Dog Dean Afternoon Part 1

Lebanon, Kansas

Sam and Angela sat at the table as Dean came into the room carrying Grace.

"Wow." Dean sighed heavily.

"What?" Angela looked up at him.

"Kevin. Just poured some buffalo milk down his gob twice." Dean replied. "And then this little one woke up." He smiled at Grace.

Grace smiled a toothless smile and clapped her hands choppily.

"What's buffalo milk?" Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"A hangover cure-all. It's got everything in it." Dean explained. "Except buffalo milk."

"How is that kid still recovering from Branson?" Angela muttered.

"What can I say? He's an amateur." Dean chuckled. "The slippery nipple shots at the Dolly Parton Dixie Stampede nearly killed the guy."

"Alright." Sam nodded. "Well, uh, I got something that's gonna get us back on the road."

Dean sat down on the other side of Sam and held Grace on his lap. "A case?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded.

Dean frowned slightly. "You sure you're ready for that?"

Sam looked slightly confused. "Why would I not be ready for that?"

"Aren't you kind of running on empty?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, but the last three nights straight, I had eight hours of shut-eye. Angie's made sure of it." Sam shrugged. "For a hunter, that's like 20. Trust me, Dean. I feel good."

"Well, that's great and all, James Brown, but you're still recovering from the trials." Dean reminded. "I think you ought to pace yourself, you know? And the sooner you heal…"

"Yeah?" Sam prompted.

"Baby, we just want you back to your old self." Angela cut in.

"I am, Angie," Sam assured. "Look, Kevin's back on the Heaven spell. Crowley's locked up. We should be out there doing what we do best."

"Yeah…" Dean sighed.

"You want to listen at least? Okay, great." Sam nodded. "Taxidermist named Max Alexander mysteriously crushed to death. Nearly every joint in his body dislocated, every bone broken. Poor guy is a human pretzel. You tell me what's got that kind of strength?"

"A demonic luchador?" Dean suggested.

"Shop's a couple hours away in Enid, Oklahoma." Sam shrugged. "We should at least check it out. Unless there's some reason you think we shouldn't."

Angela pursed her lips. "I'll go see if Kevin feels well enough to babysit."

~/~\~

Enid, Oklahoma

A sign read 'Mounted Treasures Taxidermy. Shipping and Receiving. Est 1967.' 'DIE SCUM' had been written on the wall and door in red paint. On the painted 'M' was a symbol of a dog's paw print in an inverted triangle. Sam, Dean, and Angela in their FBI apparel approached.

"Subtle." Angela scoffed.

"Check that out." Sam pointed to the symbol. "Huh." He muttered as he snapped a picture with his phone.

~/~\~

Dean, Sam, and Angela walked past mounted trophy heads and stuffed animals.

"Well, the creep factor just skyrocketed," Dean muttered.

The Sheriff held up his hands, stopping the hunters. "Whoa, whoa, whoa."

"How are you?" Sam asked. "Agents Michaels, Deville, and Dall."

"The body's already been to the morgue." The Sheriff replied. "Just wrapping it up with Dave Stephens. He's the one who discovered the body. Such a shame. I used to go hunting with Max. He was a real good egg."

"Sorry for your loss," Angela replied gently.

"Thanks." The Sheriff nodded.

"You mind showing my partners around?" Dean asked. "I just got a couple questions for Mr. Stephens."

"Okay." The Sheriff nodded. "Come on."

Sam and Angela followed the Sheriff into the next room. Dean approached Dave.

"Dave Stephens?"

"Yeah." Dave nodded.

"I just got a couple questions for you if that's alright."

"I'll tell you whatever you need to know," Dave assured. "Max was a… a real pal."

"Hunting buddy?" Dean inquired.

Dave looked slightly impressed that Dean figured that out. "Mm. Yeah."

"Eh, lucky guess." Dean shrugged. "So, uh, about what time did you discover the body?"

"About 9 a.m.—my usual pickup time," Dave replied. "I come in every Wednesday and Sundays, uh, to collect the entrails."

"The what?" Dean's brows furrowed.

Dave pursed his lips. "The animal organs."

"Ah."

"After Max would, uh, dig them out and work his magic." Dave continued.

"Huh." Dean wrinkled his nose.

Sam held up one of the 'Game of Thrones' squirrels, which wore a dress with a large bow. Angela shook her head, instructing him to put it down.

"He, uh—he was a real artist, you know? Strange thing is, though, uh, bins were empty this morning." Dave recalled.

"Why is that strange?" Dean questioned.

