ask Sam and he'd say it wasn't enough. It was too little, too late, and it wasn't enough. Never enough. Always lacking. Neither Dean nor Bobby could convince him otherwise.

To say Sam wasn't taking their father's death well would be an understatement to the highest degree.

Since John Winchester's death, Sam had not stopped looking for answers. He was obsessed with finishing what their father started. He was powered by the need for revenge for his girlfriend's senseless death and his father's mysterious one. Well... perhaps not as mysterious as they all wanted it to believe. Dean had reported a smell of sulphur so stong he'd been sneezing for a week, and the colt had been missing. Both of the brothers had not wanted to speculate too much on that. In fact, it needn't be said.

It couldn't be said. So, all there was left was denial.

Sam poured over research night and day. He was going to learn how to read his father's journals if it killed him. He buried himself in books and the internet and all things that went bump in the night - and for what ?

Sleepless nights?

Learning a few more phrases of Latin he'd never heard before?

Learning more about his father from his journal than from any conversation they'd ever even had?

All those thoughts had only led to a swell of bitterness and drinking as he stared at his notes. Which then led to sitting, staring unseeing at the pages in front of him, as he remembered his father, as he remembered the absence, as he remembered the world before and the world now.

So. He searched and searched, and searched.

And the break he was looking for... well, it came in a voicemail.

Sam huffed a laugh. Go figure. The one way their family seemed to communicate, even in death. Voicemail.

Now just to tell Dean... which was easier said than done.

Dean was... Dean was - Sam frowned severely at the picture his brother made leaning against his car, checking the dents and bruises to the shell.

Both of them were mourning in... decidedly different ways. Which, Sam couldn't help but admit, was still strange. Because dog-Dean was different than Hunter-Dean, or even his Brother-Dean. Hunter-Dean would have stayed silent, grumbled, fixed his car, and been a blockhead. No chick-flick moments. Smiled that empty smile, drank his beer, and worked on his car. Maybe thrown a punch if Sam pushed him. Maybe slept with half of the state. Even if Sam didn't push him.

Be... Dean.

Dog-Dean though...

For the past few days while Sam drowned in texts, books, journals, and caffeine and beer; Dean had been a mopey puppy.

It was the only way to describe him.

Slinking every which way with floppy ears and a limp tail. He emoted in a way that Sam was still getting used to. Open. Trusting. Unable to hide his true feeling behind his usual mask because they splashed on his face and body like paint. He flopped on the porch and the couch with an air of depression. His tail didn't wag. His ears rarely perked up. He rarely was human.

Just another thing that worried Sam.

When Dean was himself enough to worry about him. Dean was a dog a lot... a lot a lot . When he fancied it, he'd work on the car, but he could only hold human for so long (cause he'd been a person for three days in the hospital and that apparently was still a lot) before retreating to the solidarity of his doggie-brain.

Sam suspected that it was easier to grieve as a dog. He almost... wished he could descend to the same kind of simple-minded existence.

Dean had tried to explain it once, but having Dean explain anything to do with feelings... well, that was a laugh.

Sam hated that he got out so easily. And yet... he was also unbelievably relieved.

If Dean didn't feel this open pit where his stomach should be - then it was better that way; If he didn't feel sick every time he thought of their father's face, that disappointed frown, those crinkled eyes when he'd laugh uproariously, or the way his entire body shifted with the seriousness of a situation; if Dean didn't feel anything that Sam was feeling then he was better off.

Dean got to mooch of his simple-little doggie brain whereas Sam had to deal with all those complicated human emotions the human way. By dealing with grief as he always did: Ploughing head forward into work, researching until his eyes became too tired to stay open, falling asleep to the sound of nothing, thankful that the blankness came with an expiration, and getting blackout drunk.

In sleep, he didn't dream. When he was exhausted, nightmares fled his mind.

Dean had hit the jackpot.

Mourning in a way Sam had never thought he could. Sleeping, sitting out on the porch and watching sunsets, crawling into bed with Sam when the younger brother fell into his nightly coma; but Sam was about to change that.

When Sam came outside with the voicemail, Dean had started as a dog, but decided hands would be pretty good for holding a phone. He had heard Sam coming, of course, so he'd been pretending to work on his car, looking it over, when Sam found him. Ignorance is bliss.

"John." A woman's voice came over the speaker. Cocking his head, Dean turned to look at Sam and his crossed arm, face serious. That pain in his heart hearing his father's name did that. "It's Ellen... Again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me."

It fizzed and crackled. Nothing more.

"Ellen, huh?," Dean said, handing the phone back to Sam.

"It's four months old, too." Sam said, taking the phone back.

"Huh." Dean huffed, a prickling behind his eyes. "Dad saved that chicks message for four months?"

"Yeah."

"Well... then I guess we gotta ask ourselves," Dean said, walking away. "Who's Ellen?"

Sam didn't so much as crack a smile as he followed, explaining his plan. Of course he already had a plan. He'd tracked the phone number to an address, reverse GPS or whatever. If they could get a ride, they could go check it out.

It was a good thing they were in a junkyard.


Now. Sam was wrong.

It's not that Dean doesn't mourn as deeply as Sam does. It's not.

He may have been young when mom died, but he remembers the pain, even now. Didn't have the luxury of no memory and instead had a special little place in his head and heart for her. He knows the hole that has opened in his chest, right next to Mom's, is Dad's. At least somewhere they are together.

So no, it's not that he doesn't mourn.

