IT'S A DOG'S LIFE
Chapter 2
xxxxx
THE FOLLOWING MORNING…
"Dean," Sam yelled across the great hall; "I'm heading out on a supply run. Wan' anything?"
"Beer," Dean replied; "and pie," he added. "Not cake, not cookies, not donuts, not freakin' pastries … PIE, got it?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Got it," he replied, and mentally added fruit and vegetables to Dean's list.
Sam's back was gradually improving. Although far from perfect, it felt better enough that he felt able to face a trip sitting in the Impala, and thankfully, since the hospital had loaned Dean a crutch, and Sam didn't have to haul his heavy ass about any more, its improvement over the last couple of days was continuing apace. It still hurt like a bitch at times, but as long as he kept moving around and didn't allow it to stiffen up too much he could deal with it just fine.
Now dealing with Dean, the world's most impatient patient, that was another matter entirely. Seriously, the man was a goddamn nightmare.
Florence Nightingale would have brained him with her lamp by now – no question.
xxxxx
Sam's trip to the grocery store wasn't exactly exciting, but it was productive. He picked up a decent amount of supplies – including Dean's pie – loaded them in the impala and drove them home without any major niggles from his fractious back. Sam was happy to count that as a win.
And if he managed to stuff enough stupid pie into Dean's mouth, Dean might actually shut the hell up for a while. That would be another, even better win.
Sam shivered as he carefully manoeuvred two chock-full paper bags out of the Impala's back seat. It was unseasonably cold, with a miserable chilly drizzle in the air. The warmth of the bunker had never felt so welcome.
As he turned, nudging the Impala's door closed with the heel of his boot, and swearing her to secrecy (Dean would kill him if he ever knew), he paused.
He could have sworn he heard something …
He stood, frozen in time for a moment.
Silence.
Sam shook his head with a wry smile. Damnit, he was so conditioned to hearing Dean's whining over the last couple of days, he was hearing whining and moaning out here now.
He moved forward a step, and …
*whimper*
Yes. There is was. Sam wasn't hallucinating, he was relieved to note.
*squeak*
But what the hell was it? An animal of some sort? It sounded hurt – or at least uncomfortable. Sam's eyes widened in horror as an awful though crossed his mind; he didn't run something over when he pulled up? Oh heck, no!
He placed the shopping down on the Impala's damp hood and began a quick inspection of the ground around her. He groaned as he crouched down as low as his creaking back would allow, and glanced under her, mightily relieved to see no injured or squashed animals.
*whimper*
It was behind him.
He began sifting through the undergrowth that surrounded the bunker, crooning softly as he did so … "hey, where are you? S'okay little buddy, whatever you are - I'm not gonna hurt you… you're not rabid, are you?"
It was a couple of minutes before he found what he was looking for. There hunched in the undergrowth was a small, black shivering ball of wet fur.
He gently scooped the little body up, easily cradling it in his hands.
It was a puppy. A black Labrador pup, Sam's best guess was. He couldn't be sure, but judging by its little pudgy round body and snub nose, whatever breed it was, it was very young. The puppy blinked its soft brown eyes and tried its best to nestle into the warmth of his gentle hands. That's when Sam realised … the poor little thing was horribly cold and wet. No good at all for such a tiny little guy.
"Hey, s'okay little dude," he reassured kindly. Hesitating, he gently rolled the puppy onto its side and discreetly checked; yes it was definitely a dude – "let's get you inside so we can warm you up and decide what's best for you."
The little puppy yawned wide and snuffled in what could have been interpreted as contentment, and Sam smiled sappily.
He cradled the tiny body in the crook of his arm, sharing as much body heat as possible, as he unlocked the bunker door, and strode rapidly down the metal steps into the bunker's depths.
"Hey Sam, where's the pie?"
He rolled his eyes, "stoked to see you too Dean."
"This pie's outside with the rest of the groceries. Here, I need you to hold this while I go back and get it…"
Dean frowned in confusion, looking down as Sam leaned over him and placed something on his chest.
"What the hell? A dog? What are you bringing a freakin' dog into the bunker for?" Dean asked irritably.
"Dean!" Sam snapped, "I found the poor little guy stray outside, he's got no collar, so I don't know where he's come from, but he's freezing. Probably got hypothermia, so hold him to your chest and keep him warm until I get back."
"To my … Sam, he's a stray mutt. What if he's got fleas?"
Sam was already heading back up the stairs to retrieve the rest of the groceries, "it's your chest Dean – don't flatter yourself – any flea that's unlucky enough to end up there is gonna be registered homeless."
Equal parts confused and outraged, Dean watched him disappear back out of the bunker's main door.