"Well, because it's a Sunday," Dave replied obviously. "Weekend hunts are pretty much a given in this neck of the woods, so they're usually, mm, chock-full of guts."

"Ah."

"Mm." Dave nodded.

"Any chance Max could have cleaned them out himself?" Dean asked curiously.

"No." Dave shook his head. "It's a—it's a biohazard. You can't just, you know, throw the stuff out. You got to burn it."

The Sheriff walked back into the room, hands on his hips.

"Huh." Dean nodded before looking at the Sheriff. "Is there, uh, anything else missing from the shop?"

"No. The register was full, and the safe was intact." The Sheriff sighed. "And all of Max's trophies were still on the walls."

"And was there anybody else here when you showed up?" Dean questioned.

"No one. No, other than, uh…" Dave looked at the German shepherd. "The Colonel."

"Hmm." Dean nodded as Sam and Angela walked back into the room. "Excuse us."

Sam, Dean, and Angela walked a short distance away.

"So?" Angela looked up at Dean.

"Okay, so, uh… we got a thief who's jonesing for animal parts, we got a pagan symbol, and we got a human pretzel." Dean muttered.

"Yeah, it all sounds very witch-y, but we weren't able to find a hex bag." Sam sighed.

"Alright, well, let's keep digging." Dean sighed, eyeing a stuffed owl. "But, uh, not here. I don't like the way that one's looking at me."

~/~\~

Sam sat on one of the motel beds using his laptop. Angela sat next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Okay, uh, that… symbol in the graffiti, it's… not Wiccan." Sam commented. "It's copywritten. Local animal-rights group, Enid's answer to PETA."

Dean walked over and peered at the laptop, brows furrowing. "S.N.A.R.T.? You got to be kidding me."

"Well, it makes sense that an animal-rights group would have an axe to grind with a taxidermist," Angela muttered.

"Why?" Dean asked. "The animal's already dead."

"Yeah, but hunters are what keep them in business." Angela countered.

"Now the question is, are those bleeding hearts actually witches or just hippies?" Sam sighed.

Dean frowned slightly. "What's the difference?"

~/~\~

The three hunters, still dressed in their FBI apparel, walked into the vegan bakery.

"Always knew I'd find the source of all evil at a vegan bakery," Dean muttered as he looked around.

Sam wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Patchouli," Dean answered. "Yeah, mixed with depression from meat deprivation."

"Hmm." Sam nodded.

"Hey." Dean nodded to a couple wearing sunglasses. "You know who wears sunglasses inside? Blind people. And douchebags."

"Olivia and Dylan Camrose?" Angela asked as they walked to the counter.

"At your service." Olivia smiled.

"You two are members of S.N.A.R.T.?" Dean questioned.

"Founders and co-presidents, actually," Olivia replied proudly. "Uh, can we interest you in some literature?"

Olivia held up a S.N.A.R.T. brochure. Angela shook her head while Sam made a 'no' motion with his hand.

"Or a flaxseed scone?" Dylan offered. "It's wheat-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, and surprisingly moist."

"Let me stop you right there." Dean cut in as they flashed the FBI badges. "Uh, we're here to investigate the death of Max Alexander, a local taxidermist."

Olivia's smile immediately fell. "He's… dead?"

"You knew him?" Angela raised a brow.

"Ish. Um… small town." Olivia replied.

"Well, he was murdered last night, and a S.N.A.R.T. logo was found at the crime scene," Sam explained. "You two wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Olivia and Dylan just looked at each other.

~/~\~

Dylan, Olivia, Dean, Sam, and Angela sat around a table in the bakery.

"His business is funded by hunters," Dylan started. "And you know how hunters are. They're selfish dicks who define themselves by what they kill."

"And as animal advocates, we couldn't stand for that," Olivia added.

"So, you killed him?" Angela questioned.

"Of course not!" Olivia gasped. "S.N.A.R.T. doesn't tolerate violence."

"Huh." Dean nodded. "This is coming from a couple who spray-paints death threats."

"It was a scare tactic," Dylan replied. "We just wanted to spook him."

"Turns out we were the ones who got spooked."

Sam's brows furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Olivia pursed her lips. "Well, last night, when we were tagging the joint, we heard this noise."

"A hissing noise," Dylan added.

"It freaked us out, so we ran out into the alley."

"But someone attacked us," Dylan recalled.

"Sprayed us in the eyes with mace." Olivia continued.

"And it's not like we could go to the cops!"

"So, now we look like total douchebags because we have to wear our sunglasses inside." Olivia huffed.