It's that he hasn't started yet. He keeps pushing it back. Tomorrow, he'll mourn.

Repeat once tomorrow came.

Sure, he is not exactly up to speed and Sam looks at him with pity when he flops around, too tired to keep walking. Sam thinks it's because of Dad being dead. Sam thinks it's his new way to 'mourn' but it's not. Dean knows it's because he's still healing. He can't afford to mourn when he's so fragile physically. In Dog form, he doesn't have the wounds, but he can feel the tenderness, the weakness. In dog-form, everything is also... simpler. More intense, but simpler.

But it did not transform Dean.

If Sam wants to believe that Dean has just changed so abruptly; Dean's not going to stop him, because Dean doesn't know how much he's changed, either. Not only that, but Dean is still too numb to mourn yet. The wounds too fresh. The memories still hot and real in his mind. He's tired and he can't muster the courage for tears. Plus, he's pissed at their father for leaving as he had.

He's weak and he can't stare his demons in the face.

He knows this.

So he doesn't. He doesn't face the facts. He continues on as if Dad will come waltzing back in their lives after stealing away for months at a time, instead of the weeks he had left them. He remembers his father too clearly to see the blurry-edges of a photo that's been muddied by time. His father's face in his mind is crisp, perfect and it hurts.

He remembers his final moments with his father. He tries to wipe out the image of John lying on a bed of flames.

He remembers, instead, something altogether worse.

Dad. Leaning over. "You have to protect Sammy." Telling him that if Sam got out of control... telling him... "Cause, if you don't, then you have to take him out." Telling him to kill Sam if it came to that. Him. Kill Sam. "It has to be you... You hear me?"

Him. Kill his brother. It's as unfathomable as any other option that would lead to Sam's death.

Somedays, Dean can't even think the words, because there was something else to what Dad had been saying. Something deeper. Something... sinister . Something he hadn't gotten around to telling his sons. Which wasn't that just the fucking cherry on top of the sunday? Wasn't that just the last thing the two brothers needed?

Secrets stolen into the grave. It was a fucking laugh, was what it was. The kind that came from deep in your chest when you mourned.

It was just another thing that Dean was ignoring.

"You okay there, Dean?" Sam asked, snapping him out of his rather morbid thoughts.

:Doing just dandy. :

"Hmm." Sam clearly didn't believe him, if his side-eye was anything to go by.

They hit a bump in the road and Dean had to scrabble for better seating. The smell of moldmustyoldleather was cleared as he stuffed his nose towards the cracked window.

:I'm fine, bitch, just keep your eyes on the road, wouldya?:

Sam snorted, but he complied. His eyes never once shifting over to Dean.

His right hand was another matter.

Dean didn't know when it had become a thing , but Sam would pet or scratch him right in between his ears, just right. And he wasn't afraid to admit to himself that it made him go a little cross-eyed. Something about the angle, or the simple touch, was enough to make Dean melt into the passenger seat. It was pleasure. Like drinking a beer at the end of a long day, or satisfaction at the end of a hunt, or a hug when he hadn't been expecting it. Nothing sexual to it, though, Dean knew how to sniff apart those two feelings.

Well.

Now he did.

Now that he let himself have this .

This... This almost-kinda chick-flick moment.

Human-Dean would never have allowed his brother to just... touch him. Dog-Dean was a different story. Dog-Dean and Sam were a different story. The relationship between the two of them... not just brotherly. There was something else. A power dynamic that Dean knew was awkward and fumbling, but necessary. They were still working it out, but as long as they didn't think too deeply about it - they worked.

Sam saw the change, too, but he was smart enough not to say anything. With his eyes closed, Dean never saw the small smile peak on Sam's face.

He'd always wanted a dog, after all, maybe he'd just have to settle for Dean as brother and dog.


Sam pulled up to the building in the big old minivan they'd borrowed from Bobby. Dean had refused to say anything more about the van beside it being an embarrassment to all vehicle kind but dutifully stuck his head out to smell what he could, contribute what he could. Flop his tongue and enjoy the wind, too.

natureColdWetMudRainRainCleanBird And so the smells went. A constant litany, a constant chant, of names for smells he knew and things he could only approximate.

When they pulled up to the place it was clear the place wasn't in the best of conditions. Not shoddy, but clearly weathered a few storms. The lettering was faded on the big sign it proclaimed for all to see: Harvelle's Roadhouse.

"Harvelle's," Sam said to himself as he cut the engine. "You ever heard Dad mention them?"

:Nope,: Dean confirmed, his nose working. : But, God, can we ditch the soccer mom van sometime?:

"It's all Bobby had,"

:It's all Bobby had,: Dean mocked before turning a hot glare on Sam. :You know how to hotwirea car. Don't tell me you've gone rusty, Stanford?:

Sam just snorted but exited the car without another word. Dean followed, only without opening the door.

"So?" Sam asked him as he came around the van.

Dean sniffed.

The place was a bar, or a saloon, someplace absolutely stacked with alcohol. He smelled enough human markers like piss, vomit, and the like to surmise that it was usually hopping at night. There was food too, all kinds of bar food. He smelled stale french fries, a few bones with scraps of meat still hanging, and even a cigarette bowl. And he heard three distinct heartbeats.

One was calm, even, as if asleep. The other two had spiked as soon as Sam had slammed his door shut.

:It's a bar. Not empty. Three people,: Dean said as he went directly to the front door, Sam right on his heels. :Knock would ya?:

"So bossy," Sam complained but took out his lockpick kit after knocking yielded no response.

