ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2010-01-17 08:20 am
ratherastory) wrote2010-01-17 08:20 am
Entry tags:
Take Me Home —Part 5
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,852 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 4
*****
It takes a few minutes of cruising up and down the two or three main streets before he catches sight of the sign he saw before for the pet supply store. A hand-written sign in the window decorated with paw prints declares: 'Bring in your furbabies! All pets welcome!
'
“See that? You can stretch your legs.”
Sam jumps out behind him, not waiting for him to open the passenger door, pads behind him. Bells chime as Dean pushes the door to the shop open, and he holds it until Sam is in, making a beeline for a large bowl of water set out on the floor. Dean could kick himself for not having even given thought to the fact that of course you need to give a dog water. It's not like Sam can ask for it by himself anymore.
“Can I help you?”
A young woman appears from the back of the store, wearing a canary yellow polo shirt and a purple half-apron which seems to double as a kind of utility belt. It's got the name of the store stencilled on it in the same canary yellow along with a bunch of paw prints similar to the ones on the sign in the window. She's kind of hot, now that Dean isn't staring at the fashion disaster that appears to be store policy, with soft auburn hair and big brown eyes and really long lashes, and the kind of figure that makes him want to explore every inch with his hands. He clears his throat.
“Uh, yeah. I, uh, have to... uh, I'm looking for dog food,” he gestures vaguely to where Sam is making short work of all the water in the bowl, sloshing it over the side. “Uh, sorry, he's kind of making a mess.”
She laughs. “It's fine. We put it there for the dogs, and that's why there's a plastic mat under it: comes with the territory. He's gorgeous. Groendael, right?”
“Uh, what?”
“Belgian shepherd. I guess you didn't get him for breeding purposes, then?”
Dean chokes. “God, no! I... this wasn't exactly planned. I'm keeping him with me, though.”
“Right. It's just that he's not fixed, and usually when you've got a purebred dog that isn't neutered it means the owner is planning on showing and breeding him. He's definitely show quality, this one. If he's just a pet, you should consider getting him neutered.”
“What? No! Uh... look, I'll just... make sure he keeps out of trouble. God,” he wipes a hand over his face, feeling himself break out into a cold sweat.
She laughs at him, goes over and pets Sam, who raises a muzzle still dripping with water and swipes his tongue over her cheek, making her giggle. “Well, aren't you friendly!” She thumps his ribcage. “What's his name?”
“Sam. I'm Dean, by the way. We're a package deal,” he winks, and is rewarded with another laugh.
“It's nice to meet the both of you, Dean,” she gets up and shakes his hand. “I'm Laura. So I take it Sam here is your first dog?”
“How'd you know?”
“Lucky guess. You're going to need more than kibble if you want to take care of him, you know. Not much more, but a little.”
Suddenly Dean is feeling even more out of his depth. “What?”
She turns and heads down an aisle, and he gets a very nice view of her ass in her black work pants. “For one, you need a collar and a leash.” There's a disapproving whine from Sam, and she glances over her shoulder. “I don't need any lip from you, Sparky,” she calls out, half-teasing, and Dean finds himself grinning.
“Hey, how'd you know that was his nickname?”
She shrugs. “He seems like a Sparky. Anyway, most states have leash and collar laws, and you'll need a license for him, too, if you don't have one already. Have you got food and water dishes?”
“Uh, no. I'm sort of on the road a lot.” As if that explains anything, but it doesn't appear to faze her.
“Right. Well, there are a couple of things you can get for the road, but you can just hit Wal-Mart or something for those. Kibble comes in paper bags, and those'll get wet and tear and then you'll have damp kibble all over your car.”
“Don't want that.”
“Yeah. So, plastic resealable bins are your friend. You do a lot of hiking?”
“Sometimes,” he follows her when he realizes she's heading to the back of the store. She hands him a blue canvas... thing. It looks like saddlebags, only smaller. “What is that?”
“Doggy saddlebags, basically. If you're planning on taking this guy with you for a hike that's longer than half a day, he can carry his own food and water.”