The couple removed their sunglasses to reveal blotchy red skin around their eyes. Dean cringed and made a hand motion to indicate that they should put their sunglasses back on.

~/~\~

"Necrosis?" Dean raised his brows.

Sam sat at the table in front of his laptop while Angela stood behind his chair, running her fingers through Sam's hair.

"Premature death of tissues—that's why their eyes were all messed up," Sam explained as Dean walked over, opening a beer. "And it's not caused by mace."

"Alright. What caused it?" Angela asked curiously.

"Right here. 'Blunt force, radiation, venom.'" Sam replied.

"As in 'snake'?" Dean frowned.

"The taxidermist was constricted." Sam shrugged. "Olivia and Dylan heard hissing, and they were sprayed in the eyes."

"By venom," Angela muttered.

"By venom." Sam nodded.

"Okay, so… What are we talking here, some sort of freaky-ass snake monster?" Dean asked as he sat opposite Sam.

"Maybe." He pursed his lips. "The weird thing is snakes either envenomate or constrict. No snake does both."

"Correction—freaky-ass mega-snake monster."

Sam laughed. "It could be a Vetala."

"Yeah, but they're not afraid to sink their fangs in," Angela noted. "Taxidermist was bite-free. It doesn't really fit the profile."

"Right. So…?" Sam exhaled.

"Let's call Kevin." Angela shrugged. "Plus, I wanna see how Gracie's doing."

~/~\~

A young man was in an open body bag. Dean, Sam, and Angela were in their FBI apparel.

"Claw marks?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. The cops said all the cats went missing." Angela replied.

The three hunters walked slowly past the kennels.

"Right, so, yesterday, uh, we're dealing some sort of a snake monster," Dean muttered. "Today, it's a killer kitty."

"I don't know." Sam sighed.

"Hey." Dean paused in front of the German shepherd's kennel. "Why does that mutt look familiar?"

Angela read the chart clipped to the kennel. "That was the taxidermist's dog."

"So, he's been at both crime scenes?" Dean raised his brows.

"Yeah." Sam and Angela replied.

"Maybe he's a suspect," Dean suggested. "You know… could be a skinwalker, maybe a shapeshifter."

"Doesn't really look like a monster to me," Angela muttered.

Dean held up a silver dollar. "One way to find out. Come here, boy. Hey. This isn't gonna hurt at all. Unless it hurts."

Dean rubbed the Colonel behind the ears with the silver dollar. The Colonel didn't react.

"Hmm." He hummed.

"I guess we can, uh, rule out killer." Sam chuckled.

The Colonel barked loudly as the Sheriff walked over to them.

"Do you agents need any further assistance?"

The Sheriff removed his hat and the Colonel immediately stopped barking.

"Officer, I think we're okay. Thanks." Angela smiled politely.

"Alright, well, let me know."

The Sheriff replaced his hat on his head and the Colonel started barking again.

"Officer," Dean cut in. "Excuse me. Uh, can I borrow your hat?"

The Sheriff unquestioningly took off his hat and gave it to Dean. Dean put on the hat and the Colonel started barking again. Once he took off the hat, the Colonel went silent. Dean handed the hat back to the Sheriff.

"Good luck getting adopted." The Sheriff told the Colonel before walking off.

"Okay, so, the Colonel's not a suspect." Angela pursed her lips.

"Yeah, but he's a witness," Dean replied. "Hey, boy. You speak sign language?"

"That's monkeys." Sam corrected.

"Huh?" Dean looked at his brother.

"You know what? This is gonna sound crazy." Sam took out his phone. "I read this book once about this guy who tried to teach his dog to speak after it witnessed a murder."

Dean looked surprised. "It worked?"

"No," Sam replied.

"But he wrote a book about it?" Angela raised a brow.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't have what we have," Sam muttered. "Kevin. Hey, it's me. How do we speak to a dog?"

~/~\~

Sam, Dean, and Angela sat at the table in the little motel room. The Colonel lied on the floor.

"An Inuit spell," Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Who knew the, uh, Men of Letters had its own Eskimo section?"

"And it's supposed to let us communicate with the Colonel?" Dean questioned.

Angela plucked a hair from the Colonel's coat. "Yeah, well… that's the plan." She replied as she put the hair in a bowl and stirred the contents. "Kevin said it's like a sort of a human/animal mind meld."

"Meaning?" Dean raised a brow.

"If it works, we should be able to read the Colonel's thoughts," Angela replied as she poured the contents of the bowl into a glass.

