Angry Puppy Angry Puppy

Sam lying on the bed farthest from the door when he heard the sound of the lock being jimmied. Honestly, he wasn't really concerned. For one thing, he had a .45 under his pillow. Secondly, this wouldn't be the first time one of them had forgotten the room key and just fiddled their way in rather than knocking. If nothing else, it was good practice.

He looked over from were he lay, slightly propped up on a pillow or two. His laptop sat on his chest, and he was surfing for a new gig. It felt good to stretch out after being in the car for five hours had allowed that pulled muscle in his side to knot up. It didn't hurt at all that the puppy was acting like a heating pad pressed against him. The little guy was lying half on Sam's belly, dozing. Every now and then, Sam would reach around the computer and rub his red ears.

The puppy had more than doubled in size in the couple of months that they'd had him. Neither Sam not Dean had really been surprised. His evil bitch of a mother had been a monster in size. The little guy seemed to have inherited all of her size but none of her bad attitude. Which was what really made Sam look over from his laptop. The puppy had stood as the door opened and his lip curled up. He was getting ready to turn loose one of those little snarls of his. Someday Sam knew they'd sound like an angry chainsaw, but right now the angry sound the little guy made was more funny than anything else. Kind of like a squeak toy with fangs.

But the puppy wouldn't be getting ready to snarl at Dean, and it wasn't Dean who slipped through the door.

"Dad?"

"Sam?" John closed the door. "I didn't expect you to be here with the Impala . . ." And that was about when John noticed the baby monster half standing on his son's vulnerable midsection, lip curled back from wickedly pointed fangs, both blood red ears up and at attention, gold eyes tracking John with hostility that was being returned full force. "Sammy . . ."

Sam made an exasperated noise, and the puppy let loose a snarl. It sounded almost comical, but John wasn't laughing. In fact, he had retrieved a shotgun from the weapons bag.

"Sam, on the count of three, I want you to roll towards me."

That was about when the puppy tried to hide behind Sam's slim frame. "Fat lot of good you are," Sam said with a sigh, sat up, and rubbed the dog's ears.