:Wait, you want to break in after I just told you there are three people inside? : Dean asked as Sam already had his lockpick kit outside. :Are you suicidal?:

"You can change whenever you want, Dean," Sam reminded him as he jimmied the door open. Then he was entering with his gun at the ready, silent but deadly. As they'd been trained.

With a snort, Dean followed. He mulled over changing, but then thought better of it. The element was on their side.

Nobody ever expected a dog.

He found the sleeper easily enough. A guy absolutely passed out on a pool table. He was too high up for Dean to get a good look at, but he smelled like what he had dubbed the 'red-neck' flavor. One part cow manure, dirt, and all things nature. The other part alcohol. He wasn't likely to cause them any problems.

One down.

One heartbeat was in the kitchen, another somewhere in the other room, getting closer and closer every second. Trying to come up behind him. Which was silly. He was a dog.

The heartbeat was probably trying to get behind Sam.

Sam gestured to the kitchen after Dean told him what he heard and Dean looped through the bar stools, staying low.

The soft footsteps of someone young, light, and trained came towards him. He hid under a table. Watching. Waiting. Crouched. He timed it just right, as the sure, careful footsteps came around the corner of the bar.

Another step and the person was within range.

Dean wasn't a heavy dog, he really wasn't, maybe sixty pounds, max, but the right momentum, force, and he could take just about anything down. He had his 'wolf' blood to thank for that.

So when the girl, no older than Sam, came around the corner, he acted first and then thought about his actions later.

He pounced as soon as she was rounded the corner with that large gun of hers. Seeing as how Dean hadn't practiced this particular move much, he was surprised he got her pinned down, snarling face in her face as easily as he did. The gun went flying, sure, and she hadn't gotten off a shot - but it was too perfect. As if planned.

To make matters worse, the girl was easy to look at.

She was blond, dark eyes that were blown wide with fear. She weighed more than him, a lot more, yet she lay passively under him. Breath knocked out of her lungs. Didn't even try and buck him off. It was then that Dean remembered he was a dog, it was only a second he forgot.

Maybe she thought he was trained to do things like this? Or... she could be terrified of dogs.

That kind of made Dean want to comfort her, but he knew there were more important things to worry about.

"Shit!" She said as Dean growled low every time she so much as twitched. And she twitched a lot.

But he didn't move at all. He stayed planted. For a few seconds, too, enough time that it was clear he wasn't about to just snap at her face or hands.

"MOM!" She whispered, loudly, as if that was going to help. "MOM! MOM, THERE'S A DOG!"

Ahhh, mother-daughter duo. Those were always fun. Dean was about to call out for Sam. When someone else beat him to the punch.

:Sammy-:

"Don't shoot!" Sam yelled behind him.

For a second, he was confused. Don't shoot? I don't have hands.

But then he heard it, the cock of a gun. For a split second, Dean was torn. Stay and hold the girl down? Bounce off and hide under a table? The smart thing was to hide, but he couldn't move fast enough.

"Tell your mutt to heel!" A woman's voice very authoritatively said.

Dean's jaws nearly slammed shut, and he made to get off.

Sam's voice came next, shakey.

"Dean, down ."

So he dropped the snarl and quickly snapped his head towards Sam.

Dean had been so preoccupied with the blonde he had underneath him that he'd momentarily forgotten to keep track of the other heartbeats. Snarling at himself in anger, he didn't move quick enough as another voice said, "I said, call off your damn dog."

Sam winced but then issued a full-blown command. "Dean, Heel ."

It was the first time that Dean almost felt physical hands on his body pulling him. Pushing him to obey. They took him completely by surprise and he obeyed without thought.

Dean physically flinched shook his head but, with teeth bared, responded before moving.

:Damnit, sorry, Sammy.:

He backed up off of the girl he had pinned, skittered a few feet away and seeking shelter a little under a table. The compulsion to go over to Sam's side was too strong and he made his way over, under table-tops, to see Sam was being led from the kitchen with a rifle to his back. So that's why he hadn't been shot first, the woman hadn't had a good line of sight.

" Sit . Hold , Dean." Sam commanded further for good measure.

When Dean followed the orders Sam gave a pained smile.

"See? He's not going to do anything."

The girl sat up slowly, watching him wearily.

"Some training..." The blond girl said as she got to her feet, cocked her gun and pointed it at Dean. Who was now sitting halfway between Sam and the girl. He was basically motionless, which was an odd sight, sure, but he wanted to make a point.

:Tell her to point that away from me or I'll take her leg off.: Dean threatened.

"Sorry about Dean," Sam apologized ignoring him. "He gets a little... overzealous . Uhm, please point that gun somewhere besides my dog?"

It was kind of a humorous picture, a large man such as Sam apologizing to a woman holding a gun to his head. Sam somehow managed to make himself look small, too, as he did it. How? Dean would never know.

"Why would I do that?" Blondie asked. "You're mutt attacked me."

:Hey, defend me Sam,: Dean glared.

"Well, I did tell him to," Sam said, shrugging those big shoulders of his and sounded like a child while doing it. "He didn't bite you, though, right?"

"Well... no?" Blondie said but just adjusted her hold on the rifle. "But he's a stupid dog, he could have."

Sam shook his head. "Dean's specially trained. You weren't in any danger. I promise."

:Oh don't you go there,:

The woman behind him dug the rifle forward. " Especially training... my ass. Go on, then. Give him a command."

Wait. What?

