Homeward Bound: The Further Incredible Adventures of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto
Chapter 3: Ditched
Spoilers: None that I can think of.
Characters: Dean, Sam and John Winchester; Marlon, Sonny, Various Other Characters
Pairings: John/OFC
Timeline: pre-Pilot. Yes, this is the real reason Sam left for Stanford in the first place.
Summary: To paraphrase Kim Manners on the Supernatural DVD, "If they were dogs, Jensen (Dean) would be Rin Tin Tin, and Jared (Sam) would be Pluto."
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, The Godfather, or Doctor Doolittle (Eddie Murphy). If I did rest assured I would not go to this accursed day job of mine every darn day.
Yeah, I said it.
Warnings: cursing (language, Dean, language); big bosomed women and Fancy Feast cat food; drug use: catnip. Bestiality? Depends on the eye of the beholder.
A/N: I do apologize for the delay in posting this. One of my cats, Angel, became ill from cancer and despite our best efforts to save her, died a week ago. During the three weeks she was sick I devoted as much time to her care as I could, and when I did write it was dark. Couldn't get myself in the right mood to write something light and funny like this.
Anyway, knowing Angel (AKA "Squeaky") the way I do, I figure she would not want me to mope around for too long. She was nine years old, and she acted like she was nine months old. She was a Turkish Angora and just as mischievous and intelligent as can be. She tried to mother everyone in the house; otherwise, she spent her time pulling pranks on everybody. Nobody could top her when she decided to declare a Prank War. I could watch her and easily imagine John, Dean and Sam as animals.
Well, the show must go on.
Angel, this one's for you, sweetie.
Also, I do not mean to offend raccoons or any other animal species by implying that they are involved in organized crime. This is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such.
Gee, I was actually able to type that with a straight face. Hee-hee-hee!
I have no shame.
Much love to each and every one of you who have reviewed so far!
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One
John sat by the kitchen door and meowed. Loudly. He cocked his head to one side, cleared his throat and did it again. He could hear water running in the bathtub down the hallway. The woman hummed to herself as she moved around in the bedroom. He didn't see a litter box in the house, and that was just fine by him. As soon as she opened the door and let him out in the yard, he'd be up and over the fence before she knew what had happened.
And the hell of it was, after all this time, he still didn't know her name. Not that he could've asked her, of course.
It was time to go back. Time to hook up with the boys, and continue on to Bobby Singer's place. John felt a little bad about ditching Sam and Dean in the first place, but what was done was done, and there was no sense crying about it.
He wasn't too crazy about the questions he knew Sam would ask, namely Where the hell have you been, Dad? but he knew Dean wouldn't ask any. Dean would figure that if John disappeared temporarily it was to evade some sort of enemy, then backtrack and make his way back to them.
Dean wouldn't even consider the possibility that for the past six hours John had been getting his fur stroked, and his brain cells blown.
A man has needs, John thought to himself. Never mind that right here, right now, he had four legs and was covered in black fur.
Hunting fuglies and keeping an eye on two rambunctious youngsters (and John didn't care that by this time Dean was wearing light stubble on his jaw and had killed countless fuglies, didn't care that Sam had that growth spurt that made him look like Sasquatch – they were still kids, his kids, damn it) none of that left a lot of time for anything else.
John took sex where he could find it. And for the last six months, at least, he couldn't find it, damn it.
This was something his boys definitely did not need to know about.
Especially Sam.
He was brought back to reality by the soft sound of bare feet on the tile floor. When he looked up his heart damn near skidded to a full stop.
She was naked. Totally naked. Not a stitch on.
Holy. Shit.
He tried not to stare up at her bug-eyed, but with that pushed in Persian face it was kind of hard not to. She picked him up, hugged him to her more than ample chest, all warm, and ….bouncy…and soft…and pliable…
John started kneading her bosom with his paws (Claws in, stupid! he thought to himself. Claws in! If I scratch her she won't let me do this anymore!) and she smiled at him.
The things cats got away with. This life did have its perks…
Those nimble fingers of hers started moving, underneath his chin, down his chest…..
John closed his eyes, tried so hard not to drool (but he did, couldn't help himself) and kneaded empty air. He didn't even notice.
A moment they were up to their necks in catnip-scented bubbles and warm water.
Her fingers kept right on moving, all over him, and John knew that cats were supposed to hate water, and John didn't give a damn.
Two
First, they couldn't find Dad's tuna fish sandwich.