“I like the sound of that.” Dean is making a mental checklist as he goes. “So food, water, collar, leash. Anything I'm missing?” He goes over to a rack on the wall with an array of collars and leashes, picks out a set in red leather that looks like it'll look really nice against the black of Sam's fur. And isn't that the weirdest thought that has ever crossed his mind? 'Sam' appears to be a pretty common dog name, because he finds a name tag with it already engraved, picks it up on general principle.
Laura leads him back toward the front of the store, where Sam has managed to shove his head in a display rack of birdseed and has toppled several boxes on the floor. Cursing, Dean picks them up, tries shoving them back in place a bit haphazardly until Laura rescues him, takes the boxes away.
“I got it. This happens all the time. And yes, you're forgetting something vitally important,” she arches an eyebrow at him, all mischief and teasing, and he kind of wants to put out a hand and trace the outline of her lips with his thumb. She reaches into one of the baskets lined up against the wall, and pulls out a rubber toy, squeezing it with one hand and making it squeak. “Hey, Sammy! Catch!”
Sam leaps to his feet in an instant, catches the thing neatly in his teeth, wags his tail as it squeaks. He drops onto his belly, gnaws happily at the toy, squeaking noises filling the shop. It's so cute it's vaguely nauseating. There's also drool all over the toy.
“I'm guessing that falls under the category of you-break-it-you-bought-it. Although in this case I suppose it's more you-slobber-on-it-you-buy-it.”
“Got it in one. Bring your stuff to the counter, I'll ring it up. Tennis balls.”
“I'm sorry, what?”
She's tapping at the cash register keys. “You should play fetch with him, and tennis balls are your best bet. Frisbees are good, too, but they're more expensive and they get chewed up pretty fast. Shepherds need a lot of exercise. That'll be twenty-seven fifty. Want a bag?”
He forks over a ten and a twenty, looks pointedly at Sam. “You owe me, buddy. C'mere,” he reaches down and fastens the collar around the dog's neck, earning himself a wet kiss on the ear and a determined attempt to not wear the collar. “Big goof. Hold still. Don't look at me like that, it's just a collar, not a torture rack, okay?” The hazel eyes give him a how-could-you look, and Sam submits, but not very gracefully. How can a dog be making him feel this guilty? Oh, wait, it's Sam.
Laura obviously thinks the two of them are adorable. “Oh, he'll make it worth your while, I promise. Dogs always do. You know, you're good with him. You sure you've never had a dog before?”
“Oh, I'd remember. No, Sammy's just... well, it's like I know him already, you know?” He thumps Sam on the ribcage, and the dog jams himself up against his leg, looking up at him adoringly with those big eyes. He's kind of reminded of when Sammy was a little kid and trailed after him everywhere like —like a puppy. The irony of this is a little thick, even for him. “I suppose that sounds crazy, or at least a little new-agey.”
“No, not at all. It's kind of sweet, actually. Sometimes you just form a bond with your pets. I know I did with my Sasha. She's a mutt, but she's my mutt.” Laura packs up the remaining kibble and tosses in a complimentary rawhide bone and a packet of fake bacon strips, refusing to accept thanks for it. “I don't suppose you're in town for long?”
Dammit. He glares at Sam. “No, we have to get going, we've got a long trip ahead of us. Wish I could stay, though,” he leans on the counter and smiles at her, his meaning obvious, and she laughs.
“Well, why don't you take my card? That way, if you're ever in the area, you can look me up.” She picks up a card from a small black plastic case on the counter, holds it out to him between her middle and index fingers. Her nails are cut short, no polish, but well-maintained, and when he lets his fingers trail maybe a fraction of a second longer than is strictly necessary over hers, her skin turns out to be soft, pliant under his.
Sam barks loudly, wags his tail. She pulls back with a nervous laugh, blushes and looks at the counter. “Right, well, I shouldn't keep you. Have a good trip, you hear?”