"Like what?" Sam demanded, hands still high.

:I'm going to kill you.:

"I don't know, make it special." The blond girl said. "What's the most interesting thing he knows?"

:I swear to god, Sam, if you - :

"Dean," Sam looked skyward as if asking for strength. "Get me a beer."

:Thank god,:

Both of the women looked absolutely confused as Dean bolted behind the counter. He had a strong nose, but this was a challenge. Because Sam asked for a beer but he didn't have hands to operate a tap. So a bottle was the best he was going to get.

But bottles didn't really have a smell, except for the case. And that took a moment to root around in. But he was successful at finding what he needed and grabbed one of the bottles. The chinking made an odd noise and even the humans could hear it.

"Is he - " A voice asked, the girl asked as Dean emerged from behind the counter with his prize in jaw. "Holy shit..."

:i'm soooo awesome.: He bragged, tail high as he came around the counter jaws full.

"Good boy, Dean," Sam said as Dean hopped on his hind legs and placed the beer gently down on the table closest to Sam. He gave a bark for good measure, twirled to get his tail away, and sat.

"See? Trained." Sam said, with a smile for good measure. "You were never in any danger. Dean doesn't go for the kill unless I say so."

The girl just stared at him.

"Obedient dog you got there," The woman behind him said noncommittally, but Dean could tell she was impressed. "And as nice as that explanation was, how about you tell us what you want? Why you broke into my saloon?"

"It's kind of a long story, and I'm sorry about that," Sam winced. "My name is Sam Winchester and - "

"Winchester?" She interrupted. Dean could see the moment she found him wanting as a threat, as her gun lowered slightly. "John's boy?"

Sam winced and nodded. "That's correct, ma'am."

: Laying it on a little thick, aren't you Sam? :

"Wait, mom, you know him?" The girl asked, her gun lowering as well.

"Yeah, this is John Winchester's youngest..." The woman behind Sam cocked her head. "Where's your brother... Dean?"

"Uhm." Sam said, eloquently.

Before Sam could speak her eyes met Dean's and there was a spark of recognition. Could see the click as the two ideas melded together into one. Dean Winchester. Dean the dog. Perhaps others wouldn't have come to such a conclusion. Perhaps others would have leapt to Dean the human being dead and Sam taking in a dog and naming him after his dead brother, but it was clear that this woman had seen things. Had seen things like Dean and Sam had seen things. Even still, she seemed to know, but there was always the chance she didn't and Dean was being paranoid.

He didn't think so.

" Dean ." She said, as if testing the word, never breaking eye contact.

:She knows, Sammy,: Dean said.

Sam looked at him in confusion, cocking his head. His eyes then went wide as he got it. He looked between her and Dean, and he tensed up. The woman hadn't broken eye contact, yet.

"You wouldn't happen to be him, would'ya?" The woman still asked, as if believing that maybe this once, just this once, she'd be the crazy one.

Dean very deliberately closed his mouth, sat up straighter.

Take that as you will.

The daughter missed the interaction, her mother did not.

"I mean, your party trick could use some work," Ellen said, thoughtfully. "But no dog I know could enter into a bar and figure out the layout that fast. You didn't even try to go to the fridge."

:Lookit that, I like her.:

"Well," She said, staring at him calculatingly for a long moment before dropping the gun. "I'm Ellen. This is my daughter, Jo. And I believe you've got a story for me, don't you?"

:Boy don't we ever .: Dean thought to himself as Sam relaxed a bit, hands coming from behind his head.

"You can say that again."


"First, explain your dog." Ellen said as Sam collapsed against a bar stool. They were bolted to the floor so Dean felt no shame in hopping up onto the chair. It didn't wobble as Ellen looked at him critically. Her daughter even more so. "I've never seen anything like it..."

"Hey," Jo said, as if she were about to shoo him. Though she looked confused on how Dean was sitting. "No dogs on the chairs."

Dean knew that wasn't a rule, cause it was dumb, and Sam knew as well. Sam looked amused but also careful. As if he knew what he was about to ask crossed a line.

"Dean, if you would," Sam gestured to him, which said a lot more than Dean thought he would ever get from Sam's hand gestures. "Ellen already knows, I think we should let Jo in on the secret... don't you?"

Change. Please. Tired.

It was a huge risk. They didn't know these people other than Ellen had left a voicemail on their Dad's phone. Knew that she could 'help'. There was something though. Dean felt it in his bones that these people could be trusted. If not because Dad had trusted them then because he could feel it.

It concerned him deeply that he was becoming a 'something' that thought so clearly with their feelings . Then again...

He better get used to it.

What the hell , he was pretty quick, he could probably take a bullet if he were wrong.

:She feels alright... : Dean sighed. :I hate doing this though, seriously. It's bad enough that you guys know..:

Sam even softened up, his eyes doing that dewy thing, and his shoulders slumping. Dean followed orders, though, even the kind of unspoken kind. He even held his hands up once he was finished. In an 'I mean you no harm' gesture to Jo.

"Sorry for attacking you, if I had known who we'd be going against was two stunning women," He chuckled humorlessly and shook his head slightly. "I'd have pulled my fangs."

Jo had a gun out again, aiming it straight at Dean's head judiciously. It was a small mercy she didn't pull the trigger.

Dean felt a small twang of disappointment. So sudden, so abrupt; it made him pause and shake off the unwanted thought. He'd never been suicidal. Ever. Not even when he'd been ready to end his life because he thought he was a monster, not just cursed. That wasn't suicidal. That was just acceptance of fate.

