It's a Dog's Life

Warnings: Swearing and one M/M dub con scene (Brady and an OMC)

Written for spn_gen_bigbang 2013 - This story comes with fabulous art - check it out on my journal at Live Journal. I'm amber1960 over there.

Summary: Set in 2005. After finishing the voodoo job in New Orleans, Dean's supposed to contact John to get new instructions for his next hunt, but instead decides to detour to Stanford to check up on Sam. On arriving in Palo Alto, Dean stumbles on a case. Unluckily, he is cursed by the witch when he ganks her and is turned into a dog.

Being adopted by Sam and Jess seems like a stroke of good fortune, but as all hunters know, there is no such thing as blind luck.

Author's note and acknowledgements: A massive thank you to my super-talented artist odysseaia for making me such lovely, lovely pictures! They are perfect in every way, and I was so lucky she chose my story! Go over to her ART MASTERPOST on Live journal and tell her how gorgeous these illustrations are.

Equally I need to thank my two awesome betas - adrenalineshots and reapertownusa . Ladies, you are stars. You helped me get this tale into shape, and any errors, cockups etc are now all my responsibility (dammit!).

Finally, a humungous thank you to reapertownusa for putting the spn_gen Big Bang together. Folk who administer/mod these communities and set up the fun challenges like this one are all heroes in my view. You will be rewarded in your version of Heaven, babe (though we have to hope the Winchesters will have had time to tidy things up there before we have to sample its delights!).

Friday October 30, 2005

It took Dean a little while to realise all was not as it should be, and a little while longer to work out what was different.

He felt fine. Better than fine, in fact, he felt great. He was puzzling over why he would be surprised by this fact, before he remembered. That witch – man, did he hate witches! – she'd been muttering and throwing various unspeakably nasty ingredients into a copper bowl when he'd finally run her to ground in her totally unremarkable house, and she'd promptly chucked the whole lot over him before he'd managed to get off a shot and put her down. That shit had stunk worse than a sewer, and he'd felt it burning his skin before…

Before what? He couldn't seem to remember what had happened after that.

There was no hint of a sewer stink now though. Quite the contrary in fact. Everything smelt fantastic – cut grass, hot pavements, sweaty hormonal young people, and a hint of salt from San Francisco Bay or maybe the ocean itself from beyond the ridge of hills to the west. He opened his eyes.

Now that was weird.

He was lying on a lawn – nothing out of the ordinary there; and that explained why his head was swimming with that almost overpowering smell of mown grass. He was fairly certain when he'd tracked the witch down it had been to a nice clean Desperate Housewives place with a double garage and concrete floors, not a freaking park, but that wasn't the weirdest thing. No, the really strange thing was that this grass was all yellow instead of green.

He lifted his head to look around and it was like he'd emerged into a Star Trek episode (the original, of course, not the movie versions). The colours were all screwed up, as if he was looking though some sort of coloured filter that had leached all the red out of the world. The sky was blue and relatively normal, but all the trees and vegetation were various shades of yellow, and while just about everything else in sight was either blue or grey. Dean raised a hand to rub at his eyes only to squint blurrily and in growing horror at the limb in front of his face. This was not his hand, or his arm, but a thin, spindly, very hairy leg with a blunt-clawed paw on the end of it where his hand should be.

"Fuck!" he said. Except he didn't, because all he heard was a disgruntled woof. Which just confirmed his conclusion. That bitch had turned him into a freaking dog.

Well, shit.

Dean stood up. Or rather, he scrabbled around in a highly undignified manner until he managed to get the hang of the fact that he now had a leg at each corner instead of two legs and two arms. A passer-by giggled at his antics and Dean growled in frustration. That sent the giggler packing pretty damn quick, which was a little gratifying. At least he was still a badass, even if he was only two and a half feet tall and covered in fur.

A new person was approaching and Dean forgot all about the offensive giggler as he was overwhelmed by a whole new set of smells.

Dean's brain struggled to deal with an influx of data as his nose told him that underneath the nasty chemical scent the newcomer was wearing, she was female, young, premenstrual and had had sex this morning. With his brother. The shock of that information overload held him in place when the human part of him just wanted to get the hell out of there before he died of embarrassment. Meanwhile the girl, whose long hair was a lighter yellow than the grass, had decided to make friends with him. She patted his head and scratched behind his ear, seemingly undeterred by Dean's grumpiness.

"You're cute. I wonder who owns you? Mm, no collar… Sam would love you!"

Dean was in full agreement with that last statement. He wanted Sam to love him, he really did. Something like an earthquake was happening at his rear end at the thought, and he realised with chagrin that it was his tail, wagging. Oh. My. God. He had a tail. And worse still, it was out of control. It seemed to be wired directly to something in his doggy brain that was in turn linked to the mention of his brother, and it wasn't helped by the fact that this girl scratching that particular spot just there – oh yes please, right there – was making his back leg twitch, it felt so fucking good.

Then these indignities got ten times worse when he got a whiff of something so familiar it felt like coming home.

Sam. Sam samsamsamsam!

Dean couldn't seem to help himself. As his brother approached, he tore himself away from the girlfriend and virtually bounced at Sam's legs with an excited bark. Luckily for Dean, Sam didn't seem to find a strange dog bounding straight at him at all intimidating. In fact, Sam was more than happy to bend down and return Dean's greeting with a gratifying amount of enthusiasm. The human part of Dean was half relieved and half annoyed. Relieved Sam hadn't recognised him because hey, the embarrassment factor of having been turned into a dog was actually pretty high; annoyed because hadn't Dean taught the kid any better than that? Surely there must be some outward sign that he was an unnatural creature, and that Dean wasn't just any old stray dog?

One thing Dean was never admitting ever, not even if you tortured him within an inch of his life, was that being able to greet Sam like this? Without inhibitions, without barriers, without their history? It was the most liberating feeling. Some part of Dean decided he was going to make the most of this opportunity for open, easy affection while it lasted, and grinned even more happily when his doggie self managed to get a nice lot of slobber all over Sam's jeans. Good to know he could still be annoying, even trapped in a dog's form.

"Oh hey, Jess, you forgot your cell." Sam rummaged in his pocket with his free hand without stopping his petting of Dean and handed the cell phone over. "Do you know this dog, then? It's a collie, isn't it? I've not seen him round here before…"

The girlfriend – Jess – was shaking her head, an indulgent smile on her face as she watched Sam. Dean approved. He liked this Jess, he decided. She had attractive moles on her face just like Sam's, and she smelled loyal and loving. Dean plonked his ass down on Sam's foot and leaned his head against Sam's muscular thigh. Huh. Little brother had been working out since he'd been away then. Dean remembered when those legs used to be much skinnier than this. Distracted, it was a few moments before Dean managed to drag his attention back to the human conversation happening above his head. It was hard to concentrate when long, strong fingers were doing such wonderful things to him – and that was all kinds of wrong when Dean remembered that those fingers, which were now scratching his stomach and dangerously close to his doggie genitals, belonged to his little brother.

Mortified, Dean rolled upright from where he'd somehow ended up on his back to allow Sam better access – how the hell had that happened? – and tuned back into what Sam and Jess were saying. Sadly most of it wasn't about him, but boring stuff about classes, and professors, and papers that were due.

Geeze Sammy. You'd think you'd have better things to discuss with your girl…

Dean's attention had started to drift again until Sam mentioned something about a dog, and Dean remembered the damn dog was him.

"That dog is still following you, Jess," Sam said, his tone amused.

The two of them had been walking while they talked, and Dean had automatically tagged along without even realising he was doing it, his hard nails click-click-clicking on the warm concrete sidewalk. Really, who'd have thought it would be so hard for a dog to concentrate on stuff?

It had seemed so natural to fall in alongside Sam. Like this was something routine that he would have done had he been wholly himself, even though he wouldn't actually have done it because he hadn't even been intending to talk to Sam this time, and hadn't done anything more than check on his brother from a distance, not for nearly four fucking years. Not since Sam left, riding the tidal wave of his own and their father's rage, leaving Dean washed up, high and dry like a battered piece of driftwood. Worn smooth and colourless by the power of that angry sea.

Jess laughed. "He's not following me, Sam; he hasn't taken his eyes off you since you turned up!"

Sam looked back at Dean, the expression on his face suddenly sharper, more suspicious, and Dean thought he'd been busted. Perhaps he wasn't being as subtle as he'd thought. He gave his tail a tentative wag and tried the most innocent expression he could imagine. He had no idea what he was doing. So sue him, he'd never been a dog before. Sam's face turned thoughtful and Dean's doggie heart flipped in his doggie chest, just a little bit. The thought of Sam's giant brain entirely focussing on Dean was suddenly no longer desirable but terrifying, and Dean found himself rooted to the spot.

Then Sam shrugged and flung his arm carelessly round Jess' slender shoulders, walking away without a backward glance. Dean's tail drooped and he sat on it, heavily. It kind of hurt, so Dean figured he'd got something wrong with that manoeuvre. He sighed and kind of stretched out, resting his heavy head on his front paws as he watched Sam and Jess dwindle into the grey/blue/yellow distance.