“Yeah, thanks. C'mon, Sammy, time to hit the road.” He clips the leash on the collar, yanks it maybe a little harder than he would otherwise and gets Sam out of the store, the bag of supplies under his arm. “Little cockblocker. If you weren't a dog, I could totally have... uh, I was going to make a joke about doing it doggy-style, but now it just strikes me as weird and inappropriate. See? You're ruining sex for me, dude!” He opens the passenger-side door, lets Sam hop inside. “Then again, if you weren't a dog, I guess we would never have gone in the store at all. So... yeah.”
He pulls out the map, starts planning out his route. “It sort of sucks that you can't read a map anymore. Kind of used to having you navigate for me.” He reaches over, fondles the dog's ears, and pulls out onto the road.
Ten minutes later and they've hit the highway, Sam's head out the window, the wind ruffling his fur. Dean cranks up Black Sabbath, bops his head to the rhythm, beats out a tattoo on the steering wheel with his hands.. On the whole, he decides, things aren't looking so bad.
*****
Part 6
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,852 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 4
It takes a few minutes of cruising up and down the two or three main streets before he catches sight of the sign he saw before for the pet supply store. A hand-written sign in the window decorated with paw prints declares: 'Bring in your furbabies! All pets welcome!
'
“See that? You can stretch your legs.”
Sam jumps out behind him, not waiting for him to open the passenger door, pads behind him. Bells chime as Dean pushes the door to the shop open, and he holds it until Sam is in, making a beeline for a large bowl of water set out on the floor. Dean could kick himself for not having even given thought to the fact that of course you need to give a dog water. It's not like Sam can ask for it by himself anymore.
“Can I help you?”
A young woman appears from the back of the store, wearing a canary yellow polo shirt and a purple half-apron which seems to double as a kind of utility belt. It's got the name of the store stencilled on it in the same canary yellow along with a bunch of paw prints similar to the ones on the sign in the window. She's kind of hot, now that Dean isn't staring at the fashion disaster that appears to be store policy, with soft auburn hair and big brown eyes and really long lashes, and the kind of figure that makes him want to explore every inch with his hands. He clears his throat.
“Uh, yeah. I, uh, have to... uh, I'm looking for dog food,” he gestures vaguely to where Sam is making short work of all the water in the bowl, sloshing it over the side. “Uh, sorry, he's kind of making a mess.”
She laughs. “It's fine. We put it there for the dogs, and that's why there's a plastic mat under it: comes with the territory. He's gorgeous. Groendael, right?”
“Uh, what?”
“Belgian shepherd. I guess you didn't get him for breeding purposes, then?”
Dean chokes. “God, no! I... this wasn't exactly planned. I'm keeping him with me, though.”
“Right. It's just that he's not fixed, and usually when you've got a purebred dog that isn't neutered it means the owner is planning on showing and breeding him. He's definitely show quality, this one. If he's just a pet, you should consider getting him neutered.”
“What? No! Uh... look, I'll just... make sure he keeps out of trouble. God,” he wipes a hand over his face, feeling himself break out into a cold sweat.
She laughs at him, goes over and pets Sam, who raises a muzzle still dripping with water and swipes his tongue over her cheek, making her giggle. “Well, aren't you friendly!” She thumps his ribcage. “What's his name?”
“Sam. I'm Dean, by the way. We're a package deal,” he winks, and is rewarded with another laugh.
“It's nice to meet the both of you, Dean,” she gets up and shakes his hand. “I'm Laura. So I take it Sam here is your first dog?”
“How'd you know?”
“Lucky guess. You're going to need more than kibble if you want to take care of him, you know. Not much more, but a little.”
Suddenly Dean is feeling even more out of his depth. “What?”
She turns and heads down an aisle, and he gets a very nice view of her ass in her black work pants. “For one, you need a collar and a leash.” There's a disapproving whine from Sam, and she glances over her shoulder. “I don't need any lip from you, Sparky,” she calls out, half-teasing, and Dean finds himself grinning.
“Hey, how'd you know that was his nickname?”
