Dean made sure Sammy was safely tucked into the Impala with the passenger side window partially down before he slid into the driver's seat and started the powerful engine with a quick twist of his wrist. The rumbling heartbeat of the Impala vibrated comfortably throughout the interior. He cast his mind back to his earlier trip to the diner, trying to remember if he saw any kind of park on his way. If he remembered right, there was one on the opposite side of the street, just yards past the diner.
His memory proved correct, and he pulled into the narrow blacktopped parking lot a few minutes later, easing the big, shiny vehicle into one of the few empty spaces. Turning off the car and pocketing the keys, Dean quickly rounded the front end and jerked the passenger door open, allowing the dog to hop out. Sammy immediately started sniffing vigilantly at the ground.
"C'mon, mutt. Let's go do . . . something."
The giant, brown dog stopped in his tracks and stood still, wounded eyes trained on Dean. His oddly expressive eyebrows were quirked into what Dean swore was a frown.
"What?" the oldest Winchester brother's face now wore a frown of its own. "C'mon, let's go."
Sammy sat down on his butt and refused to budge, no matter how much pleading Dean did.
Dean ran a frustrated hand over his face and growled, "Damn it, what's wrong?"
The dog lifted one side of his mouth in a fake snarl and for whatever reason, Dean suddenly understood the problem.
He sighed deeply. "I get it now. You're mad 'cause I called you a mutt, right?" he grumbled. "Man, dude, you can't even take a joke when you're a dog!"
Sammy continued to scrutinize him with those damned eyes.
"Look—I'm sorry, okay?"
The dog stood and hesitated a second before happily trotting to his side, and Dean grunted.
And people have dogs for pets why?
They'd only taken a few steps onto the verdant grass when a scrawny, bespectacled man scurried near.
"Psst. Hey, mister."
Not realizing at first the salutation was directed at him, Dean didn't spin around until it was repeated.
"Hey what?"
"You might want to get a collar and leash on your dog before Chief Tink catches you."
"Chief Tink?" Dean snorted.
"Yeah, Police Chief August Tink. He loves to fine people who don't follow the leash law here in town. Says it's almost more lucrative than that speed trap they have over on Tupperton Street."
The taller man looked around and then stated confidently, "Ahh, I think we'll be fine."
Eli Tine shrugged and retreated a couple of steps. "Suit yourself. It's your $100."
"A hundred bucks?!" Dean thought of his nearly empty wallet and cringed.
"Uh oh. Speak of the devil. Here comes the Chief now. Good luck, buddy." Eli hurried away, never once looking back.
"Well, well—what have we here? I believe I see a dog without a leash. One without a collar too for that matter."
Dean swiveled around to look at the man in question and barely kept his mouth from dropping open. Police Chief August Tink was at least 6' 8" and broad, very broad. The buttons on his uniform shirt strained across his humongous barrel chest. Not one to be intimidated, especially when it came to all things law enforcement, Dean straightened his shoulders and stiffened his spine, swallowing any trepidation he might feel at the guy's size.
"You do realize, boy, that we have strict leash laws here in Sawyerville, right?"
The smaller man flinched at being called 'boy' but decided to let it go. "Uh, no . . . no—sir—I didn't realize that."
"I normally issue tickets for this kind of thing. Any reason a'tall that I shouldn't give you one?"
"Well, you see, Chief, my . . . my brother and I just found this dog by the side of the road last night." He gestured and glanced down at the dog at his feet. He did a double take, eyes widening. Sammy was . . . holy crap . . . Sammy was . . . licking . . . himself. Dean felt his cheeks turn red and he instinctively stepped in front of the dog to block the police officer's view of what he was doing. Dog or not, he was still his brother after all. He cleared his throat and continued, "We found him last night and I . . . I've never had a dog before so . . ."
Tink eyeballed the young man before him, studying him from head to toe. Deep sincerity, mixed with something else—something indefinable— shown brightly in his eyes and the police chief, in a rare moment of kindness, found himself relenting. "Tell you what—if you go get him on a leash right this second, I'll forget the citation."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean nodded, "I can do that. Where . . . where do I get one?"
"Try Sugarland Drug. Just up the road a piece."
Dean spun on his heel and called for Sammy to come with him. They'd just gone a few steps when Chief Tink called out, "Oh, and son, ya might want to remember too, you gotta clean up after 'im. Better get some of those plastic baggies."
Clean up after him? What the hell do I have to clean up? It took a second for Tink's meaning to sink in, and Dean hung his head, chin almost resting on his chest. Oh, that's just gross. Sammy, you really owe me after this.
The trip to Sugarland Drugstore did indeed yield both a collar and leash for Sammy as well as a box of the little blue plastic bags to clean up dog waste. Unfortunately, the purchase basically wiped out what was left of the money in Dean's wallet. Unless there was money in one of the duffel bags back at the room, dinner was going to be a non-existent affair.
Dean and Sammy found themselves back at the park a short time later with the dog now sporting his nifty new collar and leash. Dean took hold of the leash handle, and they began to meander down the path circling the large manmade pond. After two turns around the water, Dean stopped and muttered, "Damn, dude, walking you on a leash is incredibly boring. There's gotta be something better we can do." Dean groaned and pulled another blue plastic bag from his pants pocket when he saw Sammy dog squat yet again. "Yeah, there's gotta be something better WE can do. What is this—like your third time? I think you're doing this on purpose just to get to me."
He had just disposed of the waste-filled baggy in the trash can when he heard a female voice coo behind him. "Oh, what a sweet dog! He's so adorable."
The older Winchester sibling turned and found the owner of the voice. A gorgeous blonde in a tight white track suit and red sports bra stood beaming, looking first at Sammy and then at Dean. "He must be so very cuddly—all big and floppy like that," she squeaked. "He looks like a teddy bear! Can I pet him?"
Before Dean could answer one way or another, she leaned down and began scratching Sammy energetically behind the ears. Baby talk flowed from her mouth in a steady stream. A look of pure bliss settled on Sammy's face, and Dean could have sworn he moaned.
Still fussing over Sammy and his thick soft fur, the girl glanced up at Dean with a winsome grin. She batted her eyelashes and giggled. He smiled one of his patented Winchester charm smiles. The day had just gotten a lot more interesting.