Abandoned again. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

0x0x0x0

Dean's fugue state didn't last long. Mainly because he was about to make a new discovery about his canine nature. Namely, that dogs love squirrels. It appeared that he could not resist a squirrel. It transpired that Stanford campus had many, if not too many, of the pesky rodents, mostly the black variety. A flash of dark amongst the yellow grass, the tantalising and surprisingly pungent scent that he recognised instantly as squirrel, and Dean was on all four feet in a flash, running after the bushy tailed little freak. Who promptly whizzed up the nearest tree, leaving Dean panting and frustrated at the bottom of the smooth grey trunk. The little fucker was probably sitting on a branch up there preparing to chuck nuts at his head, and laughing its little freaky, squeaky laugh.

It seemed dogs don't really have much idea about time, however awesome they are at smelling stories on people. Or fruitlessly chasing squirrels. Dean had absolutely no idea how long he spent dashing from tree to tree, or how he managed to have an endless supply of pee with which to water each and every tree after each fucking squirrel escaped up it. He only knew that some time had passed, the sun was high and hot, he was starving hungry and had a raging thirst. Lucky for him, most Stanford students were nothing like the clean-living Sam Winchester. They had plenty of cash to spend, a predilection for junk food, and untidy, wasteful natures. It didn't take Dean very long between forming the thought food to finding two half eaten burgers and wolfing them down. He just followed his awesome nose, rootled around in a heap of fast food wrappers and yahtzee. The trouble was, he was still hungry. And thirsty. Lapping up a puddle of spilt soda only resulted in a few minutes sneezing and a sticky muzzle, which was quite funky and only left him more thirsty.

Time to apply some human logic to the problem instead of letting the dog-part boss the show. In fact, it was long past time for Dean to get to grips with this whole problem. He needed to find a solution that would get him back into his own form as soon as possible. He wasn't even sure where he'd left the Impala, which was just unacceptable. Dad hadn't been in contact since dispatching Dean to Louisiana while he had headed to Jericho on a different case, but having finished off this unexpected witch hunt, Dean knew he needed to report in and await instructions, get new co-ordinates, a new job. He shouldn't have been here in Stanford the first place, but it had been several months since Dean had had the chance to check in on Sam, and he hadn't wanted to wait another month or two before satisfying himself that his brother was okay. So he'd driven like a bat out of hell from New Orleans after the voodoo job, hoping Dad wouldn't notice that he hadn't reported in straight away.

There might be a text or voice mail waiting for him right now, and he was stuck in Palo Alto as a freaking dog.

Most witches' curses had an expiry date attached, but it could be a matter of hours, days or even weeks. Dean had no way of knowing how long he was likely to be stuck as man's best friend. However long it was, he would have to plan for a sudden, and doubtless inconvenient metamorphosis. For instance, he was going to need speedy access to clothes if he wasn't to get arrested for indecent exposure.

Therefore the first logical step was to find out where Sam was living, because if all else failed, he could grab some of Sam's gear. Second step – find the Impala, though that was going to be harder. He had a feeling he must have gotten himself a motel room somewhere off campus in downtown Palo Alto, and though he might not remember exactly where thanks to the witch's mind whammy, at least she hadn't wiped the road map in Dean's head. The trouble was, Palo Alto was a high class sort of town and any scruffy stray roaming those clean streets was likely to get picked up by dog control. Whereas here on Campus, nobody was paying too much attention to him. Thank fuck for students and their self absorption.

He looked around. Somehow he'd lost time again – freaking squirrels - because now the sun was getting low, and an exodus of chattering students was pouring from the gleaming white faculty buildings. Sam had gone into one of those, Dean reasoned, therefore should be exiting soon, so all he had to do was hang around somewhere near the place Sam had left him, and hopefully tail his brother home. Dean trotted over to some shady bushes and flung himself down to wait.

0x0x0x0

The demon currently residing in Tyson Brady, 4th year student of Law, had been hand picked by Azazel for its patience. Orias had a reputation in Hell for excelling at the waiting game, and that was exactly the skill Azazel needed to weave his web around Lucifer's chosen children, Sam Winchester in particular. So Orias had been happy to be chosen, and took pride in his occupation of Sam's good friend. The human that had been Tyson was long gone now, and Orias had come to think of himself as Brady more often than he remembered his centuries old demon self. Being Tyson Brady was the most fun he'd had in a very long time. Students were so needy and desperate.

Still, Brady hadn't lost focus. He was aware that his task here was nearly done. He strolled out of the Advanced Criminal Defense Clinic at Sam's side. He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he bumped shoulders with Sam. In only a few days, Jessica Moore would be dead, and his young buddy here would be consumed with grief and a burning desire for revenge. Brady couldn't wait. It would be a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Sam Winchester was a quiet one, and many in their little group of friends mistook that for passivity, but Brady knew Sam's passions ran deep. Brady saw the sharp edged blade hidden inside the soft sheath that was Sam Winchester's public face, and that hidden menace excited the demon. Even more so when the demon in Brady knew to look for the occasional glimpses of raw Sam that the young student occasionally let slip, revealing not only the trained hunter in him, but also the bubbling anger that fuelled Sam and made him dangerous.

Jessica Moore might be a beautiful and clever girl, but Brady knew nobody on earth was a good enough partner for Sam. It was fitting that Jess would be the instrument of Sam's final forging into a weapon worthy of their Lord and master. Brady was honoured that he was going to contribute to that annealing of Sam's blade.

"You're in a good mood today," Sam commented with an indulgent smile at Brady that was swiftly transformed into a blinding grin when he saw Jess waiting for him on the path outside. Brady knew it wouldn't really matter what he said now, because 90% of Sam's attention would be focussed on Jess.

"Yeah, well, it is Halloween tomorrow," Brady replied, throwing in a veiled warning because he knew Sam wouldn't hear it, "And you know how much I love Halloween."

They joined Jess, who gave Brady a hug because she loved him. He'd introduced the two lovebirds after all, so she couldn't thank Brady enough for her happiness. Hell, Brady loved her back. He always treated Jessica right because she was going to help him achieve his goals, and his affection for her was unfeigned. He kissed her cheek with enthusiasm and thought how much more beautiful she was going to look when that lovely face was contorted with pain and wreathed in flames.

"Poor Sam," she said, "You're the only person I know who hates the holiday. I wonder, what's the Halloween equivalent of the Grinch?"

Sam laughed along with them, but Brady could feel all the day's tension leaking out of his friend, and he smiled wider. All this anticipation was making Brady horny. He would have to find someone to screw tonight, to release some of his own tension. Brady didn't want Sam suspecting a thing, and if the demon was wound up too tight, he might give something away. He'd have loved to fuck Jessica too, just once before the end, he knew she'd scream so prettily - but she was off limits, all Sam's.

The three friends strolled towards the parking lot, chatting about inconsequential things, like SATs and studying assignments and what dressing up costumes to wear for Jessica's farewell slash Halloween party. Brady hoped she would look great for her final fling. Sacrifices were such fun.

Each absorbed in their conversation and their own thoughts, none of the three noticed the unkempt black and white collie-cross following them at a distance as they walked over to Brady's pick up. No one saw the dog's agile jump onto the flatbed of Brady's truck, and no one was aware they had a canine hitchhiker riding home with them.

0x0x0x0

Dean had been wondering what on earth he was going to do when he saw the three students heading to a parking lot, as he was well aware that no dog was fast enough to keep up with a car; so he couldn't believe his luck when they all got into a flatbed Chevy pickup. It was easy as pie (oh god, pie…what would he give for some pie, he was still so hungry!) to jump up and let them take him home with them. And riding on the pickup was such a head-trip for his doggie-self too. He loved the way the air rushed past his face and blew his ears around, but the best part was all the great smells – it was an olfactory kaleidoscope.

In fact it was so awesome, he nearly missed the blond guy stopping to drop Sam and Jess off outside an old but well-kept apartment complex. He ducked his head and waited until the pickup was pulling away before leaping down and trotting back to the building Sam and Jess were walking towards. Dean watched to make sure they were safely inside then sat outside, nonplussed, wondering what to do next. The happy couple might be set for the night now, and Dean was kind of stranded. There weren't even any squirrels here to chase.

He shifted his bottom against the paving slab. Huh. That was kind of nice. Now that he thought about it, his butt was kind of itchy and if he wriggled just so…awesome. His tail splayed out, he lifted one of his back legs and – oh man, he could get his foot right over his head! He was even more bendy than Gumby Girl Lisa, which was pretty impressive. So if he could do that, then this did that mean…?

Oh. Oh yes.

Okay, Dean had to admit, being a dog wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to him. Licking his own balls was really cool. He could even sniff his own butt. Maybe he shouldn't be in such a rush to get changed back…

Absorbed in his new discoveries, Dean didn't hear footsteps approaching and so was taken totally by surprise when a large hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and lifted him bodily of the ground. He yipped his distress. Dogs and Deans were not made for suspension in thin air. He found himself staring into a pair of angry cat-slanted eyes he knew better than his own.