She shrugs. “He seems like a Sparky. Anyway, most states have leash and collar laws, and you'll need a license for him, too, if you don't have one already. Have you got food and water dishes?”
“Uh, no. I'm sort of on the road a lot.” As if that explains anything, but it doesn't appear to faze her.
“Right. Well, there are a couple of things you can get for the road, but you can just hit Wal-Mart or something for those. Kibble comes in paper bags, and those'll get wet and tear and then you'll have damp kibble all over your car.”
“Don't want that.”
“Yeah. So, plastic resealable bins are your friend. You do a lot of hiking?”
“Sometimes,” he follows her when he realizes she's heading to the back of the store. She hands him a blue canvas... thing. It looks like saddlebags, only smaller. “What is that?”
“Doggy saddlebags, basically. If you're planning on taking this guy with you for a hike that's longer than half a day, he can carry his own food and water.”
“I like the sound of that.” Dean is making a mental checklist as he goes. “So food, water, collar, leash. Anything I'm missing?” He goes over to a rack on the wall with an array of collars and leashes, picks out a set in red leather that looks like it'll look really nice against the black of Sam's fur. And isn't that the weirdest thought that has ever crossed his mind? 'Sam' appears to be a pretty common dog name, because he finds a name tag with it already engraved, picks it up on general principle.
Laura leads him back toward the front of the store, where Sam has managed to shove his head in a display rack of birdseed and has toppled several boxes on the floor. Cursing, Dean picks them up, tries shoving them back in place a bit haphazardly until Laura rescues him, takes the boxes away.
“I got it. This happens all the time. And yes, you're forgetting something vitally important,” she arches an eyebrow at him, all mischief and teasing, and he kind of wants to put out a hand and trace the outline of her lips with his thumb. She reaches into one of the baskets lined up against the wall, and pulls out a rubber toy, squeezing it with one hand and making it squeak. “Hey, Sammy! Catch!”
Sam leaps to his feet in an instant, catches the thing neatly in his teeth, wags his tail as it squeaks. He drops onto his belly, gnaws happily at the toy, squeaking noises filling the shop. It's so cute it's vaguely nauseating. There's also drool all over the toy.
“I'm guessing that falls under the category of you-break-it-you-bought-it. Although in this case I suppose it's more you-slobber-on-it-you-buy-it.”
“Got it in one. Bring your stuff to the counter, I'll ring it up. Tennis balls.”
“I'm sorry, what?”
She's tapping at the cash register keys. “You should play fetch with him, and tennis balls are your best bet. Frisbees are good, too, but they're more expensive and they get chewed up pretty fast. Shepherds need a lot of exercise. That'll be twenty-seven fifty. Want a bag?”
He forks over a ten and a twenty, looks pointedly at Sam. “You owe me, buddy. C'mere,” he reaches down and fastens the collar around the dog's neck, earning himself a wet kiss on the ear and a determined attempt to not wear the collar. “Big goof. Hold still. Don't look at me like that, it's just a collar, not a torture rack, okay?” The hazel eyes give him a how-could-you look, and Sam submits, but not very gracefully. How can a dog be making him feel this guilty? Oh, wait, it's Sam.
Laura obviously thinks the two of them are adorable. “Oh, he'll make it worth your while, I promise. Dogs always do. You know, you're good with him. You sure you've never had a dog before?”
“Oh, I'd remember. No, Sammy's just... well, it's like I know him already, you know?” He thumps Sam on the ribcage, and the dog jams himself up against his leg, looking up at him adoringly with those big eyes. He's kind of reminded of when Sammy was a little kid and trailed after him everywhere like —like a puppy. The irony of this is a little thick, even for him. “I suppose that sounds crazy, or at least a little new-agey.”
“No, not at all. It's kind of sweet, actually. Sometimes you just form a bond with your pets. I know I did with my Sasha. She's a mutt, but she's my mutt.” Laura packs up the remaining kibble and tosses in a complimentary rawhide bone and a packet of fake bacon strips, refusing to accept thanks for it. “I don't suppose you're in town for long?”
