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Chapter 3:
Warnings for swearing. Thanks to my sweet beta TMATEOTB for the super fast turnaround!
A/N: Edited slightly from original posting.
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Sam woke to the sensation of an ice cube being thrust against the small of his back. With a yelp he launched himself off the bed. In the mid-afternoon light, he found himself looking into mournful green eyes over the other edge of the bed.
"Jesus Dean, your nose is cold! What the hell was that for?"
Dean's ears were laid flat against his big head, his tail tucked between his legs. His eyes darted around the room before settling on a spot on the floor in front of him.
Sam went from irritated to alarmed in the space of a heartbeat, rolling across the mattress to kneel between the beds beside his furry brother. "What is it? Is it your head?" Sam reached to check the wound behind Dean's ear, but Dean shied away.
"Sorry, I won't touch, is that what's bothering you?" Sam spoke quietly, thinking his brother's head must still be aching.
Dean stood, paced a couple steps away then back to Sam. His eyes met Sam's briefly, then he squeezed them shut and heaved a sigh.
Opening his eyes again, Dean turned and padded over to the door, his paws soundless on the thin carpeting. His rump thumped down on the floor, his head hung so low his muzzle brushed the rug.
"Oh," Sam said softly, unsure for a moment what to say without adding to Dean's level of mortification. Sam could imagine how embarrassed he'd feel if he had to ask his brother to bring him outside to take a leak. "Dean, none of this is your fault. We will get you back to normal, until then we'll just do whatever we need to do. Don't sweat it, okay?"
Dean grumbled irritably and Sam was pretty sure if Dean had been able to voice his thoughts, it would have been enough to peel the plaster. The elder Winchester did not cope well with being dependent on anyone for anything.
Slipping into his jeans, Sam opened the door and made sure the coast was clear before motioning Dean outside. Dean darted around the end of the building to a small patch of grass and Sam followed. Dean snuffled around for a minute before looking up at Sam and laying his ears flat again. They stood staring at each other for a long moment before Dean whined and looked away.
Sam blurted out, "You've got to be kidding me!" and immediately felt guilty when Dean hung his head again. The situation was bad enough without him making his brother feel worse. He turned his back so Dean could "water the lawn" in some semblance of privacy.
Sam decided he'd slept enough for the day. They were hitting the road. Now.
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The next two weeks passed in a blur of back roads, grieving family members and lies. After packing the car and checking out, Sam had first stopped on the way out of town to round up the "dogs" from their hiding places in and around the junkyard. Asking them mostly yes or no questions, Sam identified who they had been and jotted down what he could learn of the relationships they had left behind. Sam already knew none of them were locals. He didn't really want to go through the trouble of tracking down and conning people into giving blood if they weren't loved ones at all.
Estranged family or ex-lovers need not apply, thank you.
Through it all, Dean seemed to grow more and more withdrawn. The wound on his head was healing nicely, but he was sleeping more than Sam thought was probably normal even for a dog.
Once, when Dean was curled up on the front seat dozing after sleeping nearly 14 hours the night before, Sam had poked him. When Deandog lifted his head and looked at him with bleary eyes, he'd said, "Hey man, you're a dog not a cat. You're sleeping an awful lot. Are you feeling okay?"
Dean had stared up at him for a minute and Sam could almost hear Dean saying I'm a dog, how do you think I feel? Dean sighed and turned his face away from Sam, wrapping a front paw up over his eyes.
Dean would get out of the car for bathroom breaks and when they stopped in a town he would immediately curl up on his bed in whatever motel Sam found for them.
The only time Dean showed any excitement, Sam was sure his brother was trying to give him a heart attack. Sam opened the car door at another roadside pit stop in the middle of nowhere. Dean jumped to the ground and walked three steps before freezing. Nose to the air, he sniffed twice and bolted through the underbrush. Sam caught up to him just as he slid to a stop outside a chain link fence.
On the other side of the fence was a female German Shepherd. She was rubbing along the fence and whining, high pitched and constant.
She was in heat.
Dean stood motionless for a moment, his eyes flared so wide the whites showed all around. He took two stumbling steps backward and bolted back the way they had come. By the time Sam got back to the car, Dean was huddled on the floorboard where he stayed for the rest of the day. Sam had an idea what had just happened, but he made a silent vow to never mention it.
Sam tried a dozen different kinds of dog food - dry and canned. Hell, he even tried cat food and canned meat. No matter what he put down, or how often, Dean was barely picking at it. The cheeseburger he'd brought one night had gone completely untouched. Sam could see the canine body getting thinner as time passed, could see his brother's beautiful coat was losing its shine.
And wow was that a weird thought to have.
In the car, Sam played the tapes he knew were Dean's favourites, hoping to snap him out of his funk, but nothing seemed to help. They were in the fifth day of their journey when Sam realized he'd hardly spoken to Dean since they'd left the motel. He knew his brother's mind was trapped inside the four-legged form, but it had felt so strange talking to a dog like a human. Sam reminded himself that his brother only looked like a dog.
How must Dean feel? Stuck inside this alien form, not knowing whether he could be changed back? And on top of that, not being able to even talk and keep his mind off his situation.
Not being talked to.
Dean always joked and teased - making light of a situation so everyone didn't get overwhelmed by the awfulness around them.
Dean couldn't talk, but that did not mean he couldn't communicate. Sam just needed to pay closer attention.
So Sam started talking. Over the course of the next few days, he talked about whatever came into his head. It seemed to help some, Dean at least stayed awake for longer periods. By the time they headed back toward the junkyard, he'd even managed a few decent meals.
Sam decided to book them into a motel in the next town over as they were passing through. Dawn was breaking and they agreed it would be best to wait until nightfall.
That is: Sam suggested it and Dean yipped a response.
They did not need to even discuss whether or not to stay in the town the junkyard was in, the one they had left two weeks before. Never stay in the same place twice - Hunting 101.
Dean performed his usual ritual - jumping up onto his bed and curling up with his nose covered by his tail. Sam hesitated a moment and then with a mental screw it he settled in on Dean's bed too, his back against the headboard. Dean's green eyes cracked open, staring at his brother.
"So," Sam said, breaking out the research and notes from Bobby, "here's what we're going to do..."
Sam dropped his hand down and massaged his fingertips behind Dean's fuzzy ear as he talked. Dean let out a contented groan and rolled onto his back.
"Forget it, I am not rubbing your belly, man. I have my limits." Dean whimpered pitifully and gazed up at Sam with sad green eyes. Sam sighed. "Goddammit, you owe me for this one." He shifted his hand to rub at Dean's soft belly and tried to ignore the grin he could swear was plastered on his brother's doggy face as he finished outlining the plan.