"Okay, where the hell did you spring from? How did you follow us here? What are you?"

0x0x0x0

Sam hadn't believed his eyes at first when he glanced from the window and caught sight of the dog from the campus sitting on the sidewalk across the road from their apartment, not ten minutes after Brady had dropped them off.

Goddammit, he had just known there was something not right about that creature. He couldn't put his finger on it but there had been something that had set what Dean would have called his Spidey-senses tingling when he'd seen Jess petting it outside the library this morning. Now it was here, and Sam Winchester might have been out of the hunting game for the past few years, but he had been raised not to believe in coincidences.

Jess was in the kitchen, so Sam quickly slipped his gun down the back of his waistband, and covered it with his shirt before yelling something about going out to get some milk. He made a swift exit before she could react and tell him they had plenty in the fridge. At the foot of the stairs, he checked the silver knife was safely lodged down its sheath in his boot before taking a roundabout route to come up behind the seemingly oblivious animal. It was odd that it was not more wary if it was something supernatural, but Sam was taking no chances.

He lunged and had the creature by the scruff of its neck before it could move, and held it at arms length. It made a pathetic surprised noise but didn't struggle, just dangled there with those strangely un-doglike hazel eyes wide, staring at him as if it knew him. As if it trusted him.

"What are you?" Sam said again, frowning. The dog whined softly and tried to wag its tail, and Sam felt like a total douche. He gently lowered it down and had to admit the animal looked a lot happier with all four paws safely on the ground. He ran a hand through his bangs and sighed. Maybe it really was just a fucking stray dog and he was over reacting. It was still looking at him with what could only be called a hopeful expression, and Sam found his anger draining away. Shit. If it was something supernatural, it was very good at casting a doggie-powered spell over humans, because Sam was starting to wonder whether the Seven Eleven round the corner sold dog food or not.

"You hungry?"

He'd swear the freaking thing grinned as it wagged its tail. Fuck it, he really was done for. The dog followed him to the supermarket and was waiting patiently outside when Sam emerged with a few cans of Natural Balance and a bag of dog biscuits, plus a pint of milk to cover his white lie to Jess.

"I'm not encouraging you, right? But if you want, you can come back with me – just temporary, okay?"

The dog looked like its hind legs might drop off, its tail wagged so hard, and it trotted alongside Sam like it belonged there, all the way back to the apartment.

Jess, being the awesome girlfriend that she was, took the addition of a canine visitor in her stride, only laughing at Sam's stumbling attempts at explaining his weakness in bringing it home.

"It's ok Sam, really. You couldn't leave him outside on his own. So what are you going to call him then? We can't keep just calling him 'dog'."

Sam grimaced. "I don't know that naming him is such a good idea, we can't keep him, after all."

The dog's ears drooped and his tail tucked between his legs, and Sam's pained expression only grew when Jess told him off for talking so negatively in front of the dog, as if the creature could understand every word they were saying. The problem was, Sam wasn't sure that it couldn't understand them. It certainly reacted to everything they were saying ... He still wasn't convinced this dog was actually an ordinary dog, but as it seemed harmless, he was willing to let his doubts slide. For now.

"He likes the limelight, doesn't he? A bit of a star… Maybe we should call him Sirius." Jess suggested after the dog had stuck his nose in her crotch for the second time, with every evidence of enjoying sniffing her lady parts far too much for Sam's liking, though Jess didn't seem to mind.

"What, the black dog from Harry Potter?" Sam said, somewhat distracted.

The dog gave him look of complete disgust.

"Well, I was thinking of Orion's Dog star, but either would do." Jess replied.

"Okay, Sirius it is."

Sirius barked. It sounded like a cross between approval and amusement.

Saturday 31st October 2005

Dean wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow he'd ended up with a nice new leather and metal-studded collar, with an engraved brass tag saying "Sirius". It appeared that his dog-self was a push-over if offered a nice warm blanket to sleep on, a plate of some anonymous meat in anonymous gravy and a good belly scratch. Once the two humans had agreed to keep the dog, Sam had gone out again, leaving Dean with Jess, and come back with the collar and a lead in a Wallmart bag. Dean had allowed his brother to fasten on the collar, agreeing with Sam's comment that it would make Dean less obviously a stray. Dean was a fan of being inconspicuous.

He eyed the lead with suspicion, however, resolving that no one, brother or not, would be dragging him round on the end of that.

He had some pride, after all.

Or that was what he told himself until Sam and Jess took him to the park after breakfast the following day.

What could he say? Frisbee catching was just addictive. And he was fucking awesome at it. Sam had a great throwing arm, naturally, having been trained for years by his big brother, but Dean was a match for anything Sam could (literally) throw at him. Dean completely lost track of time, leaping and running and twisting acrobatically after the grey plastic disc. It was probably red or orange in real life, but right now, canine colour blindness was so far down Dean's list of interesting facts it barely figured at all. The sun was shining, Sam and his pretty girl were laughing and Dean had a Frisbee to kill.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this happy.

Sadly, Dean's appetite for Frisbee-chasing outlasted both Sam's and Jessica's. Dean was finding that humans had such short attention spans when it came to the important stuff. Fortunately, he could amuse himself while Sam was busy sticking his tongue down Jess' throat, something Dean heartily approved of and had never thought to see his little brother doing so enthusiastically. Dean had caught the delicious scent of lady-dog and was happy to find his charms were just as irresistible to the female dog population as his human self had been to the chicks. If he had taken a moment to think about it, perhaps he might have hesitated but thought was the first thing to exit from his head when the rich warm smell of a bitch in heat wafted past his quivering nostrils.

The huge disadvantage of his collar was that it allowed Sam to get a much better grip on him and to Dean's chagrin, Sam had no trouble at all in forcing coitus interruptus on Dean and his new bitch-friend, whose owner seemed to be suffering from apoplexy. Come on lady, it's a beautiful natural act and my babies would be awesome, I mean just look at me. Such a fucking handsome devil…

Sam was less than impressed with Sirius' sexual exploits, however, and had the lead clipped to Dean's collar before he realised what was going on. Freaking cockblocker. Sam half dragged, half carried a protesting Dean back to the rug where Jessica was sitting, helpless with laughter.

"You can't really blame him, Sam, he was only following his master's example!"

Dean grinned as Sam flushed deep red, but any amusement was soon crushed by Sam's next casual remark.

"You know, if we are gong to keep him, Jess, we probably need to get him neutered."

Dean pulled on his lead and howled. He kept up his vocal complaint until Sam finally gave in and vowed that Sirius' nuts were safe from butchery. He then got his revenge by dragging Sam around while he marked up every tree he could find before they left the park, just to make a point. You don't get away with cockblocking Dean Winchester and then threatening his joy-sack without any consequences, brother or no.

0x0x0x0

It was a truth universally acknowledged that most dogs don't like demons. Cats on the other hand, couldn't give a damn one way or another, hence most witches preferred to use cats as familiars, though in theory any animal would serve their purpose. A dog would freak out where a cat would take it in their stride.

Brady was therefore distinctly put out to find that a dog seemed to have taken up residence in Sam and Jessica's apartment just days before his plans would come to fruition. Though from its reaction to him, the dog was possibly even more put out than Brady. The stupid thing was growling from the moment Brady stepped through the door.

It advanced on him, stiff legged and hackles raised, like it thought it was some sort of Hell hound, which was, Brady knew from personal experience, laughable. Brady only just managed not to kick the creature in the ribs, realising that such an action might be correctly construed as him not giving a shit. Sam was a bit slow in realising his pet wasn't behaving all that well, so the mutt was in severe danger of having its neck snapped before Winchester finally got with the programme. Sam leapt forward and grabbed its collar, manhandling the snarling, snapping dog into their bedroom and locking it in.

It was a good half an hour before the stupid mongrel stopped barking its futile protests at the closed door.

"Well, that was fun."

Brady did a little snarling of his own. He was entitled, he thought, as he brushed off Jessica's apologies, Sam's puzzled strange, he hasn't reacted like that before comments. Brady consoled himself with fantasies of what he was going to do to the mangy mutt if it was unwise enough to be here when he came for Jess the night after All Saints eve. He smiled at Jess and relaxed, enjoying warm thoughts about how she was going to look as he was sliding the knife into her belly.

"So. Anyone up for pre party drinks?" he said.

0x0x0x0

Dean was frantic. Sam and his girl were out there with that, that…thing, and he was helpless. Trapped. Trapped in this room and trapped in this body and he didn't know what to do. He whined, scratched at the closed door and cursed that fucking witch. The door wasn't even locked; didn't have to be because Dean couldn't turn the round handle with these stupid fucking useless paws, couldn't break the door down with this too small, useless body, couldn't fucking do anything except…

Except Sam or Jess had left the window open.

