A/N: This is one of the fics I wrote for Devon99 for Sweet Charity (not one of the extras, but the actual fic written). I couldn't resist the prompt! C'mon, how cute is Sam as a puppy?

It was his brother's shout that had Dean jerking up and running full throttle to the warlock's basement. "Sammy!" he shouted as he ran. More cursing followed, and a part of Dean was relieved, because if the kid could curse, then he had to be alive. And speaking of cursing, those were some pretty decent swear words coming out of his teen brother's mouth.

Hopefully Dad wouldn't pin those on Dean. Dean had taught the kid a lot of words, but he didn't think he'd ever taught him that colorful of a vocab.

Then he didn't care about the cursing because Sam was screaming, and Sam wasn't even supposed to be here, he was supposed to be out in the car, and Dean was scrambling down the stairs. He turned the corner and saw his dad hit the bottom of the basement, shotgun already going off. "Dean, left corner!" he shouted. That was all Dean needed and flew past his dad towards the left corner. There were tarps and planks of wood, all broken and bent from an impact, and the further he dug, the less of Sam he saw, and Dean couldn't dig any faster-

There. Movement. "Sammy?" he called, relief making him a little dizzy. "C'mon, squirt, you'll be okay, I gotcha don't I? Help me move this stuff out of the way." He still couldn't see Sam, and he knew the kid was tiny at fifteen, sure, but not this tiny. Where the hell was he?

He finally saw a patch of brown. "Sammy? You all right?" he asked, nervousness returning. Kid still hadn't responded, and even though the warlock was screeching and his dad was smashing and shooting, Dean still should've heard Sam just fine. "Sammy?" he called again, and pulled away the last of the debris.

And stopped. Two big eyes stared up at him, fuzzy brown and white fur sticking out all over. Two little floppy ears twitched, and the black nose was aimed straight up towards Dean.

The funniest thing was, Dean actually wasn't all that surprised when he asked again, "Sammy?" and the dog, puppy, nudged its little black nose against Dean's hand.

Well...crap.

It finally registered that there was silence behind them, and Dean turned to see Dad hurrying over. He wasn't reloading the shotgun, so Dean had to assume that the immediate threat of the warlock was done with for the time being. "Dean? Where's Sam?" he asked.

Dean pursed his lips. He looked at the puppy, and the puppy looked back at him. Together they looked at their dad.

Dad stared. "You're kidding me," he said.

"I honestly don't think I am," Dean said before he looked back at Sam. He honestly had no idea what type of puppy Sam was, but whatever it was, it was cute. Sickeningly sugary cute.

Sam stepped forward and stumbled in the debris, his paws sliding each and every way. Dean instantly caught him and pulled him up into his leather clad arms. Puppy or not, Sam was his little brother. And Dean was still a big brother.

"Think there'd be anything left on the altar to tell us how to fix this?" Dean asked, turning to his dad once Sam was settled in his arms.

Dad began to answer, then paused when Sam whined softly. Both turned to him in confusion, and when Dean followed Sam's dark gaze did he see the warlock pierced by the wood from his own altar. Blood coated the wood stuck from the middle of his chest, and his wide eyes were forever locked on the ceiling.

"Get Sam out of here," Dad ordered immediately, but he didn't even have to say it. Dean was immediately pulling Sam closer and covering his little puppy eyes from the sight, even as he moved towards the stairs. If they'd needed proof that Sam was still Sam, that was it: even at fifteen, he hadn't been on a lot of hunts. And he sure as hell hadn't really seen anything that human and dead before.

Only once they were upstairs did Dean uncover Sam's eyes. It didn't matter: Sam's eyes were shut tight. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said softly. "We're heading out, okay? It's cool, we'll fix this." Negotiated around the furniture with ease that didn't match the fumbling he'd felt when he'd run down from the upstairs, where Sam wasn't supposed to have been at all, and speaking of- "And what the hell were you doing downstairs? Or inside at all?"

Sam sniffed and burrowed his little nose into the crux of Dean's arm. Dean unconsciously pulled him a little closer. "Don't worry; Dad'll figure something out," Dean said. "And if he doesn't, I sure as hell will."

He paused before adding, "And don't you dare get dog-snot on my jacket, bitch."

He swore Sam chuckled even as he felt the tiny little nose rub purposefully against Dean's sleeve. Dean merely heaved a sigh and worked on opening the car door without dropping Sam.

"I bet if I told him to sit, he wouldn't do it."

Sam, who currently was sitting, turned to give Dean a glare. And then, just to spite Dean, he stood up on all fours. Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious defiance. John shook his head, though he couldn't help the small grin. Dean was right: Sam was still Sam. "Dean, don't antagonize your brother."

"It's my job!" Dean insisted, and Sam huffed in response before stepping over towards Dean to, John had no doubt, express his opinion about Dean's words the only way he could now. Halfway over his paws slipped, and his front right leg went too far left. Dean was already out of his chair by the time Sam hit the floor, John half out of his.