"Put the gun down, Jo." Ellen said, staring at Dean.

"Mom?" Her voice cracked as Ellen carefully batted the gun away. "What the hell?"

Dean was honestly surprised that Ellen had done that. He could feel they were good people, but there was a difference between being good people and acting like 'em. Ellen was doing both.

With a certain swagger, Ellen shook her head.

"It's fine, honey, they won't hurt us."

"What the hell are you talking about, Mom?" Jo demanded. "You told me - "

Ellen's eyes flashed as she whipped a hand through the air.

"I know what I told you, Jo, and in this case..." Ellen didn't even seem like she knew what she was saying. "This is different."

Jo looked doubtful as she daren't take her eyes off of Dean.

"How?"

"Dean's not a monster, he's... well." Ellen ran a hand through her hair. "He's cursed, honey."

Dean felt his throat close up. It had been a long time since someone had defended him like that. Defended that he wasn't a monster. And a stranger at that? He turned away as tears prickled the edge of his eyes. Damnit. These 'feelings' needed to get the hell away from him.

Ellen looked over Dean carefully. Saw the collar around his throat, saw the way Sam watched her and then grimaced.

"Just cursed, honey."

"You know what I am?" Dean said, keeping his posture as non-threatening as possible.

"I may not be a Hunter, but I was married to one," Ellen said as if that answered all of Dean's questions. "You're a Familiar. Since you're John's kid, I know you weren't born into it." Jerking her head towards Sam, she added. "Logically that means Sam here is the one who collared you."

"Impressive logic," Sam said thanking Jo as she handed him a beer very slowly, eyes never leaving Dean. Dean waved away an offered bottle.

Ellen ignored that and had eyes only on Dean.

"How long has it been since you were bitten?"

"Going on five months now,"

Ellen whistled. "Practically a baby."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"You know your stuff," Sam said watching her just as carefully. "Stuff Dad didn't even know."

Ellen was careful as she put the beer away.

"I do."

"How?"

"I hear things."

Sam and Dean shared a look.

"Most Hunters we talked to know jack shit about Familiars. Especially Familiar-witch bonds," Dean said, dropping his non-threatening posture for something a little more arrogant. "We've asked all around and the only answers we got even close to what you just said was from a pair of Witches up in Colorado."

"As I said," Ellen didn't seem even a little concerned. "People talk."

"Drop it, Dean," Sam commanded him, cradling his head in his hand. "We've got more important things to talk about."

Dean was forced to, but not before sneering at him. "Oh yeah, like what?"

"Like why Ellen here called dad and said she could help," Ellen looked at them like they were idiots. "And help with what?"

"Well... The demon, of course."

Sam sat back a little heavier in his seat as Dean stared at Ellen, all confusion on both sides.

"Did we miss something, Sam?" Dean demanded. "Some article in Demon Hunter's Quarterly , maybe? How do you know all this?"

His brother just shook his head.

Ellen looked once again curious and conflicted. "I just run a saloon, boys. People come through and sometimes they talk. Hunters don't talk nearly as much, but I've got a reputation for listening if one needs it."

"And that's how you know our dad?" Sam asked.

"... Yes. John passed through a long time ago. Once upon a time, even, he was like family."

Family ? Dean felt a little pit rise up in his chest. Family? These stranger wanted to claim Dad as family? Hell. Dean and Sam barely could claim their father like that. Dean felt the need to just turn dog, turn tail, and run. He was stronger than that though, and he persevered as Sammy perked up.

"How come he's never mentioned you before?"

Ellen was blank-faced but she pursed her lips ever so slightly.

"You'd have to ask him that."

And there the elephant of the room was addressed, which was impressive. Dean was a familiar and still, their dad's death was more incredible, more fantastical, than a real live mythical beat in their midst. Even Jo looked away from him.

"John... is alright, isn't he?" Ellen asked.

Dean couldn't bring himself to look away from the table. Their father's name, whenever spoken, still punched a hole in his chest. Left him wanting to shake. Sometimes it took away the numbness, made him feel things he didn't

"Uh," Sam didn't meet her eyes. "No. He's not."


Ellen took the news like it actually hurt. Jo, Dean could tell, was indifferent. Her heartbeat didn't go one way or another. A curious kind of incident, but Dean didn't say anything. It was obvious that Jo didn't care. Though, she kind of did, too. Which was baffling.

What was John to these people?

Then... Ash.

"Uh-whua?" The man scrabbled to get into a sitting position when Ellen called for him. Woke him from his stupor. "Is-isit closin' time?"

Dean caught a whiff of him as he rolled off the pool table and ran his hands through his hair. It was bright and tangy, there was an overwhelming amount of alcohol. Yet it was the smell of electricity that intrigued Dean the most. It seemed like something he should mention to Sam... but it was also something that Dean had told no one but Tanner.

Sam didn't sense Dean was hiding anything, even glared at him slightly, before leaning forward towards Ellen.

"He's going to help us?"

Jo looked smug, without a smile but a certain kind of humor in her expression. "Mhmm. He's a genius."

Dean took another look at the man and thought that Jo must have been smoking something, but he also shrugged, because, well. What did he know about 'genius's'? Sam couldn't stop staring, his expression changing only briefly to complete bewilderment as he looked to Dean.


After introductions, Dean prodding Ash with a few choice words and Sam scoffing but dutifully bringing their father's files to the man, both the brothers were surprised to find that, yes, Ash really was the real deal. He spat knowledge that sounded like something their father would have known, but he said it in a way that screamed 'college educated'. Dean knew it from listening to Sam. Sam knew it from actually being in college.