Dean padded over to the casement, stuck his nose into the crack and shoved with his head and then with his shoulders until the sash gave and opened wide enough for him to fit through. He looked down and winced. It was only two stories, but there was nothing to break his fall but a few shrubs. He bared his teeth and wished the witch had made him a cat.

He could hear the low rumble of Sam's voice from the living room, calling the guy Brady, though Jess then called him Tyson so… then the guy, who Dean was sure wasn't human, said something about going for a drink. Dean's muscles tensed and he readied himself to jump, then he heard Sam refusing, too much studying to do, yadda yadda, and then there was Jess agreeing with Sam, and Brady making some remarks about too much work making them dull - which might have been something Dean would have said in another time or place, but right now, Dean was just happy that the guy was leaving, and that both his people were staying here, safe, with him.

Dean watched Tyson Brady stroll out of the apartment block towards the black truck, and wondered why his dog senses hadn't picked up on the blond guy's wrongness the day before, when he'd hitched his ride on the dude's flatbed. Maybe the metal had shielded the abnormality from Dean, or he just hadn't gotten close enough to catch that stench of sulphur and decay that had hit him today the minute the creature walked through the door. Before Brady swung himself into the driver's seat, the guy paused and looked up, straight at Dean, like he knew he was being watched. Dean growled involuntarily, an atavistic reaction.

He had no idea what sort of monster Brady was, but Dean was certain of one thing. Tyson Brady was not human, and whatever he was, it was doubtful his intentions were benign.

Dean watched out of the open window until he was certain Brady had really driven away, then he turned and looked around the room. Evil sons of bitches aside, now the immediate danger had passed Dean was finding Sam's bed very attractive right now. He could hear Sam and Jess conversing in low tones in the main room, discussing his behaviour, and he snorted when Jess suggested Sirius had probably just been defending his territory. Too right he would defend, but it wasn't territory he was worried about, it was his family. His pack.

And he'd die before he let anyone – or anything – hurt either of them.

0x0x0x0

That miserable mutt was an unforeseen and irritating complication, Brady thought. His hips pistonned brutally hard as he fucked the soft skinned Freshman he'd picked up in the bar. He gripped the boy's hips tighter, uncaring about the pained moans that were being punched out with every thrust. Brady wasn't here to give pleasure or satisfaction to anyone. In fact, he'd found during this stint topside that it really helped him concentrate on a problem if he was doling out at least a small measure of pain while he was thinking things through. Brady was an equal opportunities sort of demon, it didn't matter whether his victim was male or female as long as Brady got his rocks off in a tight wet hole.

And it worked for him every time. As he climaxed and filled the squealing kid up with spunk, the most elegant solution came to him. He could use the damned dog to get Sam out of the way on the 2nd of November, and effectively kill two birds with one stone. Almost literally. Well, one dog and one girlfriend, which was miles better than birds.

Smiling, he pulled out of Freshman, who wasn't looking so fresh now, to be honest, his pretty face smeared with tears and snot, and his pretty butt all red raw from the pummelling Brady had just delivered. He gave the boy's ass a hearty slap and grinned to see how the kid flinched and tugged against the restraints they'd been using. Kind of reminded Brady of home. Pity he couldn't have pulled out a few fingernails or teeth while he was at it, but he couldn't jeopardise the mission, not when he was so close to the pay off. He had to be satisfied with watching the kid's abused hole clenching as it vainly tried to stop the slick semen sliding out, the white fluid streaked with blood because, oh dear, had Brady forgotten to use a condom and lube? He slid a finger inside again just to make Freshman wince.

"Ah well, we have to take what little pleasure we can in the short time we are in this world, eh, Matt?" Brady said to Freshman's upturned butt. The kid's face, where it peeked out from the pillow it had been mashed into for the last hour or so, looked a bit shocked.

"It's Marc," Freshman said, indignant, and Brady couldn't help laughing. The idea that the kid gets painfully fucked six ways from Sunday and ends up more bothered that the guy who fucked him can't remember his waste-of-space name was very amusing. He couldn't resist shoving a couple more fingers into the kid, smiling when Matt squirmed and gasped.

"I like you, kid. Matt. What a pity I don't have more time to take you apart, piece by piece. I'd like to see what you are really made of… but duty calls." Brady glanced at the clock and withdrew his fingers from Matt's hole with a wet plop, wiping them clean on the boy's quivering thigh. "Today is Halloween, and there are parties to go to; then tomorrow is a day of rest before the fun begins. I'm so looking forward to a very special anniversary on Monday."

Brady briefly considered leaving the kid tied up. Maybe he could come back and have another go at him after the fancy dress party tonight. A few hours trussed up and Brady was sure Matt would cry and beg very nicely… but no. Now was not the time for side orders, not when the main dish was about to be served. Brady knew where to find the kid any way, and after his mission was accomplished, there would be no need to restrain himself any more.

Little Matt could be a delicious desert after he'd finished with Jessica Moore. But now, it was party time.

0x0x0x0

Sam wasn't wholly convinced by Jess' theory that Sirius was just protecting territory when he reacted so badly to Brady. Partly it was because there was still something niggling at him about the dog, even though Sirius had been nothing but dog-like in his behaviour since he'd moved in with them. But also because he'd been watching Tyson's face when their friend had walked through the door, and he could have sworn something strange had happened to Brady's eyes in that first instant when Sirius went berserk. Like a dark shadow had passed over Tyson's face. For that brief moment, Brady hadn't looked like himself. Or even like a human.

Sam might have tried to leave the hunting life behind, but he couldn't ignore years of training or pretend he didn't know there were dangers out there far more evil than anything most people could imagine.

Sam opened their bedroom door, half expecting to be bowled over by a few pounds of anxious dog, only to find the room apparently empty, the window wide open.

"Oh fuck!" Sam was at the window in a couple of strides, while Jess came into the room behind him.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Jess took in the window and the absence of dog. "Oh, no!"

Jess' shoulder was warm where she pressed in next to Sam looking out for any sign of Sirius down below. Sam was sure her heart was beating just as fast as his, as he wondered how on earth the dog could have survived the drop. But it clearly had, as there was no sign of a crumpled broken body below them.

Sam was just about to say something about maybe giving up on finding the dog again, when both of them whirled round at the sound of their duvet slithering off the bed onto the floor.

Sirius was sitting in the middle of their bed, looking guilty as hell. Jess shrieked and leapt onto the bed, pulling the embarrassed and reluctant dog into her arms. Sam stared in disbelief which only got stronger when Sirius realised his nose was being crushed into Jess' cleavage and so obviously perked up at the idea, Sam seriously thought he must be seeing things. He knew he'd never actually owned a dog, but he had been around dogs enough to know that most dogs were not that interested in women's boobs. Chalk that up as yet another reason to wonder whether there was something supernatural about the animal. Sam wished he had access to Bobby's library instead of the University's and even wondered whether he should ring the old hunter, before dismissing the idea as an over reaction.

Sirius hadn't shown any sign of being a threat to either Sam or Jessica – in fact, somewhat the opposite was true. So until the dog did something more odd than snuffle Jessica's breasts, Sam would reserve judgement. Though that didn't mean he was willing to share Jess' lovely body with anyone, even a dog. He grabbed Sirius by the collar and hauled him, grumbling loudly, off the bed.

"No dogs on our bed!"

Sirius looked like he wanted to argue with that pronouncement but Sam maintained a steely glare, and after a few seconds, the dog wilted and slunk off into the living room with his tail tucked between his legs.

Jess laughed.

"Poor Sirius! I think you scared him with your mean, masterful ways." She stretched her arms and Sam was mesmerised by the way her nipples showed through her Smurf shirt. Perhaps he couldn't blame the dog when he too was being consumed by thoughts of nuzzling between those perfect breasts right now. Sam swallowed hard and Jessica's smile turned sultry and dark. All thoughts of dogs and possible evil creatures slid right out of Sam's head as he climbed onto the bed to tangle limbs with his beautiful girl. Sadly, it seemed her focus hadn't yet entirely shifted in the blissful direction Sam had gone, as she still wanted to talk about the damned dog.

"You know, I'm not comfortable with going out partying and leaving Sirius on his own tonight… what do you think, Sam? Fancy an early night instead then, lover boy?" she said, as she wrapped her long legs round his waist. Sam's only answer was a groan of acquiescence and a silent vote of thanks to the dog.

Later, much later, when Sam woke sweating and frantic from his recent recurring nightmare of Jess burning, he was reassured by not only the soft warmth of her silky skin pressed up against his right side, but also by the heavy furry weight of Sirius, who was, in blatant disregard of Sam's clearly stated rule, lying on the bed, stretched across both their feet. Sam carefully turned onto his back and put his arms behind his head, waiting for his heart to slow down to a more normal rhythm. He looked down at the dog only to find Sirius awake and staring back at him, his eyes glowing green in the light of the digital clock. Sam thought vaguely that he should have been alarmed, but instead he was reassured by the dog's vigilance.