Where is it? Dean stood there in the clearing, ears pricked alertly, his tail curled over his back. He sniffed around looking puzzled.
It was right over there. I don't know where it is now, Sam thought rather testily. He sat down and raised his hind leg to scratch at a particularly itchy spot on his neck, just below his left ear.
Dean smirked. You didn't eat it, did you? Shared it with your girlfriend the hellhound?
I mean, it's okay if you did --- He actually considered that Sam was crabby because he wasn't getting enough to eat, but Sam totally took it the wrong way.
No, I didn't. Sam narrowed his eyes. Dean would've looked intense and somewhat menacing if he'd done that. Sam just looked like he was squinting in the sunlight. That's not funny, Dean.
Okay, okay, just kiddin', Samantha. Dean turned towards the highway, and Sam felt that pit in his stomach grow. No problem, I'll just get Dad another one.
Sam's shoulders visibly drooped and Dean caught it. His ears stood straight up as he swung back around. Dean's tail dropped slightly and his thought voice held a low note of concern. Geez, Sammy, you feelin' all right?
I'm okay, Sam mumbled.Translation: Hell. No. Not okay.
I mean, you like tuna too? I can go more often if you're not gettin' enough to eat, being a growing boy and all.
Sam shook his head slowly, his long black floppy ears moving from side to side. Dean, Sam thought slowly, I don't think you should put yourself at risk like that all the time. For food. I mean, Dad's a cat now.
What? Dean scowled. Just what are you tryin' to say, Sam?
I mean, cats hunt…things…
His brother looked horrified.Dean reared back, ears straight up. His mouth gaped open, and he stared at Sam like Sam had lost his friggin' mind.
Well, it was just a suggestion, Sam thought-muttered sullenly.
Dude, what…what kind of crack are you on Are you sayin' that Dad should catch mice? Eat mice? Is that what you're sayin', Sam?
Well…yeah.
Not on my watch. Dean bristled. Sam could see that stubborn mask settle down over his brother's face. His brother's heroic, spectacularly handsome German shepherd face.
Dean stared at him intently, and for the first time in his life Sam actually felt a little afraid of him. Dean was solid muscle, and in addition to being a full grown German Shepherd dog, with his training he was lethal.
Hell, Dean could've been locked away inside a Pomeranian's body, and he still would have been pure trouble.
Dean's eyes narrowed, and he didn't look like he was squinting from the sunlight, he looked like he wanted to rip a sizable chunk out of Sam's goofy looking ass.
You know what? Dean's eyes flashed with anger. I'm gettin' real sick of this attitude. We got dealt a crappy hand, Sam. You know that. That witch nailed us but good and now we got to make the best of it. Now if you have a better idea about how we can eat every day, I'd sure as hell like to hear it. What, you wanna eat twigs and berries now? Is that it?
Dean took a step forward. He stuck his chest out and held his head and tail up high. He was an alpha male, and there was no mistaking it. A movie handsome, picture perfect alpha male to Sam's comical Pluto looking ass, and Sam could feel himself shrink a little all over.
He ducked his head and didn't say anything.
What? No more bright ideas? Dean bit the words out. Okay then. I'm going to get more food. And I don't wanna hear any more bitchin' from you, Sam.
Fine, Sam snapped, tossing his head defiantly. His long black floppy ears flapped all over the place.
Fine, Dean snapped back. He turned and stalked off, feeling more than a little pissed off.
For a moment there, just a moment, he felt like biting Sam. Felt like really ripping into him, and not stopping, either, until he had his younger brother yelping, until blood was drawn and flowing freely.
Damn kid, Dean thought to himself just as he reached the highway. Gonna run me apeshit crazy someday.
Once he was across Dean ducked back behind the buildings in the strip mall. There was a Gulp 'N' Go over in this section, one that he hadn't hit yet. They had sliding automatic doors. Quick in and out, just the way he liked it.
Halfway down he felt his hackles rise. He glanced around nervously just as the lid to a nearby dumpster raised up and several pairs of beady black eyes stared out at him.
Hsst…hey…hey, kid!
Dean stopped. A deep low growl rose up in his chest, and his tail bushed out.
C'mere.
The dumpster lid was pushed open from the inside, banged against the wall, and several raccoons climbed out onto the rim of the dumpster.
Dean glanced back behind him, once, quickly. He saw parked cars and trucks. No humans anywhere. Nothing but raccoons.
If this was an ambush, it was a pretty half-assed one.