Sam huffed again as he fought to get his feet underneath him again to stand, and when it didn't work, frustration gave way to a quiet whimper that made John wince for his baby boy. There had to be a way to get Sam back to Sam already.

God knew he'd torn through every book from the warlock's basement. He was going through the last pile of them now for the second time, but wasn't finding anything. He'd gathered up the ingredients from the altar as best he could and called Bobby and Jim with the problem and the list. Bobby had jokingly asked what breed Sam had wound up being, and neither he nor Jim had seemed very surprised when John had said a King Charles Spaniel.

John hadn't been very surprised, either. Intelligent, eager, and kindness to everyone that led to earned adoration. That was his boy.

After the initial small jokes, however, neither Bobby nor Jim had known the spell used. "It could simply be missing an ingredient," Jim had said. "I'll do what I can to find any transformation spells with common ingredients and see what we're lacking."

For now, though, Sam would have to stay a puppy. A puppy who still couldn't get his feet under him, and even as Sam tried again Dean was there to catch him and scoop him up. "I gotcha," Dean said softly. Sam huffed out through his tiny nose and closed his eyes. The muscle in Dean's jaw worked, but his words were still tender when he spoke again. "I know, Sammy. We'll figure this out, okay? You gotta be patient."

Sam opened his eyes at that and tilted his head back to look up at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes. "All right, I'll be patient, too. Damn but you ask a lot from me."

John's lips curled into a grin. It was funny how Dean still managed to understand his brother, canine or not. Sam hadn't even made any of the usual dog noises that generally clued people in, yet Dean had heard him loud and clear.

Then again, Dean had always managed to hear Sam no matter what his brother said.

"So...you wanna go outside and play?" Dean asked with the eager tone everyone reserved for pets or babies. "Huh, boy? Do you?"

John wasn't even remotely surprised when Sam reached out and bit Dean's arm. "Ow! God you're temperamental," Dean groused. Sam merely huffed again, his point made.

Two days later, even Dean was getting temperamental.

It wasn't even Sam's attitude. Sam was bearing it as well as he could, not curling up in a corner to cry, not getting enraged and biting everything and everyone that passed by. No, Sam was going on with the same amount of determination that he always did.

And that was probably what was driving Dean insane. Sam shouldn't have to "bear it" or "get used to it". This was ridiculous. Insane. And no, Dean was not entertaining the thought that this could be permanent. Sam would be fine. They'd change this, and then Dean would tease Sam with a rubber ball for a good two weeks and Sam would retaliate by sticking dog bones in Dean's cereal and life would be good.

Not...not this.

"Do they smell differently?" Dean asked. Sam was laying on the ground near a spot of flowers at the park, his head stretched out towards them. He glanced back over his shoulder when Dean spoke, and Dean could practically hear Sam's confused What are you talking about? "The flowers," Dean clarified. "Your nose is supposed to be more heightened as a dog."

Sam seemed to consider this, then tucked his nose back towards the flowers. He gave a short nod after that, then suddenly flew to his feet and tumbled backwards when a bee got a little too friendly with Sam's tiny black nose. Dean chuckled, earning Sam's glare. "Sorry dude," Dean said, sounding anything except apologetic. "Did the bee scare you?"

Dean was going to get bit again. Sam began to push himself up and Dean half lifted himself from the park bench. A moment of trial and error had Sam's paw shooting out underneath the other one, but he quickly regained his balance. Dean could've sworn that he grinned in triumph when his legs stayed beneath him. "Yeah, whatever," Dean huffed as he sat back down, but he relaxed when Sam continued to stand and even began to walk back over towards him.

"Hey!"

Both Sam and Dean turned towards the shout. A man somewhere near his sixties, if Dean had to hazard a guess, was walking rapidly towards them. "Uh, can I...help you?" Dean asked, frowning.

"That dog of yours," the man said, and Dean tensed right back up again. "He doesn't have a leash on. No pets allowed in the park without a leash."

"He doesn't need a leash," Dean said. His voice stayed calm and cool, but his feet were already planted and ready to move, and then calm and cool were going to rapidly fade away. Sam was keeping his eyes on the man and backing towards Dean. Going backwards, however, wasn't the same as going forwards, and he stumbled a little, almost ending up on his tail. (And while that had been fairly funny two days ago when Sam had discovered he had one, it wasn't funny now.)

The stumble had the man's gaze shifting back to Sam, and his wide eyes got even wider. "He doesn't even have a collar? That's illegal here!"

It probably was, knowing their luck. "I forgot it and left it back at the house," Dean said coolly, rising slowly as if he were dealing with a wild animal. Ironically, it wasn't the real dog here that he was more afraid of. "Thanks for reminding me about that; I'll be sure to have it next time we come out to the park." Which would be never, and why the hell had he let Sam's now even more lethal puppy-eyes talk him into stepping outside?