It might have been the aftermath of the nightmare, or maybe just the fact that it was the middle of the night and he was so freaking tired, but Sam was starting to think the dog had been sent to protect them, and he was absurdly grateful. Because although he had been dismissing his dream of Jess pinned to the ceiling, blood dripping down from her slashed open belly and flames erupting all around, the constant repetition of the horrific scene was wearing him down. It was comforting to wake up and find the dog watching over him. Even if the dog was an over-protective, lecherous foodaholic the rest of the time. And who did that remind him of?

Sam's eyes had been drifting shut, but flew open at that thought. He sat up a little and stared at the dog, whose head came up under the scrutiny. Jess sighed and turned over, oblivious of the staring contest going on over her slumbering feet.

Sirius had turned up out of the blue and coincidentally latched onto first Jess then him. The dog had been exhibiting an almost uncanny ability to understand instructions, was totally protective of Sam and now Sam came to examine the dog's character traits, they all seemed to echo someone he knew very well… Added to which was the well known fact that Winchesters did not believe in coincidences.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, testing his theory.

The dog wagged his tail, then managed to look mortified at what was evidently an involuntary reaction. Sam slipped out of bed and stalked through to the living room. He didn't need to look back to know that the dog – no, fucking Dean! – would follow, and sure enough, a few seconds later came the clicking of hard nails on the wooden floor. With difficulty Sam refrained from picking the damn dog up and shaking it until its teeth rattled. Instead he quietly closed the bedroom door before following the dog, who had wandered through the bead curtain into the kitchen. He snapped the light on and faced the animal.

Which was his brother. Really, this sort of fucked up shit could only happen to the Winchesters.

"Dean? What the fuck, man?"

Dean's tail gave a half-hearted wag but Sam's dander was up now, and he barrelled on, pacing up and down like a caged tiger. And maybe he should stay the fuck away from animal similes right now.

"What the hell are you doing here? What happened to you?"

Dean visibly drooped under the barrage of questions. By the time Sam ran out of steam, Dean was flat on the floor, head resting on his forelegs and a look of resignation on his be-whiskered face. Sam stuttered to a halt, wondering how Dean managed to make a dog's face so expressive. And more importantly, how he managed to make Sam feel guilty without saying a word. In frustration, Sam ran a hand through his bangs, because of course, Dean had a point. His brother was a freaking dog and couldn't speak so what was the use of asking questions a dog couldn't possibly answer?

Sam grunted in exasperation and sat down on the edge of the sofa. Time to rethink. Dean didn't move, just rolled his eyes and waited for Sam to get with the program.

"Alright. I assume you can understand me, so let's try something logical." He thought about Jess sleeping next door, and make a quick proviso. "We need to be quiet. How about you tap your paw once for yes, twice for no."

Dean sat up, ears pricked, and very deliberately tapped his right paw. Sam couldn't help it. He grinned. He thought for a minute, annoyed with himself that every question he thought of seemed to begin with why, or where, or how, or when.

"Who did this to you? Was it a witch?"

One tap. Yes.

"How long have you been like this? Did it happen much before you bumped into us on Campus?

Two taps. No. And a look of irritation for asking two questions at once.

"So you'd only just become a dog when we found you?"

One tap. Yes.

Sam continued the laborious process of asking single questions until he had established as much of the background as Dean was able to share or remember, which probably wasn't half as much as either of them would have liked.

The facts were:

The witch hadn't been on Campus but somewhere in Palo Alto, and she was dead.

Dad wasn't with Dean, and Dean didn't know exactly where their father was. In fact, Dean hadn't heard from Dad for several weeks and was worried about the lack of contact, though of course, even while Dean was a dog, Sam had to infer the worried part from canine body language, as his brother was never going to answer a direct question about his feelings whatever form he was in.

Dean had been be-spelled for least at two days now, so it was very possible the curse would wear off sometime soon.

Sam leaned back on the sofa cushions and sighed heavily.

"Jesus Christ, Dean. What the hell am I supposed to do with you now? What if the spell wears off while Jess is here? Or in front of our friends?"

Dean whined softly and slumped down again, making Sam feel like a complete dick. Which just wasn't fair, because Dean in human form didn't have that power. Dean was just using and abusing his new kicked puppy look in the most literal fashion.

"Sam?" Jessica's voice from the doorway behind him made him jump guiltily. He spun round and couldn't help drinking in the sight of her gorgeous long legs and the delightful sliver of tanned stomach where her ripped Smurf t-shirt was riding up. Sleepy Jess was very distracting.

"What on earth are you doing up at this time of night?" She asked.

"I – er – De – Sirius just wanted a drink, didn't you, boy?"

Sam looked down to find Dean was somehow managing to look lecherous. His tongue was hanging out and he had quirked one eyebrow, which actually wasn't far off his human face's expression when checking out a fine rack on a pretty girl. Well, apart from the more obvious drooling, that was. It looked like Dean the dog was as likely to get distracted by a fine looking woman as Dean the man, which was just typical. Sam suddenly recalled how the dog – Dean – had been shoving his nose right in Jessica's crotch yesterday. Sam flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Oh god. His big brother had been sniffing his girlfriend's lady parts. It was the school prom all over again but worse, because Sam loved Jess.

At least this version of Dean was easier to handle. Sam filled a bowl with tap water and put it on the floor, then grabbed Dean's collar and dragged. He stuffed Dean's offending nose into the bowl, ignoring the growl of protest.

"Here you go, boy, drink up."

Dean gave Sam a look of disgust that clearly said, water? Where's the beer, dude? Sam shrugged. You're a dog, bro. Dogs drink water. Suck it up…

Jess yawned.

"Come back to bed, babe, you can play with Sirius in the morning."

"What would I do without you, Jessica Moore?" Sam said, uncaring that his expression might have been called sappy by a certain brother who was too busy pretending to be thirsty to call him on it, besides the fact that said brother was a dog and therefore lacking in the powers of sarcastic speech.

"Crash and burn, baby, crash and burn." Jess said smiling, as she wrapped her arms around him and drew him back through to their bedroom.

"And don't pee on the floor while we're asleep." Sam threw his parting shot, gaining a look of guilty disgust from Dean that made Sam grin even wider as he let the bead curtain fall and kicked the bedroom door shut. No more doggie comforters that night.

0x0x0x0

Dean was in trouble. More trouble than just being a dog, that is, though obviously, it was all part of the same thing. Freaking witches. The trouble was, and this was the whole problem in a dog bowl, he was finding it hard to think. Two days as a dog and already life was so much simpler. Which was good, except there were things he should be doing. Important things that he was having difficulty remembering over the canine imperatives of being with Sam, protecting Sam, protecting Jess, eating, sniffing stuff, peeing on stuff and finding some tail to chase. Which, he could hear Sam saying, was nothing new for Dean. Most of that was what drove human Dean from day to day anyway, wasn't it?

Apart from the desire to chase the other kind of tail, like squirrels. And cats. And people on bicycles, or roller blades, or skate boards. And balls, and sticks and Frisbees. That was all dog.

But coming back to the more important necessities of his doggie life, there was the core of Dean's memory problem. The dog's imperatives were very close to his own, close enough that he'd felt so comfortable with them, at some point during the time he'd been transformed, he'd forgotten that he needed to fight his way out of this situation, or why.

And more importantly, he'd missed his chance of warning Sam about that Brady creature. Now he was going to have to find a way of 'talking' to Sam again without Jessica's knowledge, assuming he didn't just change back into a human overnight. He paced up and down the kitchen for a while until he forgot why he had been agitated, at which point he found the blanket Jess had laid out for him before he'd managed to sneak onto their bed, and curled up on it. It smelt nice. Of Jess and Sam, and faintly of detergent. It was soothing.

Dean slept and dreamt happy dreams of chasing rabbits, which was quite an achievement, as his dog-self hadn't yet seen one and his human self had never even thought about running around after a fat bunny. Well, unless you count that rather well endowed sorority girl in the Bunny Girl's outfit that one time in Pasadena….

Dean slept so deeply he never found out that dogs snore.

0x0x0x0

Brady had seriously considered returning to little Matt the freshman after Sam and Jess failed to show at the party. Luckily for the oblivious Matt, Brady found someone else to take out his frustration on, whose blood was just right for making a trunk call. Someone less likely to be missed. He really didn't want the Palo Alto PD bumbling around getting in the way of his plans for Jessica, and this scrawny little street-whore didn't even have a pimp to miss her. Besides, on All Hallows Eve, there were so many fools walking around covered in false blood, it would probably be days before anyone even reported the crime.

He hated talking to Azazel, in spite of the fact that the demon lord was the main reason Orias was free to be Brady and enjoy himself topside in a human meat suit, but he knew he was storing up trouble for himself by avoiding reporting in, especially this close to the conclusion of his job.

"My lord, it's Orias." Brady stirred the bubbling blood with his finger and waited for a reply. Behind him on the floor, the dead girl's neck gaped wide in a dreadful parody of a smile.

