"Holy shit," exclaimed Brody, "that dog sure enough found one mean and potent skunk to tangle with!"

Dean stood and backed away a couple of steps, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Skunk? That can't all be skunk!"

"Well, no—kinda smells like he found something dead to roll in too."

"Wait—what? Something dead? What do you mean something dead?"

"Dead as in a rotting decomposed pile of slimy goo."

The young hunter looked horrified. "Dogs do that?"

"Yup, that they do. Used to live up near Lake Erie. Had this dog once—every single time I took her to the beach, she'd find a dead fish or two to roll in. Loved it."

"Why the hell do they do that?" Dean scowled at the cop.

Brody shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me. It's just something dogs do."

"That's just . . . just nasty."

"Won't get an argument outta me there."

The cop bent down and grabbed the dog's tattered and dirty leash. Sammy bumped his head against the man's leg seeking attention. Brody gave him a quick scratch under his chin, the only place that seemed to be 'safe'. "Boy, you sure caused this one no end of worry." As he spoke, he inclined his head toward the younger man standing—more like swaying—next to him.

"C'mon, let's get you both out of these godforsaken woods. Even I've had enough of lookin' at trees, trees, and more trees for awhile."

The hike back to the vehicles was long. If Dean hadn't been holding on to Brody just to keep himself upright, he might have plugged his nose, such was the stench wafting off Sammy as the dog trotted happily a foot or two out in front of him.

The ragtag trio finally emerged from the woods into the park. Ignoring the various people roaming about and the children playing on the playground, they made their way to the Impala and Brody's Ford truck still sitting on the shoulder of the road.

"Ahh, man—Sammy, you're gonna stink up the inside of the Impala!" Dean shifted his body weight so he was now leaning against the car.

"Listen, how far do you have to go?"

"Got a room up at the Camelot Motel."

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'm surprised ol' Dingle would let you have a dog."

Dean waved a dismissive hand. "Paid him a little extra. Seemed to do the trick."

"Ah, now THAT doesn't surprise me. Okay, so why don't I take the dog. He can ride in the back of my truck. You're sure you're okay to drive?"

Dean tensed at the thought of being separated from Sammy again. "No . . . uh . . . I mean, yes, I can drive. But I can take him. He'll be fine in the car. I'll just roll down all the windows." Many years of required secrecy and general avoidance of law enforcement had Dean feeling antsy at the cop's continued helpfulness.

"It's up to you, but I gotta warn you—you put that dog in the car now, you'll be smelling skunk and company from here to California and back again. This is one smell that's gonna linger."

The hunter thought about it for a second—thought about how he and Sam more or less lived out of the big, shiny classic car—and reluctantly agreed. He rattled off their room number and watched with trepidation as Brody coaxed Sammy into jumping in the back of his truck, shutting the tailgate with a clang. Sammy quickly explored the nearly empty truck bed before hanging his head over the side and woofing happily.

Seeing the look on Dean's face, Ellison couldn't help but grin. "I'll go first. You follow. That way you can keep an eye on him." He helped the younger man around to the driver's side before heading for the cab of his own truck.

Dean sank down into the seat, ridiculously grateful for the feel of soft leather beneath his butt. It had been a long few days. He stabbed the key home and started his steel-and-chrome girl, waiting for Ellison's blue truck to pull out onto the road. He spent the entire two-mile drive back to the motel with his eyes mostly trained on Sammy rather than the road. Oddly enough, the dog's eyes were trained on him too.

Back at the motel, Dean waited for Brody to back his truck into a space near the room and then pulled in next to him. By the time, he pulled his exhausted body from the car and hop-hobbled around the hood, the cop had the tailgate down and Sammy was happily jumping to the ground, tail wagging with enthusiasm. Dean took hold of his leash and said, "C'mon, oh stinky one, let's give you a bath. Wait," Dean looked at Brody with a quizzical look on his face, "what the hell do I use to get that smell out? I don't think that fruity-coconutty frou frou crap my brother uses is gonna cut it. Neither is the cheap stuff I use."

"Tomato juice."

Dean scowled at the taller man. "Say again?"

"Tomato juice. Tomato paste. Tomato sauce. It seems to work—mostly. But you won't wanna eat Italian food for a good long while, I'll tell you that."

"Great," muttered Dean, dropping his forehead into his hand, "Tomato whatever. How much do I need?"

"It's all taken care of. I called Marilee. She's on her way over with everything you'll need."

Dean pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, hoping he had enough cash to reimburse the cop. Before he could check, however, Brody waved a dismissive hand.