Oh yeah; because Dean had been that eager to get out of the house. He should've stayed inside, should've-

The man wasn't having any of it, and stepped towards Sam. Sam in return skittered backwards even more, and this time did wind up crashing onto his tail, yelping slightly as he did so. Even as the man reached for a cowering Sam, Dean slid between his little brother and the threat, glowering down from his good six inch advantage over the man. The man blanched but still managed to glare back. "I have to report this," he said firmly. "Without his leash, he's considered dangerous and not allowed in the park. Without his collar he has to be impounded. I'm taking him."

"You touch him, and there'll be a different type of pounding going on," Dean assured him, eyes narrowing. "If it makes you feel any better, we're leaving." He knelt and swept Sam into his arms, and his first step was away from the man.

Eight steps away, Dean paused and threw over his shoulder, "Should let you know that it isn't his bite you need to be afraid of." He smirked humorlessly as the man turned even whiter.

Dean continued walking, Sam's nose buried in Dean's sleeve again. "Screw him and his leash," Dean growled. "Nobody's putting a collar on you or a goddamn leash, you hear me Sammy?" A small snuffling sound was his only answer. Dean forced himself to breathe deeply until he could be calm and careful enough with Sam and not vent anger that wasn't intended for him at all. "Don't worry about it, okay?" he said when he was cooled down enough. "I told you, big brother still applies. They're not gonna touch you, not with me around."

Sam gave a small nod but kept his little nose in Dean's sleeve. Dean gritted his teeth and if he held on a little tighter, Sam didn't seem to notice or care.

It shouldn't have surprised John so much to see Sam curled up on the mattress, staring at the television as the news blared. "No cartoons?" he joked softly. Sam didn't even move, merely blinked as he kept his gaze on the reporter.

John sighed. Dean had come home yesterday looking ready to kill something, a total juxtaposition to the five-bully incident months before. John had thought his son had been angry then, but either his memory was getting soft, or Dean was simply more furious than before. And just like last time, Sam had been the reason for Dean's protective rage. All John had had to see was Sam looking as close to crying as puppies could to know that whatever had happened had seriously threatened Sam. And that in turn generally led to his oldest getting fist-friendly.

Dean spitting about something about a man in the park, the pound, and a collar had put a fire into John's veins as well. All it had taken to keep the fire at bay, though, had been Sam curling even more into Dean's jacket-clad arms. John had decided that they were all staying inside until this got figured out.

Then he'd gotten the full story later from Dean when Sam had fallen asleep on his bed.

"Can I join you?" John asked. Sam's gaze momentarily skirted over to him before returning to the television, whom he gave two short nods to. John took a seat next to Sam, careful not to slide over onto Sam. On the television, a small woman reported live from D.C. about the next scandal.

John cleared his throat and couldn't help the small smile when Sam's ears instantly perked up without his permission. They immediately flattened, and Sam gave a huff of frustration. "I was just going to let you know that Jim and Bobby are still looking," John said. "I'm still looking, too. So's Dean." When his big brother wasn't trying to figure out to how wrap a leash around someone's neck, that was. John rolled his eyes at the memory of that particular conversation. Dean wouldn't really do it, but he was pissed, and nothing pissed Dean off as much as seeing Sam hurt and unable to do anything about it.

And that was this situation perfectly. All of them were on the edge now, antsy for an answer, anxious for a way to get Sam back.

Sam finally raised his head from the television to John, eyes wide and pleading. God, and John had thought Sam's puppy eyes were bad before he actually became a puppy. Kid was gonna be lethal after this. "We'll find something," John promised. "I swear, kiddo."

Sam lowered his head slightly, eyes falling to the mattress cover. John stared for a long moment at his son before straightening his legs until they were parallel on the bed. Sam glanced up at the movement, his little head tilting in confusion. John smiled and tilted his own head. "C'mere Sammy."

It was a wobbly stand but a fast one, and Sam quickly climbed up to curl in John's lap. John rested his palm gently on the top of Sam's tiny head and felt Sam shudder a sigh. "You remember the last time I was actually able to hold you?" he asked, and he could've sworn the huff Sam gave was a chuckle. "Yeah, I know; long time ago. You were...four? Maybe even five. The chairs were really low at that one diner, and Dean wasn't big enough to take your weight." Though he knew that if John couldn't have taken Sam, Dean would've, size and weight ratios be damned.

"I managed to keep you on my knee for dinner, but my knee sure as hell complained later." A beat, and John added, "And that doesn't mean that I'm old. Just means you were too heavy."

Like Sam was gonna buy it. Sam's little body shook in mirth under John's hand, and John hadn't even realized he was petting Sam's head and ears until he looked down. Sam seemed happier and more relaxed than before, and John wondered wryly if Dean would settle down by a simple petting.

For now, though, he'd let his oldest plot a leashed doom on whomever gave Sam the evil eye. John reached over for the remote and switched to a station with cartoons. Sam shifted slightly to watch, though his eyes were beginning to sleepily close, and John smiled.