A/N: This story started with every intention of writing a short one-shot. I am eventually going to have to just accept I am utterly incapable of writing "short" unless it's a drabble. I've been working on it as a birthday present for Dizzo, but after seeing Ness's birthday request this week it looks like it could just as easily be for her too. I hope at least one of you likes it!

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If you weren't looking for it you'd never notice it. Dean wasn't looking for it, but he noticed it.

Because he's damn good at what he does.

Gathering the papers together he got up off the bed and dropped them on the laptop in front of Sam. "What do you think, Sammy?"

Instead of asking the obvious "about what Dean?", Sam picked up the papers and started shuffling through as Dean headed for the little kitchenette to refill his coffee.

Sipping from the now-steaming cup, Dean sat down across from Sam. "Eight people gone missing in the last few years," he said before taking another swallow.

"Yeah, and they're blaming some local legend of a bogeyman?" Sam replied.

Dean nodded. "No sign has ever been found of any of them. Sounds like it could be our kinda thing."

Sam closed his laptop and slid it, along with the papers, into his bag. "Alright, lemme catch a quick shower and we're outta here."

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Ten hours (and a couple hours of sleep apiece) later, they found themselves in the middle of Backwoods, Nowhere. After a few interviews and a respectable bit of legwork, they found their trail leading out to a rundown junkyard on the outskirts of civilization, owned by an equally rundown "town crazy". They were warned to watch out for the vicious dogs the owner had on the property "to guard his shit that nobody wants anyway".

Under cover of dark, they split up to search the property. There were security lights scattered about, but they were fairly certain they could manage it without being seen. They agreed to meet at the gutted husk of a 1984 Camaro on the far side of the lot in fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was there. Dean was not.

Twenty minutes later, Sam was starting to get worried.

Twenty five minutes later, Sam decided he needed to go find his brother. When he rounded the back of the car, though, he found himself practically muzzle to kneecap with a light-coloured pit bull. Sam froze in his tracks, hands up, palms out.

"Uh...hey there puppy. You're a good doggy aren't you? You don't want to bite me do ya? I like doggies." He realized he was babbling and shut his mouth with a mental kick. There was enough light that he could see the dog blink up at him. It looked unsteady on its feet, Sam thought he probably stood a chance of getting away from it. He started backing away slowly.

With a low whine, the dog wobbled forward toward him. When it moved, Sam could see a darker spot on its fur behind its right ear.

"What's the matter buddy? Are you hurt?" Sam slowly crouched down, muscles coiled and ready to spring back up at the first sign of a threat. He fished a flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on. The dog blinked unfocused green eyes against the sudden brightness. With another whine, it lowered itself to the ground at Sam's feet.

Sam could now see the dark spot was blood, a nasty gash on the dog's head bled freely onto the ground. He could also see something around the dog's neck and wondered why the supposedly crazy guy with the supposedly vicious dogs would have any kind of identification hanging around their necks.

Carefully he pulled at the object around the dog's neck, turning it until he could see what was hanging from it. For several seconds Sam's brain refused to process what he was seeing in his hand, and then the world seemed to slide sideways.

It was Dean's amulet.

"Oh Dean. What did you do?" he murmured.

Sam thought he should check for concussion. He wasn't sure if it worked the same for animals as it did for people, but he figured it couldn't hurt to try. Angling the light so it was not directly in the dog's...Dean's...eyes, Sam carefully lifted each eyelid.

He could not see any difference in the pupils, but he was concerned by the complete lack of reaction from his now-furry brother.

Lifting the muscular form carefully, Sam started to make his way back to the Impala. He was almost there when he heard a vicious dog fight break out in a nearby cluster of junk. After depositing the unconscious pit bull Dean in the front seat of the Impala cocooned in a blanket, Sam went to investigate.

Creeping around the edge of a tall pile of metal, Sam saw at least half a dozen dogs ranged in a semi-circle around what looked to be the bloody remains of another dog.

Sam froze for a moment, unsure whether the dogs would attack him as well. From one instant to the next, the gory bits of the dog on the ground started to change. Fur vanished and what was left behind matched the description of the junkyard owner. He could not see any signs of an animal pelt on the corpse from where he was standing, so not a skinwalker.

A spell?

And if he changed Dean and then himself, was it possible...

Sam looked at the six dogs sitting on the far side of the body, looking at him expectantly.

He felt silly doing it, but he was not sure how much of their human consciousness was still in there if it was them, so he spoke. "Hey, uh, I don't know if you guys are the missing people - "

A Doberman whined pitifully at him.

"Okay," he nodded, still not quite sure how to proceed with the unusual situation. "Look, I am here to help. He changed my brother too. I can't take you all back to the motel with me. Hell, I don't even know if you can understand me - " a whine from the Rottweiler, "but if you can, then please just stay here and stay hidden. I will go see if I can find a spell book or something in his shack and call a friend for help if I need to."

A black lab grumbled at him grumpily.

"I promise. I will figure this out and get you back to normal somehow. There were eight who have gone missing, are there more of you?"

The "dogs" all averted their eyes. They might as well have shouted "no".

"Alright. I am going to salt and burn him so we don't end up with a psycho ghost on our hands. You should all find some place to hide out while I figure out how to fix this."

The dogs all melted into the darkness of the nearby wrecks. Sam did his duty with the remains and headed back to the Impala. When he got there, Deandog was awake if still a little wobbly on his feet...paws.

And he was clearly pissed.