The one in the middle must have been the one in charge. That voice inside Dean's head was a low silky rumble, very familiar. I want to make you an offer you cannot refuse.
Dean stared in disbelief. No shit? Look, Don Corleone, I already turned down that crossroads demon. Exactly what part of 'no' didn't she get?
Crossroads demon? The raccoon frowned, folded its arms over its chest in a slow, dignified manner. You have mistaken me for someone else. I am here on behalf of my family. We could use a bright, talented young canine like you.
Yeah, right, I bet they could, Dean scoffed. Well, you get the same answer she did: Not only no, but hell no. Already got a family. He peered up at the dumpster, and now that he took a moment to stop and really look, the mouthy one actually did resemble Marlon Brando from "The Godfather": receding hairline, jowls, stocky, pot-bellied, a thin distinguished mustache under that sharp muzzle.
Don't be so sure about that, pup. I understand your little brother is aggravating the hell out of you, am I right? He's gotten very critical of you and your family's lifestyle. He doesn't appreciate your considerable efforts on his behalf. And your father...you haven't seen him around lately, have you?
Dean flattened his ears. Was he that fucking obvious? You don't know jack about me, my Dad, or my brother, bitch.
One of the raccoons, a tall skinny number whose fur was curlier than the rest, bristled, and moved towards Dean, his dark little paws curled up into fists. He shook one fist at Dean.
You show my father some freakin' respect, you damn fleabag. Watch your mouth, or I'll shut it for you.
Dean grinned wolfishly. Why don't ya come on down here, fuzzy, and show me exactly how it's done?
Marlon cut his eye at the skinny one. Santino...
But, Pop ---
Marlon quirked an eyebrow at him, and Sonny promptly shut up.
Dean sat there frowning. An offer he couldn't refuse. A Marlon Brando sound-alike. A hothead raccoon named Santino. Sonny.
Only someone with a warped mind could think this crap up. He decided not to tell Sam about this. No use in having the kid thinking that Dean was stealing booze and lapping it up on the sly. He felt disoriented for a brief second and he shook his head to clear it.
I meant no disrespect to your father, pup. Tell you what, I'll even throw you a bone, no pun intended. Your dad's at 4329 Hawkes Point Road. That's straight on the other side of the woods where you crossed the highway. Nice little piece of real estate with a green roof, white picket fence. You can't miss it.
And even supposin' my Dad is there, why the hell would you tell me? Why would you even friggin' care?
Just think of it as a token of our appreciation for your good work. Something to show you that we mean you no harm. At the idea of them meaning him no harm, Dean yawned hugely, baring his teeth.
Be seein' you around, pup.
Not if I see you first, chump, Dean shot back.
Marlon might have been a trifle overweight, but the little bastard was surprisingly spry. He turned around and scrambled up the drainpipe, and the others followed him. Sonny turned and gave Dean the finger before he clambered up the pipe.
Oh. Nice. Dean licked his lips as he imagined biting the little furball on the ass. Next time, bi'atch, Dean thought. After he watched them disappear onto the roof, he shook his head again and loped down to the back of the corner building.
Damn, he felt like a magnet for weird 24/7 lately.
Dean turned the corner and slunk up to the doorway of the Gulp 'N' Go. The automatic doors slid open smoothly as he stepped on the pressure plate. His ears perked up, and he couldn't help but grin a little as he looked inside. He had a clear shot to the deli sandwich section.
Yahtzee, Dean thought. This was going to be cake.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the scruffy looking dude with the gun.
Three
Well, hell, it wasn't the first time he'd taken a bath with a woman.
It was, however, the first time in his life he'd ever, ever worn a collar.
A pink leather collar.
He was pretty sure she knew he was a boy, but for some reason he just didn't care.
As far as sex went, John considered himself to be pretty vanilla. None of that freaky stuff for him: whips, bondage, nope, not then, even when he was over in 'Nam. It was one of the things Mary Winchester had loved about him. He was solid, dependable. Conventional, even, but despite that, never boring. He'd been that way all his life, and if you'd asked him before this whole mess started, he would have told you he wasn't about to change. Not ever.
Huh.
John whimpered and shuddered all over when she took out that long peacock feather and winked at him.
Never say never.
Four
Sam hovered nervously near the highway. He frowned up as his stomach churned nervously. He was too young to get an ulcer. He didn't know if dogs could even get ulcers. The way his luck was running he'd probably be the first one in history.
Twenty minutes later Dean hadn't made it back.
Sam got worried.