Dammit. He glares at Sam. “No, we have to get going, we've got a long trip ahead of us. Wish I could stay, though,” he leans on the counter and smiles at her, his meaning obvious, and she laughs.
“Well, why don't you take my card? That way, if you're ever in the area, you can look me up.” She picks up a card from a small black plastic case on the counter, holds it out to him between her middle and index fingers. Her nails are cut short, no polish, but well-maintained, and when he lets his fingers trail maybe a fraction of a second longer than is strictly necessary over hers, her skin turns out to be soft, pliant under his.
Sam barks loudly, wags his tail. She pulls back with a nervous laugh, blushes and looks at the counter. “Right, well, I shouldn't keep you. Have a good trip, you hear?”
“Yeah, thanks. C'mon, Sammy, time to hit the road.” He clips the leash on the collar, yanks it maybe a little harder than he would otherwise and gets Sam out of the store, the bag of supplies under his arm. “Little cockblocker. If you weren't a dog, I could totally have... uh, I was going to make a joke about doing it doggy-style, but now it just strikes me as weird and inappropriate. See? You're ruining sex for me, dude!” He opens the passenger-side door, lets Sam hop inside. “Then again, if you weren't a dog, I guess we would never have gone in the store at all. So... yeah.”
He pulls out the map, starts planning out his route. “It sort of sucks that you can't read a map anymore. Kind of used to having you navigate for me.” He reaches over, fondles the dog's ears, and pulls out onto the road.
Ten minutes later and they've hit the highway, Sam's head out the window, the wind ruffling his fur. Dean cranks up Black Sabbath, bops his head to the rhythm, beats out a tattoo on the steering wheel with his hands.. On the whole, he decides, things aren't looking so bad.
Part 6
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And yes, of course Dean would flirt with the pet store girl.
Thank you for commenting!
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I don't think I've ever had someone be that pleased to have the "first comment" position in any of my posts. :D
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I'm so pleased people are enjoying this! (I know I keep saying that, but I'm going to keep saying it right until the end.)
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And the neuter discussion! Oh Dean!
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Dean was SO horrified when the "Responsible Pet Owner" in my head told me that you ought to get your dog fixed. Can you imagine trying to explain that to Sam once he's human again? ;)
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And yeah, Dean is forever traumatized, I think. ;)
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Of course Pet-Store-Girl is completely charmed! And totally cursing the fact that they had to leave town. XD
Doggy-Sam with his backpack! Just imagining it is way too cute.
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No problem. I may be a total comment whore, but I *do* understand that people have lives and other stuff happens. I can't always leave comments myself, so I try to keep my inner five-year-old in check. ;)
I'm very happy you're still enjoying it.
I'm enjoying toying with the question of how much Sam understands what's happening to him.
Pet-Store-Girl is totally cursing the fact that Dean is just passing through. Then again, if they stayed, she'd probably insist on having Sam neutered, because that's what Responsible Pet Owners™ do. Imagine Dean trying to explain that, either to her or to Sam when he's back to normal? ;)
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Sam's not going to like it if he comes back to his body and he's wearing a collar and tag.
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I wanted to include at least *one* reasonably cool chick who didn't end up dying on principle. ;)
And no, Sam would very likely be extremely unimpressed with that development. :P
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But yeah, Sam would be pretty confused at finding all this stuff.
Dean is totally handling things. Having a plan and sticking to it is his way of keeping himself from freaking right the hell out.
I have plans for them, though, because the Winchesters' lives are never allowed to be simple. ;)
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(Sorry I'm answering all of these out of order)
Doggy toys are awesome: fun for everybody!
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Poor Dean was horrified at the suggestion. :D
I am a cruel, cruel person, it seems.
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I got very fond of Sam-the-Belgian-shepherd as I wrote this fic, to the point where I was reluctant to turn him back. ;)
Glad you're enjoying it!
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And yeah, famous last words indeed! Glad you're enjoying the story! :)