Sunday 1st November 2005. All Saints Day

The following morning was a Sunday, and Sam had evidently decided to sleep in. Or worse, he was busy having sex with Jessica again, which was just not fair, for all sorts of reasons, not least because Dean's liaison with his lady-dog-friend had been so rudely interrupted. And if that wasn't the most disturbing thought he'd had since his transformation, Dean didn't know what was.

The kitchen clock said it was 10am when Dean woke up, and found he was, sadly, still a dog. By 10.30 Dean was in a lot more trouble. Because, you know that thing Sam said about not peeing in the kitchen and then making him drink a load of water at 3am? Well…

Dean did the pacing thing again, trying to take his mind off his full bladder. It didn't help. He whined as he discovered there was no dog equivalent of crossing your legs, and decided that cock-block or not, this called for desperate measures. He stood outside Sam's bedroom door and barked. Nothing. He tried again, then scratched at the door, slightly encouraged when he heard a muffled giggle from Jess and a low rumble from Sam.

By the time Sam eventually stumbled to the bedroom door in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, Dean was nearly cross eyed from the effort of holding it in. So when Sam delayed things even further by pulling on a pair of trainers and jogging pants on before he opened the apartment door, Dean's patience had completely run out. He was out of the door faster than a silver bullet from his Colt 1911. Watering the first tree was his only priority, all thoughts of monsters, brothers and even his own humanity scattered on the breeze.

Sam eventually caught up with Dean a little way down the road. Dean was feeling a bit better, having watered several plants and a wall before finally slowing down and starting to think rational thoughts again. His little brother had managed to fasten his trainers as well as the track pants and looked set for a morning run. Dean was up for that, though not so keen on the idea of allowing Sam to clip on that lead he'd brought with him. What was Sam thinking anyway? He knew Dean was the dog - or the dog was Dean. Whatever. Why would he need a piece of leather to tether the two of them together? So he skipped out of the way every time Sam attempted to approach him with the offending article. After the third try Sam threw up his hands.

"Okay, okay, but for god's sake don't go haring off while we are running round; I don't think dogs are allowed in the Rancho San Antonio Country Park. And even if they are, I'm betting folks like dogs to be on a lead round there. We should be ok if we stick to the lower end of the trails, I don't want a warden catching us."

Dean grunted. Stupid humans and their stupid rules. Sam stretched out his long legs and settled into an easy lope and Dean fell in beside him happily. This was more like it. Running was good. Sam was good. Running with Sam was even better. It had been too long since they'd done this, just the two of them pounding out the miles in a companionable silence. Dean remembered the last time they'd trained together, before everything had blown up in his face when Sam dropped his bombshell about Stanford. Dad had…

Shit. Dad. Dean's rhythm faltered. How could he have forgotten? He needed to get Sam to help him find the Impala and his cell phone, see if Dad had been in touch. Surely this damned spell had to wear off soon, it had been… Dean slowed down and almost stopped, disconcerted by the fact that he couldn't remember how long it was since the witch bespelled him. He was losing it. He looked around. They had largely left suburbia behind and had reached more open land. There was a mown green field on their left and the neatest cemetery Dean could recall seeing on their right. Sam had almost reached the end of the road and was yards ahead of him. Dammit. He was losing Sam now too. Get a grip, Winchester!

Dean picked up his pace again and chased after his brother, wondering how he was going to get Sam to understand what they needed to do. At the end of the cemetery, Sam took a right and they were on a road that was rougher and more like a track, heading north with some wilder looking land to the west. Dean could smell pine and juniper over the scent of blacktop, earth and the fresh sweat of Sam. It smelled less cultivated, wilder and so much more exciting, so that Dean ears pricked up with renewed interest.

They hadn't gone more than a few yards along the track when something completely different assaulted Dean's sensitive nose. Forgetting about Sam and Dad and any other human concern, Dean stopped dead to sniff the air. This scent was enticing. Intoxicating. Irresistible. A tiny human part of him vaguely identified the smell as being something like liquorice. Anise, a little voice whispered inside his head. The dog part didn't need to identify it, he just wanted to follow, follow, find, find. There was a hint of something else, something far less palatable mixed in with the lovely scent, that Dean almost recognised; but again, it wasn't enough to override the dog's urgent need, and Dean was off. Nose to the ground, he trotted off the path and into the brush of the Rancho San Antonio Preserve.

Concentrating on tracking the rich anise scent, Dean didn't notice that the tangle of huckleberry, elder and wild currant he was stepping on lay over a freshly dug pit until the brush gave way under his weight, sending him tumbling down. He gave an involuntary yelp as he felt a sharp pain. He struggled to all fours, dazed and confused. He found the source of the pain immediately. The hole he'd fallen into wasn't that deep, not even as deep as a grave, but someone had very deliberately lined it with a row of sharpened stakes, one of which had pierced him high up in his shoulder. He stared at the other stakes and gave a little shudder. He had been very lucky not to have ended up impaled like one of Vlad Țepeș' victims. He was kind of impressed he'd been able to remember Count Dracula's real name. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Dean moved towards the edge of the pit, looking for a way out, wincing as his injured shoulder protested. He could feel the blood running freely, but the familiar metallic scent of iron and copper couldn't mask the much stronger scent of sulphur and rot that wafted over him from above and behind. Brady! He whirled around, a growl building up in his throat. Tyson Brady, or whatever was masquerading in the shape of the man, was standing on the edge of the pit, his body shadowed by the bright morning sun behind him, so that all Dean could see was the white flash of his teeth and an aureole of pale yellow hair.

"Well, you took your time getting here, you ugly mutt," Brady said, his voice a lazy smug drawl that just made Dean even madder. Dean snarled and leapt at the edge underneath Brady's feet, only to have the soft sandy earth crumble under his front paws and send him tumbling backwards into the pit again. He twisted his body just in time to avoid being speared in the back by one of Brady's stakes again. His shoulder burned like fire and he couldn't help a whimper of pain.

Frustrated, Dean realised he couldn't reach either the top of the hole or Brady, especially injured as he was. Fortunately, the creature didn't seem to have recognised that Dean was no ordinary dog, so perhaps that was something Dean could use to his advantage. Brady was bound to underestimate him, right? All he had to do was wait until this Brady creature had got his kicks out of tormenting a dumb dog then make his escape. Dean could to that, he could be patient.

Sadly, Dean had no opportunity to test this theory as he discovered that Brady wasn't prepared to wait, and had some deeper plan behind his carefully laid trap for Sam's dog. Brady brought something out from behind his back. With the sun in his eyes, Dean couldn't quite make out what it was until the man-thing-whatever-the-fuck-he-was swung it round and connected with Dean's skull with a sickening crack.

As Dean slumped into blackness, recognition came. It was a fucking shovel. Brady had just taken Dean out with the shovel he must have dug the hole with. Son of a …

0x0x0x0

Brady smiled. That had gone well. He looked down at the unconscious bleeding animal, making sure it was definitely out for the count before jumping down into the hole. He worked around the dog's body, removing the wicked stakes and then scuffing up the edges of his pit to make it look more like a naturally occurring hollow. Satisfied it would pass all but the most detailed scrutiny, he double checked that the animal was still breathing. His plan required the dog to survive. Dead it wouldn't hold Sam's attention long enough to allow Brady to accomplish his mission.

"Excellent." He said, allowing the dog's head to drop back to the earth with a dull thud. Blood was puddling under the beast from the wound in its shoulder, but slow enough that it shouldn't bleed out before Brady allowed Sam to find it. And he'd hit the damn thing hard enough that it would be out cold for a couple of hours or so. It should be safe enough to leave it here and go find Sam now, then. He gave the wretched animal a couple of hard kicks to the ribs for good measure, smiling when he heard a bone crack. Sometimes Brady missed the simple pleasures of Hell, so it was nice to revisit them when the opportunity arose.

"That's for being so impolite last night," he said, smiling vindictively.

Brady hauled himself out of the hole and carefully brushed himself down, removing earth and smears of blood from his running gear until he could pass muster as just grubby from running in the brush, not from digging holes and beating up a pathetic dog. He set off at a leisurely jog back down to the Coyote Trail where he knew he'd find Sam, probably already looking for his mutt. From what Brady knew of John Winchester, he was a little surprised that Sam was such a creature of routine, running the same route every Sunday morning, but who was he to criticise when Sam's habits had made his job that much easier. Laying the anise trail for the dog and setting the trap had been easier than slicing the throat of a two-bit whore. Brady knew Sam would come along that way and just had to wait an hour or so longer than he'd expected. He'd make the lovely Jessica pay for delaying Sam like that and making Brady endure the boredom; he could guess what the couple had been up to before Sam's run. It cheered him immensely to think that Jess had enjoyed her last night with Sam. In fact, all of this anticipation was really enhancing his mood enormously.

His smile grew exponentially wider when he hit the trail and saw the unmistakable gangling figure silhouetted against the ridge up ahead, and heard Sam's voice calling for his dog.

The end game was in sight at last. Brady really loved it when a plan came together.

0x0x0x0

"Dean!"