Ten minutes later cop cars came screeching up to a convenience store in that strip mall across the highway.
Still no Dean.
That pit in Sam's stomach got even bigger, even heavier. Howdy, son, he could hear it saying cheerfully. Guess we're roomies now. You'll be eating for two from now on, huh?
Twenty minutes after that Dean came loping back across the highway, his mouth filled with food.
His eyes widened when he saw Sam, but he didn't say anything. Dean glanced back, saw some of the cops standing there watching him and Sam, and Dean headed up the hillside to a different part of the woods.
Sam followed him. Dean, what the hell was that?
Dean didn't answer until they'd gotten far into the woods. He stopped in this small clearing they'd never been in before and he opened his mouth, put the paper wrapped food carefully down on the ground. He turned back in the direction of the highway and stood there, eyes narrowed, his tail waving slightly back and forth behind him. He was tense, seemed to be waiting for something, or someone, and Sam didn't move until Dean did, didn't relax until Dean visibly relaxed and sat down on his haunches, yawning.
Dean, Sam repeated. What happened down there?
Dean shrugged. Eh. Some jackass with a toy gun. Tried to rob the place. I backed the fool into a corner, stayed there until the cops showed. Clerk's okay. Made sure he didn't hit her again. He sounded preoccupied. He nodded, raised his right front paw towards the food. Chicken or beef, Sammy? I got both. And Dad's tuna.
Sam grabbed the chicken sandwich between his paws and dropped down on his belly. Hey, maybe he was acting pissy because he hadn't had enough to eat. He wasn't hungry before, but now, well….
He sat there chewing and it suddenly dawned on him that Dean just sat there, his head slightly cocked to one side, a thoughtful look on his face. That large expressive plume of a tail of his was still for once.
Whatssa matter? Sam knew he shouldn't talk with his mouth full, but table manners were for two leggers. Anyway, he could think-speak and eat at the same time.
This life did have some perks, after all.
Dean?
Feels like…like m' losing myself, bit by bit, Dean thought slowly. It was more like he was talking to himself. Sam had the impression Dean had momentarily forgotten Sam could hear him. Sam raised his head and stared at his brother. His long floppy ears raised up slowly in surprise. He'd seen Dean in just about every conceivable mood, but this was new.
Dean glanced over and seemed to finally realize that Sam was thereDean's ears twitched slightly.
Sam knew he could ask his brother What's wrong? all day long, and all he'd get in return was a smart ass answer, a snarky remark, a change of subject, or a Hell yeah, Gilligan, I'm fine. Why you askin'?
So that was why Sam was honestly shocked when Dean sighed deeply and replied, When…when the cops came…I just sat there in the middle of a crowd of them and let one of 'em scratch me on my head and call me a good boy.
Sam's mouth was full of chicken breast, wheat bread, pickle relish and mayo. He stopped chewing. So? You were just playin' a part.
Dean frowned. No…no, I wasn't. When he scratched my head, it…it felt good, Sam.
So good it actually made Dean's left hind leg thump against the ground, but he'd never tell Sam that.
Dean sighed. I…I…liked it.
Well, you liked it when Carol-Anne scratched your head.
Dean's lips curved into a slight smile at that fond memory. That was different, Gilligan. She's a chick. This was a dude. A cop.
Well, you wanna talk about this? How you feelin'?
How am I feelin'? How am I…Dean's eyes widened. Oh shit, chick flick moment!
He got to his feet and started walking aimlessly around the clearing. Sam watched him alertly. Like a fucking hawk he did, just waiting to pounce.
Dean shook his head from side to side and felt his tail swish back and forth, irritated, like it had a freakin' mind of its own. Dean hated talking about his feelings. He avoided those conversations like the plague when he had two legs, and now that he had four legs he still couldn't get away from the damned things.
What the hell, Sam? We gonna hug now? Dean thought roughly.
Sam swallowed carefully. Do you want to?
Hell, no! Finish that up. I wanna go find Dad.
Dean ---
Dean turned and glared at him.
Sam bit off another piece of sandwich. The chicken suddenly tasted dry as a bone, and the bread was stale. Hadn't tasted like that before. Dean paced back and forth, head down, like a caged tiger, and he didn't eat, and Sam's friendly neighborhood ulcer-in-the-making got a little bigger, a little heavier.
Five
For a brief moment John thought about his boys. Sam and Dean were together, and since they were dogs, they'd be together for the rest of their lives.