"Alright, I'll do it." Dean shrugged as he took the glass.

"Why you?" Sam's brows furrowed.

"You—you got enough on your plate." Dean shrugged.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Like what?"

"Uh, like… you're tired." Dean pointed out. "You're on the mend. Okay? Plus, you—you've got a sensitive stomach. Last thing we need is you chucking this stuff up. Huh?"

Sam just scoffed. Dean looked at the red liquid in the glass.

"Doesn't look so bad." He muttered before drinking the liquid in one gulp. "I was wrong. Come on."

Sam handed Dean a book.

Dean cleared his throat. "Ha! Deila hér me. Dag eru nou rar vitur orum." He chanted before looking at the Colonel. "Alright. Let's get this party started. Tell me everything you know."

The Colonel just yawned loudly.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Dean laughed, earning unamused looks from Sam and Angela. "Tough crowd."

The Colonel barked. Dean looked at the couple and shook his head, signaling that he didn't understand.

~/~\~

The three hunters were eating take-out as Foreigner's 'I Want to Know What Love Is' played on the radio.

"So, call Kevin," Dean suggested. "Spell tasted like ass and was a bust."

"At least it didn't affect your appetite." Angela chuckled. "Geez."

"Yeah." Dean agreed.

The Colonel sat at Dean's feet and looked up at him. "Change the station."

Dean looked down at the Colonel, obviously confused.

"Change the station." The Colonel repeated.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam frowned in confusion.

"You—shut up. It's working!" Dean exclaimed.

Angela's eyes widened. "It—go!"

"Say that again," Dean told the Colonel.

"You call this classic rock?" the Colonel scoffed. "Next thing you know, they'll be playing Styx. And Dennis DeYoung? A punk."

Dean looked deeply offended. "Dennis De Young's not a punk. He's Mr. Roboto, bitch."

Sam's brows furrowed. "Why are you arguing with the dog about Styx?"

"Wh—uh, yeah. Um, hey, boy," Dean started. "What were you trying to tell us about Cowboy Hat?"

"The douchewheel who killed my best friend was wearing a cowboy hat." The Colonel replied.

"And the pothead, too?" Dean questioned.

"Yep. Same guy killed both."

"Ask about the cats," Angela suggested as she threw a rolled-up food wrapper into a garbage can.

"Yeah, uh," Dean casually took the wrapper out of the garbage and put it in front of Angela. "And what about the cats?"

"I don't know." The Colonel replied.

Angela frowned and held up the food wrapper. "I don't want this."

"I couldn't see much," the Colonel explained. "I didn't exactly have the best view in the orphanage. Oh, but I could smell him. Guy reeked of red meat, dishwashing detergent, and tiger balm."

"Huh." Dean nodded.

"So, what's he saying?" Sam pressed.

Angela threw the food wrapper towards the garbage can again, missing this time.

"Uh, that the—the guy," Dean grabbed the wrapper from the floor and tossed it across the table to Angela. "He smelled like ground chuck and soap suds and old-lady cream."

Angela held up the wrapped, clearly confused. "Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean scratched behind his ear and shrugged. "I don't know."

The Colonel turned his head on the side and laughed. Dean continued to scratch behind his ear.

"Oh, what are you laughing at?" Dean scoffed at the Colonel.

Suddenly, a vehicle pulled up outside of their motel room.

"Uh…" the Colonel trailed off.

The Colonel started barking loudly. Dean stood up, went to the window, and parted the curtains. A mailman was getting out of the vehicle.

"Hey! Hey, hey! Yeah!" Dean pointed at the mailman. "You! You!"

The mailman looked at Dean, but walked away. The Colonel continued to bark.

"Hey! Hey! Hey, hey, you! You! You! You!" Dean growled.

"Uh, Dean?" Angela asked, stifling a laugh.

"Hmm?"

"I think the spell worked," she started. "In fact, I think it worked a little too well."

Dean sat down at the table again, brows furrowed. "What?"

Angela chuckled. "I think… you might be a dog."

"What?" Dean repeated as he scratched behind his ear.

"Angie's right," Sam smirked. "You're scratching your head. You're… barking at the mailman. You're playing fetch." Sam threw the food wrapper at the garbage can.

"I…" Dean trailed off, looking at the wrapper. He whimpered as he restrained himself from getting it. "Ruh-roh."

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry I didn't post yesterday, I had to work all day and I was exhausted. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! And thank you for any recent reviews :) Your feedback is so important. Love you guys, xoxo.

~Emily