Sam's voice was getting hoarse from shouting, and his mood was swinging wildly between furious and anxious as time went by and there was no sign of his errant brother. He glanced at his watch again, as if knowing how long Dean had been missing was going to help. It was only twenty five minutes, though it felt like longer. Sam had been up and down this same few hundred meters of track three times now, since he'd noticed Dean had disappeared. Nothing. No barking, no snuffling – no naked human Dean staggering around. That was half the trouble, right there. What if Dean changed back out here, when anyone might come by any time? This park was really popular with joggers and cyclists, even horse riders, as well as families bringing their kids to Deer Hollow Farm to see the animals on a Sunday afternoon.

Sam couldn't believe he'd been so chronically stupid – coming out here without even considering the possibility of Dean changing back. He didn't even have a t shirt on that he could've handed over for Dean to wear, and how would they get Dean unnoticed back to the apartment? California might be fairly relaxed compared to some American states, but public nudity wasn't easily ignored, even by the most laid back of people.

Speaking of people, Sam suddenly spotted a lone figure jogging up the path towards him and quickly struggled to compose himself. He wasn't helping anyone if he got reported to the police for acting all wild and deranged in the Country Park. It was a relief of sorts when he recognised the slightly stocky figure was Tyson. At least he didn't have to pretend he wasn't worried about losing his bro – dog. Brady wasn't likely to report him for bringing a dog into the park not on a leash and then letting it run off on its own. In fact, given Dean's as yet unexplained antipathy for his friend, perhaps Brady's arrival would help draw Dean out of whatever doggy adventure he'd gotten caught up in now.

"Hey, Sam! I was wondering if I'd see you out running today," Brady called out as he approached. He slowed to a walk then stopped as he arrived in front of Sam, raising an eyebrow as he took in Sam's dishevelled state. Sam flushed. "Jess said you'd gone out later than usual so I thought I might see if I could catch you up, join you round the usual trails - but you seem to have finished your run early. You aren't injured are you? Because, dude, I am not carrying your gigantic ass back to town."

"Yeah, well, I had to stop running because D…Sirius has disappeared and I can't find him."

"Fuck, you didn't keep him on a leash? Man, you are in deep shit if the rangers find him."

"Thank you Captain Obvious," Sam paused a moment at the unanticipated pang using one of Dean's favourite phrases caused him, and Brady jumped into the gap with an easy grin.

"Want me to help you look for him? He can't have gone far, right? Probably chasing a rabbit or something."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. Jess will kill me if I don't bring that dog home. I know we've only had him for a couple of days but she really loves him." And wasn't that just typical Dean? Dog or man, somehow charming his way into your heart when you're not looking, Sam thought.

With Brady to help, Sam decided to go off the beaten track and begin combing the slopes north and west of the Coyote Trail. The two men started at the farthest point Sam had reached, making their way up to the crest of the ridge, calling all the time. Sam just hoped that Dean would remember his dog alias as well as he usually remembered any of his cover stories for their hunts, and would answer to Sirius when he heard their shouts.

It was past noon by the time they eventually found Dean, or rather, Brady found the hole Dean had fallen into, almost literally stumbled across it. Brady slipped and almost fell over the edge of the deep divot, but was saved by Sam's quick reactions. Sam grabbed Brady's arm and yanked him backwards, and when they both leaned over the edge to see where Brady might have ended up, that was when Sam spotted a patch of matted dark and light fur, half buried under a mini landslip of earth and broken plant debris.

"Fuck. I think it's him," Sam said and threw himself recklessly into a slide that took him down to Dean's side. Dean was lying stretched out on his left flank, legs out straight, and Sam's relief was palpable at seeing his brother's ribs expanding, albeit slowly.

Somehow the fact that Dean was now a dog and not a human didn't matter a damn and Sam slid immediately into the routine of checking for injuries, just as if he hadn't been more than three years out of the life. Brady helped to half dig, half brush off the dirt that was covering Dean's body, while Sam's hands, calm and competent in spite of the way his heart was racing, ran over Dean's forelegs, ribs, rear legs, even his tail, searching and mapping anomalies.

Satisfied there was no spinal damage, Sam carefully lifted Dean to turn him over, and that was when he found the nasty, bloody wound in the left shoulder. Sam hissed, causing Brady to look across, curious. But Sam's attention had already moved onto the bloody matted patch over Dean's left eye.

"How is he?" Brady asked.

"Looks like a bad concussion and there's a pretty deep puncture wound here," Sam gestured to the injured areas and Brady pulled a sympathetic face that Sam barely noticed. "There may be damage to his ribs too, and bruising I can't see because of all the fur."

Normal Winchester triage was not going to work, not with Dean in this form and this bad a shape. Sam needed professional help, which meant a vet, and quick. "I have to get him to the VCA pet hospital in Stanford."

He looked up, his attention sharply focussed on Brady. "Do you have your cell?"

Sam swore when Brady shook his head. "Don't bring it when I'm running, but my truck is parked just at the end of this trail. Do you mean that vet place off El Camino that Zach volunteers at? Come on, I'll drive you."

Sam scooped Dean up into his arms. Dean the dog was a lot lighter than Dean the man, but still heavy after a few hundred yards, and Sam daren't try anything faster than a brisk walk, for fear of worsening Dean's injuries. He refused to lay Dean on the flat bed of Brady's truck, insisted on keeping Dean close, draped distressingly limp over Sam's lap in the shotgun seat, reluctant to release his hold. He needed to literally keep his fingers on the pulse, the continued reassurance of life the only thing keeping his hands from shaking. As it was, he could feel Dean's warm blood seeping through his track pants and coating his fingers.

Fuck, Dean. You stupid bastard. I swore I'd never do this again.

Give Brady his due, he treated it like a real emergency, and drove right at the edge of the law to get Sam to the pet hospital in the quickest time possible. Sam barely noticed Brady trailing behind him into the reception, except on the barest edges of his awareness, even though it was Brady who smoothed the way by explaining they were friends of Zach. Having a close friend who regularly helped out at the hospital as part of his work experience definitely helped speed up the registration process, though it did nothing to curb Sam's burning impatience and fear.

When the vet emerged and beckoned him to bring Dean through Sam was there in a single stride.

"We'll have to get him x-rayed first, check for any other damage and for splinters in that wound. You say he fell into a pit of some kind?"

"Yes, and there were a lot of broken branches so I'm assuming that's where the puncture wound came from."

The vet, a middle aged, pleasant faced balding guy who's name Sam had already forgotten, gestured to Sam to lay Dean down on the table while he pulled the x-ray equipment into position. The guy had to guide Sam with a firm hand on his arm to move them both behind the protective screen while he fired off several shots of radiation. Then he made Sam stay put while he manouevered Dean into different positions. Sam was hard pressed to supress his jitters, knowing the guy was just being thorough. But Dean hadn't so much as twitched a muscle the entire time, and Sam knew that was not a good sign.

The vet – Dr Bechemal, hey, call me Harvey – eventually gave up trying to get Sam to wait outside with Brady when Sam made it clear he wasn't going to budge.

"If you are going to loom over me you might as well make yourself useful, son." Harvey said.

In the end, Sam helped to cut then shave off the thick fur and irrigate the deep tear in Dean's shoulder, while Harvey sorted out the jagged gash over Dean's left eye.

"There's a lot of bruising to the temple here," Harvey observed as he worked. "If I didn't know better, I'd think someone had hit the poor old boy with a blunt instrument. This is going to need a few stitches."

Sam's hands stilled and he looked up with a frown. However, before he could take that thought any further there was a knock at the door and Brady appeared.

"Your assistant said it would be okay to interrupt," he said to the vet, then turning to Sam, "It's gone 3pm, I'm sure Jess will be worried about you both." Brady held up a hand at Sam's start of guilt. Shit, Jess. He'd forgotten about her in his panic, how could he have done that? – but Brady was continuing, offering him a solution.

"Why don't I run over to your apartment and explain what's going on. I can take care of her while you are taking care of Sirius, here."

"I…thanks, Brady. Tell her I'll stay here until I know D-Sirius is going to pull through."

Brady turned to leave, then stopped, groping in the pocket of his sweats.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. Here." He found what he was looking for and handed it over. "Take my cell phone. You can ring us later with an update, yeah?"

Sam was still staring at the darkened display on the cell phone as Brady closed the door behind him.

"You need to wait outside now, Sam," Harvey said. "I'll let you know what the x-rays show as soon as I've got the results. I've made Sirius comfortable for the time being, why don't you let me go see what is going on inside his head."

Sam swallowed down an urge to tell Harvey that the vet really didn't want to know what was going on inside his brother's head, given that it was likely to be pretty un-doglike in content, and knowing Dean, probably x-rated. Sam allowed the vet to steer him out into the small but blessedly empty reception area where he reluctantly sat down in one of the cheap plastic chairs. He could hear Dean's voice in his head, telling him You're out of practise, college boy. Let yourself get soft. Sam couldn't help thinking the little voice in his head was right.