Which, you know, brought back memories that Sam couldn't afford to mull over right now.

"Give me..." The man did a few quick calculations in his head, he must have because then he said. "51 hours."

Specific . Dean thought to himself, as he sat and picked through a few pieces of paper. He knew how to read the info since John had taught him before he'd disappeared, only to reappear to be killed. That sent a pang through his chest and he dropped what was in his hands.

He needed something to take his mind away from that. Looking around quickly he saw Ash leaving with the files.

"Hey!" He called out, and he wasn't even sure why. "I dig the haircut."

It stopped Ash short, but the man turned with a flourish like he meant to. "Business in the front," He declared as he flipped his hair. "Party in the back."

Then he was gone.

Dean's thoughts of his father were also gone as he smiled.


Sam wasn't thinking of his father, even with all of the papers and the memories of that file-folder, no, he'd been in mourning after all for long enough. Long enough. No. Sam was thinking about school. He was thinking of everything he had left behind. He was thinking of his peers.

And then he thought of Jessica.

He thought of the Sunday mornings they spent in bed. He thought of his late nights writing and research papers for his classes and Jessica coming up behind him and hugging him, or bringing him dinner. He remembered Christmas at her parents. He remembered how she never asked over his family, the spot too tender.

And he remembered her on his ceiling, reaching one hand out, and burning.

Swallowing hard he shook the image from his mind and tried to focus on the drink in front of him. When he realized it was just water, he cleared his throat and asked for something stronger. Ellen gave him a look, he'd apparently already had a beer, but nodded as she pulled a bottle over. He didn't even look at what she poured. Just drank.

Dean didn't even blink. Maybe he was too lost in his own mind, just like Sam.

"51 hours to kill, Sammy." Dean sighed.

Sam grunted into his drink, all tense and wounded like.

"Alright, good talk." Dean said as he pushed away from the bar to go to the couch in the corner. He knew his family. When they got into the drink, when there was little else to do but talk, they closed up. It was just how their family worked.

Being a dog didn't change that. It just made him realize that he couldn't notfeel everything.

He couldn't drown his sorrows in alcohol. He couldn't ignore anything.

Everything that he could ignore before was now too loud to just pass by. It was like being able to see for the first time. Be able to hear. Heartbeats he could hear now. He could smell fear and trepidation. There was a tingle, that electricity, around certain people. It was all laid out in front of him. If he ever wanted to go back to the way he was before, short of un-cursing himself, he had to learn a whole new way of ignoring things. Which, considering everything, wasn't easy.

Nor did he necessarily want to ignore things.

As a human, when you didn't know something, you weren't ignoring it. You were innocent. You honestly, truly didn't know.

With Dean's nose, he couldn't escape knowing.

With his ears, he heard everything.

He knew everything . He knew too fucking much.

And Dean was pretty decent at ignoring things, but the magnitude of it all was too much.

Leaning on the couch, Dean relaxed. He was far enough away that the heartbeats were just background noise, the smell was directly mostly to the couch (beer, dirt, ass, the usual), and he felt almost closed off from the world. Almost normal. He closed his eyes and he tried to dream.

The smell reached him before Jo's voice did.

Just like when he had bowled into her and held her down, she smelled like some fruity shampoo, a sharp-stinging flowery smell that could have been deodorant or perfume or who knew what women wore?

"You need anything?" She asked. It was in that waitress-tone-of-voice. That 'I am here because I have to be', which wasn't true. At all. Then again, maybe it was. Hell, Dean had never had to waiter in his life. Lie, cheat, steal, sure, but hold down a job like this?

John wouldn't have liked it...

"You know, yeah I have a question. What's the least beer like beer around?" Dean asked, and immediately hated himself.

Jo's heartbeat stalled for half a second and then there was the tiniest echo in her voice. Like she was trying to stifle her laughter. "What do you mean? I am pretty sure the farthest thing away from beer would be water, but if you want beer but just not - then Miller Lite."

Ugh. He hadn't even drank that when he was twelve .

"Fucking great. Yeah. Alright," Dean went on the defensive, opening his eyes and allowed his head to fall back with a thunk . "It's the familiar thing. Regular beer with anything higher than a one percent alcohol content tastes like absolute garbage."

She looked baffled.

"What about something stronger? Does that taste like crap?"

"No," Dean shook his head but smirked as he remembered. "Tastes like fire, but it's more of a monthly kind of thing. My hangovers are legendary ."

He'd drank four shots when John had died and was still recovering.

Jo was interested now, and she slid into the chair at the table in front of Dean. "What? Like your metabolism is different?"

"Probably," Dean admitted, though he didn't know much about that. He could still eat a mountain of food, but was it... more than usual? Could that be why beer tasted like dirt? "I don't know, it's all still so new."

There was a flash of sympathy on her face before she got up. "I'll get you that Miller you asked for."

That suddenly sounded like the worst thing ever.

"Ugh, can I change that to just a water?"

Jo didn't give him any indication that she pitied him for that move, but she did hope to.

"Sure."

When she left, she didn't seem like such a hard ass. Still chilly, absolutely, he had jumped her as a dog, but she wasn't nearly as ice-cold.

They waited around an hour, switching places. Sometimes Sam on the couch, sometimes Dean. Rarely both.

"I should probably call Bobby and let him know what we found," Sam finally said, speaking to Dean for the first time.