"I've got it."

"Uh . . ." the older Winchester rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, "um . . . thanks . . . I . . . we . . . my brother and I owe you one. Actually, more than one I guess."

"Who knows—maybe some day I'll get to collect. Listen, I've gotta run and catch a couple of hours of shut eye before my shift tonight. Marilee should be here any minute."

"Hey . . . yeah . . . okay," Had he been able, Dean would have shifted nervously from foot-to-foot. Instead, he stuck out his hand offering a handshake—something he rarely ever did and continued, "thanks . . . for everything."

Brody tapped a two-finger salute against the brim of his baseball cap.

Dean watched the other man pull out of the parking lot and drive off. Despite the fact he was a member of law enforcement—technically the enemy in Winchester world—Dean was eternally grateful for the man's help. With a sigh, he tugged on the leash and led Sammy into the room.

It wasn't until he crossed the threshold that he remembered the pixie's latest prank and he expected to see their clothes still suspended in mid-air and plastered to the walls. To his relief, all the items now lay in jumbled puddles on the floor, all in all creating one hell of a mess. But at that exact moment, he didn't particularly care if for no other reason than that the odor rapidly filling the room was beginning to make his eyes water and his nose tingle.

Dean was in the bathroom filling the small tub with warm water under Sammy dog's watchful, and somewhat reproachful, eyes when a knock sounded at the door. He pointed a finger at the dog and ordered, "You stay!" Dean limped his way out of the bathroom, not in the least surprised when the dog followed him. He hadn't expected anything less from his brother. He inched his way to the door and swung it open, admitting the waitress, Marilee, from the diner and the bag of supplies she carried.

"Hey, there. Brought you the supplies Brody said you needed. I'm so glad you found your dog! And he's such a big ol' cutey too!" On the last sentence, her voice morphed into that weird baby talk Dean noticed women used around Sammy—the dog, not the human. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes.

Though I'd pay good money to see human Sam's face if a girl DID talk to him like that. Totally would be worth every penny. With a slight grin, he made a mental note of the idea for their next Winchester prank war.

"Uhh, yeah, a big ol' cutey," echoed Dean. "So you brought tomato juice?"

"Sure did. And a few other things too." Marilee's gaze roamed around the room, her mouth forming a little "O" when she saw the mess. She politely refrained from making any comment and placed the bag on the small debris-covered table.

Dean squirmed and was about to spout off an apology for the state of the room but Marilee continued talking before he could.

"I brought you tomato juice, Dawn Dish Liquid, and hydrogen peroxide." She handed Dean each of the items as she said the name. "Oh! And rubber gloves. Figured you might like those."

"Uh, thanks," he muttered, juggling the multiple items now in his arms.

"And here are the instructions I printed off the internet."

"Okay."

Marilee's own eyes were tearing up from the pungent smell swirling throughout the room. She began to edge toward the door. "Okay, well, I guess you have everything you need. I'll be at the diner later if you guys get hungry. Good luck!" She slipped out the door and gently closed it behind her, relishing the fresh air by taking several deep breaths.

Dean watched the door close and muttered, "All right—c'mon, Sammy, let's get this over with."

The squirming and whimpering started the minute Dean lowered Sammy into the tub. It reminded him of what it was like bathing Sam as a toddler and brought a little grin to his face. The howling started right after he made it through one can of the tomato juice. But it wasn't until Sammy started twisting his body—from his nose to the tip of his tail—to and fro, sending tomato juice and soap bubbles flying to every far corner of the bathroom that the entire bath turned into a complete and utter disaster.

After an hour and fifteen minutes, Dean gave up. Sammy was as clean and non-smelly as he was going to get. Grabbing one of the two thin towels off the little shelf, Dean dried the dog the best he could before using the second one on himself.

Beyond exhausted now, he hobbled from the tiny bathroom and sat down on the bed. It took several minutes for him to work off his boot given the swollen state of his ankle. Its removal was accompanied by a few moans and groans and several colorful curses. Once that was done, he stripped off his wet clothes and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. His or Sam's he didn't know or care.

Ignoring the mess left in the bathroom, the lingering sulphuric odor permeating the air, and the loud rumbling of his empty stomach, the hunter crawled under the bed covers, his eyes already at half mast. He patted the bed with his hand. "C'mon, Fido, time to get some sleep."

With a soft woof, Sam hopped up on the bed and stretched out next to his human letting loose a deep and contented sigh.

Dean felt the dog's weight settle next to him and let out a contented sigh of his own.

TBC . . .