"Bastard," he thought indignantly. There were plenty of hairs there for the fleas to live on. Well, three at least.
He felt the little body shift under his hand.
"So, you're a lucky little tyke," he muttered; "my brother always was a sucker for dogs. He'll see you're ok."
The puppy's little round butt wiggled slightly, and Dean realised he was trying to wag his tail.
"So, where's your mom then, why is someone as tiny as you out all on your ownsome?"
He ruffled the back of the puppy's head with his thumb and couldn't help a smile when it gave a little squeal of satisfaction.
"You like that, huh?" Dean smiled, rubbing the same spot, before he paused, his smile faltering. "Hey, are you housetrained? You'd better not pee on me. If you're gonna pee on anyone, it can be Sam."
He hadn't even noticed Sam walking back into the bunker complete with grocery bags which he set down before walking towards the couch containing man and dog.
He reached down, and gently lifted the little pup from Dean's grasp, bringing the tiny mite up to his shoulder; "hey, little dude, you feel much better – has grumpy uncle Dean warmed you all up?"
He grimaced, as a patch of warmth spread all across his shirt.
…
"You freakin' peed on me, didn't you!"
xxxxx
A long discussion ensued following Sam's rapid change of clothes (and a laughing fit that almost caused Dean to require a change of clothes too) and Sam mooted the idea that after making sure the little pup was warm and recovered, and had a decent meal inside him, then the following morning Sam would take him down to the local shelter, where he'd hopefully find a forever home.
Dean was in total agreement, after all, both brothers agreed that their itinerant and dangerous lifestyle didn't suit owning a pet, particularly a high maintenance pet such as a dog. Sam boiled up half a chicken fillet for the puppy, who gorged down their offering like he'd never eaten before, and then he promptly fell asleep on Dean's shoulder.
Sam noted, with some degree of amazement that Dean didn't seem to mind.
xxxxx
The following morning, Sam awoke to find Dean still sprawled out asleep on the couch complete with puppy, clinging limpet-like to his shoulder.
He frowned. Dean's broken ankle should be supported in a bed, not hanging over the arm of the couch. He strolled sleepily over to his brother and shook him gently by the non-puppy-occupied shoulder.
Dean stirred, sleepily. "Whaa….hey-uh?"
"You shouldn't be sleeping on the couch – you should be in bed, it's better for your leg."
Dean yawned, knuckling tired eyes; "yeah, well – I didn't wanna wake the little fluffbutt up, so I figured one night wouldn't hurt." He yawned again, and the puppy stirred, yawning with him.
Sam ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah, well I'm gonna make coffee, then I'm taking him out to do his … you know, dog stuff. I don't want you moaning if he drops a pile in the Impala on the way to the shelter."
Dean stared intently up at Sam.
"Yeah, 'bout that Sam," he hesitated, his eyes flicking between the little black being nestled into the crook of his neck, and Sam looming over him. "We don't have to take him to the shelter, like, now. Do we? Like today? Why not tomorrow? Or the day after? I mean, I'm a friggin' monopod, and your back's tied in knots until Cas gets back and heals us, so it's not like we're going anywhere soon."
Sam shook his head. "Dean, it's kindest if we just take him now before he has time to really bond with us."
The little puppy wriggled even tighter under Dean's chin, wedging his tiny cold wet nose into the neck of Dean's t-shirt.
Dean looked up at Sam, and Sam's heart lurched when he saw the earnestness in Dean's eyes.
"I think that ship's sailed, Sam," Dean sighed; "I think Fluffbutt's well and truly bonded with me."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "Fluffbutt? You named him?"
Dean shrugged; "it kinda fitted."
Sam palmed his face; "are we talking about the dog bonding with you, or you bonding with the dog?"
Dean tried to sit upright, but then gave up lest he dislodge Fluffbutt who had now wormed his way almost entirely inside his t-shirt. "Well, the dog bonding with me, of course, I mean, I don't even like dogs. I wouldn't …"
He looked down at the little black barnacle clinging to his chest, and up at Sam, standing over him, arms folded and sporting bitchface #4, and knew his argument was lost.
"… well, who cares?" he snorted indignantly; "I just don't see why he can't stay a couple more days. Maybe we can find him a good home without him having to go to the shelter? I read about those places Sam, sometimes they …" he paused, whispering the next words, presumably to avoid offending their new lodger, "… KILL dogs they can't find homes for."
Sam sighed. Heck, but Dean's idea was actually pretty reasonable.
"You know we can't keep him, right Dean?"
Dean gnawed his lip and nodded, ruffling the the lump under his t-shirt.
"Uh, Sam…"
"What?"
…
…
…
"He peed on me. It's all warm!"
Now it was Sam's turn to laugh.
xxxxx
tbc