"You do that, Sammy, I'm just gonna - " Dean made a little movement with his fingers but when Sam didn't get it, he rolled his eyes and changed. : I'm getting tired of being a person. :

Sam rolled his eyes but left for a few minutes. Dean could hear the entire conversation on Sam's end, but Bobby was fuzzy.


Sam came back and leaned against the couch. Dean decided he wanted to be there, too.

"You've been doing that a lot more often than usual, you okay?" Sam asked, but moved over enough that Dean could jump up next to him. Dean took the opportunity for what it was and curled up with him, head in his lap. His brother's fingers in his fur. Worries melted from his body like having a good hour-long massage.

:I'm feeling okay, just... doggie.:

Dean didn't know how to put these feelings into words nor did he ever think he'd be able to.

"So what's the deal with that, anyway?" Jo asked, leaning against the table. "He doesn't have to do that, does he?"

:Ugghh, can I just have some quiet time? Some me time? : Dean groaned to nobody in particular, pawing his head and ears, since Sam was the only one who could hear him, Sam snorted.

"He can stay human for however long he want's, now, anyway," Sam explained to her, putting down the phone. "The first few months were hell. He couldn't keep himself human for more than half an hour. First month, he couldn't change at all."

:It could have been a mental block, you don't know.:

"Now... well, he has his moods." His big hand came down on Dean's head. "One mood is what I like to call pouty-puppy."

Dean snarled viciously at him but Sam only shoved his face away playfully.

"Who's a pouty puppy ?" Sam sing-songed ruffling Dean. "You are, you are!"

:I'm going to rip your throat out,: Dean promised, ears back severely and teeth out in a snarl. :And dance on your grave.:

Jo stared at the both as if she couldn't understand.

"Are you going to cure him?"

Both brothers stiffened.

"Uh," Sam scoffed, kind of in disbelief. "I don't think there is a cure for this. Familiar-ism is just one of those things you live with..."

This conversation was banned for a reason.

"Then doesn't he need a witch or something?" She asked. "I don't know a lot of lore on familiars, but what I do know is that they are witches pets ."

:I can hear you, you know.: Dean said, lifting his head to stare at her. : Tell her I can hear and understand you, would you?:

Sam scoffed slightly but dutifully relayed the message. "Dean wants you to know he can hear you,"

A glass fell from her fingers which made Dean's ears perk up. The sound of shattered glass was an interesting sound. Pretty and disgusting all in one. Sharp and loud. Like a shriek. Dean's ears flickered to get rid of the echo of shattering glass.

"You can talk to him?" She demanded as she came around the table. There was a light in her eyes now. This was interesting . "How does that even work? Is it like a mental connection? I thought that only happened with Witches and their familiars - "

"Hey, whoa, whoa, slow down," Sam said as she sat right in front of them. "Uhm, yes. We talk. It happened after we did the Collaring spell. Just one touch and suddenly I could hear - "

"Collaring spell?" She demanded, pulling back as if she'd smelled something awful.

"Uhm, yeah, it's what keeps his clothes on." Sam explained eloquently jingling Dean's collar.

:Oh, come on ,: Dean shook himself.

"Oh."

: Ohis right, geesh, let a guy have some privacy. :

"I didn't think about that." Jo said, and there was the faintest hint of a blush. Dean could hear the blood in her veins. Could hear how her heart beat and beat faster. Watched how her skin darkened into a blush. It was... hard to ignore and Dean couldn't help but stare.

"Believe me, it was a godsend when we worked it out." Sam said, a hint of a laugh.

Dean glared balefully. : Laugh it up. :

"Hey you can change and defend yourself at any time," Sam pet him on his head.

:Fine, whatever,: Dean changed and Sam's hand ended up on his shoulder. "Honestly, I'm sitting right here."

Jo stared. "I'm never going to get used to that."

But the blush stayed and Dean realized Jo was still thinking of the whole collaring thing.

The Dean, naked thing.

Dean flashed her a wolfish smile and she scowled, turned back around and got back to cleaning of the bar. Her heartbeat told him the story she wouldn't. Attraction she might feel, but there was also a hint of disgust. And that hint of anything other than attraction was what made him pause, hunch over, and turn back.

It was easier. It was a lot easier than facing that. Facing rejection of any kind.

Before when girls had dismissed his advances and thought he was disgusting - he had laughed and just pushed harder until they either slapped him or kissed him. It was the way he was. A man with needs and a man who wanted what he wanted. If the woman wanted too, then that worked out just fine for him.

Now... Now it was different. He was strange and weird and a dog.

Had Dad's death really done that? Made him this... fragile?

Because he didn't remember ever being this weak when his father was alive. He didn't remember this kind of fragile existence where a look, where a moment, where a smell, where a heartbeat beating wrong took him so off guard. He didn't remember any of this when Dad was alive.

Being a dog was much easier than bawling like a child. Not that he'd ever allow himself to do that.

No chick-flick moments, after all.

No. No sir-e.

Sam didn't even question when he practically molded himself to his leg back to being a dog.


It wasn't that Dean didn't have a sex drive, cause, well, he did. Before he'd been changed and after. That was one thing that hadn't changed.

It was a comfort, most of the time.

Except for those first few months when he'd been more dog than human and the urge to have sex with just about anything he came in contact with had set him on edge and made him squirm just to think about it and - well, it went without saying that animal sex was not something he wanted to experience. Ever. It had been awkward, weird to think about, and he'd not been able to face his own reality as he suppressed it all.

