"Hey, I'm Dean."

The blonde stopped fussing, cooing, and baby-talking over Sammy and straightened to her full, rather impressive height. Offering him a blindingly white smile, she said, "Well, hello Dean. I'm Zoe."

"Come here often." Dean almost rolled his eyes at his own lame, and extremely trite, pick up line. Gotta get some new material goin', Winchester.

"Oh, sure. I come here like every day. Commune with nature, stuff like that. It's relaxing."

Dean nodded his head in faux agreement. In the end, he ended up flirting with the blonde for a good 15 minutes before she reluctantly murmured something about meeting her boyfriend and hurried away. Disappointment tugged at him for a few seconds.

He looked down at Sammy and asked, "So what do we do now, Fido?" From the thoughtful look on the dog's face, Dean almost expected to get a completely lucid and logical answer to his question. Shrugging his shoulders beneath his leather jacket, he muttered, "C'mon," and tugged gently at the leash.

The elder Winchester let Sammy take the lead, following as the dog meandered in various directions around the park; directions dictated by the dog's continuously active nose.

Traipsing over ground made soft and spongy by recent rains, they headed down a small hill toward a copse of trees. Dean chuckled and said, "Hey, I should just start calling you Hoover—you know, like the vacuum cleaner."

It was after quite a bit of aimless wandering and a fifth woman stopping him with a cry of "Oh, what a cute dog!" that Dean came to a startling realization. Dogs were real chick magnets. Young or old, they were inexorably drawn to the dog and consequently him.

He immediately shared his observation with Sammy in very Dean-like fashion. "Hey, check that out, Sammy. You're a chick magnet! Too bad you can't hang on to some of that magic after the spell wears off and you're human again." He laughed at his own joke. Sammy pricked his ears but otherwise ignored him.

The pair was just rounding the large playground full of slides and swings intent on making their way back to the Impala when they were stopped for a sixth time. A gorgeous petite redhead cooed nonsensical words at the dog and dropped to her knees before him. After a few seconds, Dean cleared his throat and introduced himself as he'd done numerous other times that afternoon.

"Hi, I'm Josie. Sorry about that, but—really—who can resist that face!"

Relaxing his stance and putting forth his best smile, Dean eased into his flirtatious self, cracking a few one-line jokes in between complimenting the redhead on certain aspects of her . . . personality. Forgetting that he was in a park rather than some dark, smoky bar— with an impatient dog who was in reality his younger brother—time slipped away as Dean worked his charm for all its worth. That is, he forgot until he suddenly felt wet warm liquid soaking his ankle and running down into his shoe. He looked down and was astonished to see Sammy, his back leg raised, peeing on his foot.

"Dude! Y-y-y-you just peed—PEED—on my foot!" Dean's normally deep, raw honey voice was almost a high-pitched squeal.

Josie giggled. "Oh, dear, I guess he doesn't like being ignored, does he?"

Trying to ignore the now squishy sensation of his sock inside his shoe, Dean muttered, "Yeah, I guess not. Apparently, it's time for us to go."

"You're not gonna be too mad at him, are you?"

"Nah. It's okay. I never could stay mad at Sammy. Not for long anyway," Dean answered in a resigned tone.

"It's no wonder—he's so cute and everything. It's something about those eyes."

Yeah, I'll give him cute—wait about three more days until he's human again! Then I'll give him cute—right upside his head. And don't even mention those eyes, damn it.

Dean's internal grumbling was interrupted by Josie saying, "Okay, I'll see you and Sammy here tomorrow morning then? I'll bring the coffee."

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good."

Josie waved and bounced away.

Turning away from the redhead's delightful bounce, he focused his attention back onto his brother-turned-dog. "Oh, Sammy, you SO owe me now. You just better be ready when you're back to normal."

The dog appeared to be grinning—no, practically laughing—at him, and Dean gave him the evil eye and a growl of his own. "Let's go."

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Back at the motel room, the hunter quickly changed his socks and shoes after thoroughly washing the offended foot. All the while he huffed and puffed, muttering that Sammy should be grateful that it was an older, nearly worn out pair of boots he'd ruined.

Once back to being completely shod, Dean went in search of cash, first raiding Sam's wallet—which was empty—and then similarly raiding his duffel bag, hoping his brother still kept an emergency ten dollar bill tucked away somewhere. He crowed in delight when he found it in a zippered pocket. Dean quickly made some calculations in his head. He'd go to that fast food joint down the street and grab Sammy two $0.99 burgers and a small Coke for himself. With the remaining $7, he'd use $2 to buy himself a beer at the bar—don't want to stick out like a sore thumb—and $5 as seed money to begin hustling pool. Hopefully, that $5 would turn into more—a lot more. Pocketing the crisp bill, he assured Sam with a wink he'd pay him back.

"All right. I'm gonna go get you some food. Don't . . . do . . . anything while I'm gone."

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Shortly thereafter, Dean watched as the dog finished up his two burgers, laughing as Sammy nosed aside the lettuce, pickles, and tomatoes with a sniff of disgust. "You wouldn't be disgusted by that lettuce and stuff if you were human. In fact, you actually seem to LIKE it." He gave an exaggerated shudder.

"All right. I'm gonna head out to the bar—see if I can't get us some money." I still can't believe I'm talking to him like he's gonna answer. I really, really need that beer.

With another worry-filled admonishment to the dog to behave, Dean exited the motel room and slid into the Impala.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Dean palmed his beer bottle and took a swig, looking down at the pile of money resting on the edge of the pool table. His hustle was going pretty good tonight, having already turned the $5 into $50 in the short time he'd been there. Eyeing the ball pattern currently on the table, he leaned over, lining up his shot. He grunted in satisfaction as his lead ball tap-clicked into its intended targets, sending them spinning across green felt. Dean heard his less-than-sober opponents groan and smiled when the $50 turned into $100. This had been a make-or-break game, double or nothing.

Scooping up his money and shoving it deep into his jean pocket, Dean announced, "I think I'm gonna take a little breather, gentlemen." He sauntered over to the bar and dropped onto one of the stools. As Dean drank the rest of his one and only beer, he contemplated whether or not to go a few more rounds with his two inebriated marks. He surreptitiously glanced over at the two men, taking in their size and state of agitation. Nah. He shook his head slightly. The $100 felt good in his pocket and would get them at least through tomorrow. Besides there was always tomorrow night; he could come back then and hustle some more. With a sigh, Dean thought about grabbing a bite to eat before immediately deciding against it. Weariness felt more pressing at the moment than hunger. He thunked the empty bottle down on the bar and headed for the door.

Dean didn't get far. Halfway to the Impala, he heard the scuff of shoes against pebbled-strewn blacktop. Immediately swinging around, he eyed the two hulking guys from the bar.

Ah, you gotta be kidding me? All this over a hundred bucks?

He ducked when the one on the left threw the first punch.