Life was an ironic bitch. If they'd been human, Sam would be gone, he'd be outta there. Sam thought John didn't know that, but he did. He could tell from the way his youngest acted.
One more year, and I'm gone, away from you, away from this whole fucking hunter's lifestyle that I didn't choose and never wanted.
Dean would never leave Sam's side. Never. He would protect his pain in the ass little brother from everything and everybody, with his last breath. They'd both be all right.
John knew he was fooling himself. Knew he was full of shit, just telling himself these things to justify what he was doing – scratch that – not doing.
Things got a little hazy once he felt her fingers stroke his fur.
He never noticed the two dogs padding around the outside of the house. He didn't see when they both got up on their hind legs and stared into the house through the living room window. One looked like Rin Tin Tin and the other looked just like Pluto. They both had stunned, freaked out looks on their faces, but John didn't notice.
He stretched further out onto the couch, arched his back into her touch, and it was getting easier not to think about anything anymore.
Six
Pop, we don't need him. I don't know why you'd even approach that mutt ---
Marlon's paw flashed out and slapped Sonny across the face. Sonny stared in shock.
You will never again interrupt me while I am conducting business, especially in front of the others. Do I make myself clear, Santino?
Sonny's shoulders sagged. Yes, Papa.
All right. To fight in the coming war, we need muscle. Something fast, fierce, strong, and clever, something the Two Toes clan is not expecting. This Winchester pup is exactly what we need. We can use his family against him either way. The old crone told us all about him and his father and brother. If he thinks his family has deserted him, no longer wants him, needs him, we can take him in, keep him as an ally.
Sonny snickered. Keep him as a pet? Make him wear a collar and leash?
Marlon shrugged. Pet. Ally. Whatever. He ruffled the top of Sonny's head affectionately, and Sonny squirmed happily under the touch. I prefer to think of him as a weapon, Santino, but whatever makes you happy, my boy.
Seven
Dean looked left, then right. He wouldn't look at Sam, he couldn't. He stared miserably at the ground. Uh…there was a good reason for what we just saw. He sounded hoarse. Dad couldn't --- he couldn't get away.
Couldn't get away? Couldn't get away? Sam felt weirded out, even more than he'd ever felt before. They padded away from the house, back up the hill.
Once they reached the top of the hill Dean turned around and sat there staring at the house, shoulders slumped, trying to make some sense of what he'd just seen. His eyes were dull, sunken, and those huge ears of his flopped down despondently.
I don't believe it. Dean's tail drooped miserably. Dad ditched us. He ditched us.
Yeah, all it took was an open can of Fancy Feast and he jumped right into that chick's arms, Sam thought dryly. He rolled over onto the grass and stretched out. The muscles of his back felt really tight.
Dean snarled, a low fearsome rumble of sound deep in his throat. He bared his teeth and turned on his brother. He actually nipped Sam's right front foreleg, just hard enough to bruise.
Hey! What the hell is wrong with you? Dean? Sam backed up, and as quickly as the attack had begun, Dean stopped. He looked dazed. He flopped loosely down on the ground. His eyes were wild, haunted.
Maybe, maybe I should have moved a little faster. I – I should've tried to steal that six pack of beer at the 7-11 over near the I-9. Yeah, that's it. Dad wanted that beef taco, and I went for the vegetarian burrito instead. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Dean banged his head against the ground.
Three times.
Sam's eyes got really wide
I didn't follow orders. Dad left because I wasn't good enough…Dean muttered. He had this really weird look in his eyes, and he kept repeating himself, over and over again.
On a scale from one to ten, Sam's score on the freak-out meter was a solid twenty.
And climbing.
Eight
Down in the house below John Winchester frowned a little as her fingers hesitated, then stopped. He raised his head, quirked an eyebrow and shot her a look that plainly said,
I didn't say you could stop and then he froze, ears pricked as he heard this god-awful howling.
She frowned as she turned and looked out the window, and when John jumped up on the back of the couch she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his fur.
He shuddered as a wave of pleasure swept over him, but that didn't stop him from looking up at the hill.
John stared. There in the moonlight stood a fine figure of a German shepherd, head tilted back, howling out his grief to the world. Another dog, a skinny goofy looking one with long floppy black ears, sat nearby, a worried look on its comical looking face.
They both seemed awfully familiar, but John couldn't remember their names to save his life.
>
Next up: Dean ends up on Doggie Death Row, Sam confronts John, secrets are revealed, and the Winchesters are caught up in the war between the furballs.