So Jo was the first woman in a long long while that he'd actually had the opportunity or the desire to flirt with. Only setback was that she knew he was a dog. Literally.

On the other hand... was that really a setback?

The only woman he'd met in a while and it just so happened to be the only one that knew about his 'curse'.

"What is it like?" Jo asked as she brought him a large glass of water. His second of the day. Man did his liver love him.

"Well, my drink options are severely limited. As you know," Dean said, saluting her with his water. "Which, let me just tell you, made me damn near cry after I realize the only beer I could drink was Miler light . You confirming it just... did it in."

She winced in sympathy. "How does that work? Like specifically"

Gesturing towards his face, Dean shook his head. "Hell if I know. Beer has a certain taste, as far as I can tell, it's the fermentation. It - " He shivered as he remembered it. "Ugh. It tastes like literal crap. Hard liquor is different, but that's just cause the closest taste I can come up with would be fire. It also gets me drunker quicker. A shot goes a long way."

"Yikes. I'd stick with water, too," Jo said chuckling. "Since your sense of taste is so off, does that mean your other senses are too?"

Dean almost thought she was flirting. Then her heartbeat spiked, there was a sharp smell that even as a human he could pick up and - then he knew she was.

"All of them." He told her conspiratorial.

"All of them?"

Dean nodded. She looked at him like she didn't quite believe him.

"What do you smell here?"

"Really?" Dean said, wrinkling his nose as he gestured to the pool table. "You ask what a bar smells like?"

Jo's nose wrinkled back, cutely. "Yeah, I guess that's pretty dumb. Fine. What's the weirdest smells?"

Dean scoffed and gestured around. "What isn't ? I mean, it's all underlying things. Dirt, sex, blood. Ghosts have a certain smell. Children have a certain smell depending on their age. Everything has a smell I never smelled before. Bars, though, are a lot of alcohol, human, clothes, and dirt."

"Impressive." She frowned in amusement. "And sounds?"

"I can hear a whole hell of a lot. All that way out to the highway."

Dean gestured to the right, where the faint sounds of cars driving by could be heard. By him, no one else. Jo looked at him oddly.

"So wait," She said, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. "You can hear heartbeats, can't you?"

"That I can,"

"... You knew we were in here when you guys broke in."

"Break in sounds so awful, we just picked the lock," Dean defended Sam before throwing him under the bus. "But I told Sam not to, but kind of hard to stop him when he gets an idea in his head,"

"That's really stupid. You know that, right?"

"...Yeah, I know."


Jo was talking to Sam about something when Ellen cornered Dean on the sofa.

"... How are you?"

Dean blinked at her. Reading the way she smelled, the way she moved, how her brow was furrowed. Worried. Kindness, worried, not really pity - it could be though. It was borderline pity.

"I'm doing alright. I guess. As well as I can be," Dean said, feeling nervous suddenly, the energy Ellen was putting off made him nervous.

"I just meant, how close you and your father were - "

Ah. It was pity. Dean felt that kind of boiling feeling in his gut that he imagined was somewhat rage, somewhat anger, somewhat distress. Then he forced it down. Stomped on it like a beetle. Like it was something worthless.

"I'm fine," He said, forcefully through his teeth. " We're fine."

Ellen leaned back, raising her hands in surrender. "I was just checking. No need to get testy."

Dean looked at her impassively, not allowing his emotions to show.

"It's just what I do." She defended further, when she realized she'd touched a raw, raw nerve, as she'd been expecting too.

"Yeah. Got it." Dean said. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

Then before she could backpedal further he got up to sit next to his brother. Even just walking towards Sam calmed him. It was like a wave of peace, that electricity as he bumped shoulders with Sam and sat, it meant the world to him. It was the world, for a few seconds as he breathed in deeply and slowed down.

Sam didn't notice anything, but did bump him back.

It was times like this that Dean was a little guilty he didn't tell Sam everything.

But. It was better this way. Less complicated. More secrets that Dean didn't have to share with anyone, and he was fine with that. And he was still a little angry at Ellen for daring to think he wasn't doing fine, that he wasn't coping, that she could think she could read him...

Dean took a breath and pulled the newspaper towards him.


"This?" Ellen asked after Sam pointed out the folder by the police-scanner. "It's uh, it's a case."

Sam's eyebrows rose as she handed the folder to him. "A case?"

"Yeah I was going to hand it off to a guy I know..." They both saw the instant a thought clicked in her head. "But hey, you've got time, don't you?"

Dean snorted into his water. "All we've got is time." Then he was reaching out.

"Gimme that, Sammy."

He gave the folder up without too much fuss. "Fine,"

Dean read over a few paragraphs, got the slightest idea of what was happening before Sam demanded, "So?"

"Let a guy read, wouldya?" Dean mumbled as he read, flipped a few pages to look at a picture or two. Back to the middle. To the end. And - was that a Circus in town? - got it.

"Oh Sammy, you are going to love this," Dean smiled with the most shit-eating grin.

Sam's heart physically fell. Dean swore he could hear it.

"Clowns, Sammy."

And Sam flattened in his seat. A groan starting in the base of his throat.

" Clowns ." Dean crowed.

The revenge was so sweet, Dean could taste it. And he'd made fun of him on the airplane. Payback was going to be a bitch. Getting up, he pushed away from the table and absolutely sang.

"Clowns!"

Ellen and Jo shared an amused look as Sam melted into the bar table top with a groan.