It was mid January when Dean realised that the bliss he had experienced with his brother and the mutt during their Christmas 'vacation' had now turned to living hell. They were back hunting again and it was clear that hunting and pup did not sit well together.
Sam loved the pup; in fact he was a little obsessed with it. Dean tried to be patient, tried to explain that he couldn't bring the pup on jobs, but Sam was listening, Sam was pushing out his chin, setting his jaw and acting like a chubby twelve year old and Dean was falling swiftly into crabby older brother mode; shouting and snarking at everything Sam or the dog did.
The problem was that pup was just not a hunting dog. Sure he was getting older and Sam had trained him pretty well. He walked to heel without a lead, came at the sound of his name (which was mutt or pup – depending on what sort of mood Dean was in), went out to do any business he had and, unlike a certain Dean Winchester, didn't chase after the lady pups like a dog on heat!
However, despite being a Labrador, pup was just not made for hunting. He had been spoiled, treated like a member of the family, he liked to lay on soft beds, share their food, be cuddled and generally coddled by both Sam and (although he hated to admit it) Dean. Pup had no malice in him and certainly couldn't be trusted to watch their backs against a supernatural foe. Pup was a housedog, a family pet and he wasn't, as much as Dean was loath to admit it, the right sort of pet for them.
It was mid February when Dean decided that the dog would have to go and he began to build up to telling his brother as much. He felt the lower than a snakes hips as he watched Sam talk to the dog, watched him feed the dog; take him for long loving walks. He saw how well his brother looked, took in how Sam now slept without nightmares. He watched as women responded to both boy and dog and he watched as his brother began to make tentative moves towards women again. He knew that he had pup to thank for Sam's happiness and he knew that if he took the dog away that Sam would be devastated; he also knew that if he allowed the dog to come on hunts it was likely to get hurt or, even worse, killed and he couldn't stomach that option much either. He was caught between a rock and a hard place and he didn't know what he was going to do.
It was early March and colder than Dean had ever known it. There was snow on the ground and they were over the Canadian border, searching for a werewolf that a contact had put them on to. The investigation involved long hours of searching and staking out thick, dark forests and Dean thought that he would probably end up with double pneumonia before the month was out. Sam complained constantly of cold, he worried about the dog, worried that the dog would get sick, wouldn't leave it in the Impala, refused to let it stay alone in the motel room. Dean found himself looking at Sam and the dog and hating them both and then he would feel guilty again, it wouldn't take much for him to crack and finally, during an icy, fog filled night, it happened.
Sam was walking the dog; again; and Dean was on his own, squatting down in a thicket, ass and thighs freezing even though his denim jeans and thick plaid shirt. He would kill for a cup of hot coffee and he wished that his brother would just sit still for a moment, realising that they were unlikely to draw out the werewolf if it was so aware of their presence. "For God's sake Sam" he ground out, through gritted teeth "Take the dog to the car and get your ass over here"
"He's cold Dean" Sam's voice was firm "Moving about helps him"
"I'm cold Sam" Dean shifted "We're all cold – but we are never gonna catch that bastard if you don't get over here and keep still"
"Ok, but I'm bringing the dog"
"Sam – that dog is a liability – he's not a hunting dog Sam and he's spoilt – Sam – I didn't want to have to say this – but that dog has got to go"
"You're joking right?" the pup had gotten bigger and heavier, but it didn't stop Sam from sweeping into his long arms and holding hard against his chest "We can't – the dog is family Dean"
"Sam – I should never have let you keep it this long – it isn't practical – we have to get the most run down motel rooms, we have to eat in them most of the time because the diners don't allow dogs and we're failing at the hunt because you care more about the dog than you do about your job"
Sam was silent for a moment and, in the moonlight, Dean saw his face pale, his eyes fill with water "Sammy" Dean began, but it was too late.
Sam was running, running from Dean, the dog clutched in his arms. It would have been funny if it hadn't have been so desperately sad and Dean leapt from his position in the thicket and followed Sam, his breath misty in the cold night air. Despite the weight of the dog, Sam seemed to be quicker than ever and Dean soon lost him. He stood, bent over, panting desperately, his chest aching, his heart pounding. "Shit Dean" he hissed to himself "You certainly know how to win people over"
He was scared now. There was no sign of Sam and he was aware of another presence in the woods, something dark, something evil. He moved slowly, not daring to cry out, not wanting to attract attention to himself or to Sammy. Then he heard it, a terrible howl, a sudden cut off cry and the frantic barking of a dog. It was all happening to fast, much too fast and he flung himself forward, giving voice to his fears "Sammy! Sammy where are you man?"
The barking grew more frantic, then there was a loud scream, a whimper and silence. Dean felt his heart move from his chest to his throat and he quickened his pace, his legs moving so fast he barely noticed how far he was going. Finally he came to a clearing and there, by the bright moonlight, he saw his brother and his heart almost stopped.
Sam lay on the ground, unmoving; there was blood on his face and hands. Nearby lay the creature, still, redness caking its fur. The final body in the clearing was brown and furry and Dean didn't even want to look as he moved closer, his throat closing tightly over the large lump that was forming there. As he approached, he could see that the werewolf was dead; it's throat ripped out in some sort of frenzy. He could also see that the blood on Sammy's face was not his own, but that of the creature. He heard his brother moan slightly and he almost fell to his knees in relief as Sam opened his eyes "Dean?"
"Right here Sammy" Dean touched his brother's hair "Did you get it Sam? What happened?"
"The dog" Sam raised himself up but Dean pushed him gently down again, not wanting him to see. He was sure that pup was dead and he didn't want to face Sammy, not with that knowledge "He protected me Dean.. He went for that bastard with no fear whatsoever" Sam choked a little "Dean..Is he ok?"
"Shit" Dean hissed and he shook his head "Just lie here for a while Sammy – I'm gonna check on him alright?"
His hands were trembling as he moved them over the dog's still warm body. There didn't seem to be any blood, but pup wasn't moving and Dean felt his own tears sting as he tried desperately to find a heartbeat. "Dean?" he heard Sam's voice, tremulous and shaky "Dean is he ok?" For a moment Dean couldn't speak and then he heard something, a tiny whimper and then a feeble bark and he gathered the dog in his arms, laughter catching in his throat as a familiar pink tongue came out and licked his ear "Yeah Sammy – he's just fine" he looked down at the pup and all his earlier doubts vanished "Hey mutt" he said, gently swiping at the pups ears "Guess your gonna make a hunter after all"
Epilogue to follow!!