He shifted uncomfortably on the too small chair. Something hard was digging into his thigh. Then he remembered Brady's cell, pulled it out and switched on the display. The clock told him it was nearly 5pm and he hadn't called Jess yet. Fuck, he was a bad boyfriend. Awash with guilt, he punched in Jessica's number.

"Sam! What's happening? How's our boy?" Jess didn't even wait for Sam to say hello before launching into a barrage of questions. Sam was abruptly overcome by weariness and all he wanted to do was bury himself in Jessica's warm embrace. He didn't want to be spending anxious hours in yet another hospital, albeit an animal hospital, not their usual regular Winchester-ripped-to-shreds sort of hospital waiting helplessly to see if his brother would pull through…and now even his brain was rambling.

He stood up and paced while he talked to Jess, filling her in on what little they knew so far.

"But he's stable, right? So that's a good thing." Jess was looking for reassurance, and Sam could deny her nothing. Besides, there was no point in both of them worrying.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be fine. But I'd like to hang around, stay here until he wakes up. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes, of course, you have to stay. You can't leave Sirius there on his own. Brady says he's going to stay with me for a bit, keep me company," Jess lowered her voice to conspiratorial levels. "To be honest, I think he just wants to play with your Nintendo…" Sam could hear Brady chuckling in the background, then yelling something about it all being lies, damned lies, and he cracked a smile for the first time that day. He had almost forgotten the life he'd built for himself here; the normal, safe, every day life that had nothing to do with hunting, or monsters or ridiculous bewitched brothers who always seem to get themselves into life threatening situations.

"Tell Brady to keep his paws off my stuff – and thanks for the loan of his cell. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Course, babe. If you are lucky I might even bake something special for my boys."

"Thanks, Jess. I love you."

"Love you too, babe."

He terminated the call and blushed when he caught the diminutive receptionist's indulgent smile. His face only got even redder when his stomach reminded him, vocally, that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"Sorry," he said, "With all this going on I haven't had time to eat."

The receptionist's indulgent expression immediately morphed into sympathy.

"There's a pizza place two doors down; I think they do takeaway."

"Yeah, well, thanks but I don't have any money on me. I came out this morning to go for a run when this happened and all I've got on me are my keys and my friend's phone."

The plump receptionist – she told him her name was Marcia – was horrified at this tale of woe, and insisted on lending Sam a twenty. "Your nice friend - Tyson, wasn't it? – told me all about it. And I can always get the money back off your friend Zach on his next shift if you run out on me, sugar!"

She practically shoved him out of the door and pointed him in the right direction, though he could hardly have missed the place, as it was only a few yards away. When Sam returned with Dean's favourite meat feast pizza and a large soda, Marcia was closing up the clinic. He stood for a moment, nonplussed. Marcia must have read his worry in his face. Dammit. He used to be better at hiding shit like that.

"Oh, it's okay, honey, we close the hospital to the public at 5.30 on a Sunday, but Harvey's fine with you stopping here until your pup is out of the woods. He'll be hanging round for another hour or so any way, checking on all our patients before heading home. Not that we have many cases at the moment, just your dog, a couple of rabbits with mange, a stray Labrador with a broken leg and a Leopard gecko with a nasty abscess." Marcia shut the cabinet behind the counter and locked it.

"Sometimes Harvey sleeps over if a patient's condition is serious, but your boy is obviously showing signs of improvement, because Harvey said he's all set to head out once he's done."

"So, what – I'll be able to take De…Sirius home?"

"Oh, I don't know about that, honey, you'll have to ask Harvey. Go on through, he's out back. Second door on the right."

Sam was halfway through the door before Marcia had finished talking. "Thanks," he said, a mumbled afterthought thrown over his shoulder. Marcia smiled and Sam thought how Dean would totally have hit on her, and how badly he wanted to see Dean back in action again - flirting, stuffing his face with pie, washing it down with a bottle of beer and grinning at Sam for getting grossed out by his uncouth behaviour. It had never been Dean that Sam had wanted to get away from. His brother had just been collateral damage in Sam's mini war with their Dad. Sam had seen how each argument was slicing Dean up more than it appeared to affect their father, but been too angry and too desperate to escape from the endless cycle of worry and fear and fighting, to do anything about putting it right. Not that he'd had any clue how to fix things anyway.

Now he had Dean back, but his brother was even farther away from Sam than ever before, trapped inside an animal's body with no way of telling Sam what had happened to him.

The vet was still in the treatment room when Sam entered.

"Ah, you are back just in time, Sam. I was just finishing up for the evening."

"Yeah, Marcia explained you were closing up – she said it was okay with you for me to stay with my br—dog until he wakes up?"

"Yes, yes of course. Any friend of Zach's… Sirius is still heavily sedated, but I expect he should start coming round in a couple of hours or so. I've thoroughly cleaned out that puncture wound, there were a few splinters lodged quite deep but it's packed with antibiotics so the risk of infection is minimal. You will just need to keep an eye on it and stop him licking it while it heals. Let me know if you think he'll need to be fitted with a cone of shame before he leaves. He has cracked three ribs, but just as with humans, there is very little I can do for him there – I will give you some pain killers for him tomorrow.

I was more concerned about the concussion, but he did regain consciousness briefly before I had to put him under for the operation, so I think he probably has a very hard skull! These sorts of collie-crosses are usually pretty resilient, in my experience."

Sam nodded, pleased that Dean's dog form hadn't sustained too much damage, in Winchester terms anyway, but all he was thinking was that he wanted his brother back. This curse had gone on long enough, and any comedy value had been leached out of the situation the moment Dean had gotten himself injured. Not that Sam wouldn't store up any number of memories with which to tease Dean for a hundred years once his brother was restored to him safe and sound.

Sam walked over to where Dean was lying on the recovery table. He rested a hand gently on Dean's flank, taking comfort from the steady rise and fall, the warmth of skin underneath the thick fur. Dean looked smaller like this, more vulnerable, the bandages around his shoulder startlingly white against the black of his coat. Sam had been here too many times before; it was weird how Dean being a dog didn't feel any different from Dean being Dean, wounded and out cold on a hospital bed.

"Don't look so worried, Sam. He'll be fine, you know that, don't you? I'll leave the spare keys, just lock up when you leave, and post the keys back through the door."

Sam didn't look up as Dr Bechemal left, just kept stroking Dean's head, lost in the contrast between silky soft texture of Dean's ears and the coarser longer hair of his ruff. He thought he'd miss this, the ability to touch his brother and show his affection so openly. Sam tore himself away reluctantly to pull up a chair and settled down to wait for Dean to wake up.

After an hour or so, Sam's eyes grew heavy. He dozed and dreamed fitfully.

0x0x0x0

Concussion dreams. That was the only explanation Dean could think of for the head-trip he'd been having. Turned into a dog and adopted by Sam? For fuck's sake, he hated to think what a psychoanalyst would make of that particular fantasy. Or what Sam would make of it either for that matter. Best not ever tell him, that was the solution to that one. Dean's swim back up from the depths of unconsciousness was slow and confused, but he was used to it – he'd done it too many times before not to recognise that smell of antiseptic and too warm, too stale air as being a hospital, and the groggy, floating feeling weighing down his limbs as being due to some pretty hefty medication. He wondered vaguely what he'd done to himself this time. His memories seemed to be somewhat foggy.

Except there was something odd about this hospital, not least being that he didn't fit on the bed. Which was such a level weirdness, even in Dean's life of abnormal, that it finally woke him up. His eyes flew open and he found himself tumbling to the floor. He let out an involuntary yell as the pain of landing broke through his concussion induced haze.

"F-fuck!" Agony lanced through his left shoulder and a dull insistent pounding started up inside his head that left him a stuttering mess, sprawled inelegantly and buck naked on the cold marble tiled floor. He was so disorientated it took a moment to register the murmuring of the low voice and warm touch of big hands helping him up. It might have been a while since he'd heard that voice, except in his dreams, but it was one he knew better than his own.

"S'm? What the fuck you doin' here?" Dean teetered wildly as he reached the giddy heights of being vertical, and was glad Sam the Wall was there to lean on. Even though he was mystified as to why Sam was here at all. The last thing he remembered with any clarity was Louisiana, that voodoo thing that Dad'd sent him to do, before disappearing into the mists of Dean's mind.

What had happened after that?

"Dude," Sam was saying, his brother's breath moist and warm on Dean's neck, making him shiver. "I live here, remember?" That made no sense.

"Whaddya mean, you live here? In a hospital? How'd you get to Louisiana anyway? You're s'posed to be in California. Dumbass." Dean paused, considering. "Geeky dumbass," he amended, to take account of Sam being a full ride to Stanford and all. Even doped up, Dean could almost hear Sam's eye roll and grinned. He shoots, he scores! Damn, he was awesome.

"Dean, this is not a hospital, it's an animal clinic, and you're in Palo Alto, don't you remember? Come on, I need to sort you out before we go find the Impala and your clothes."

Wait. What? Palo Alto? And he'd lost the Impala? That was so many flavours of wrong it stopped Dean dead, left him swaying on the balls of his feet, oblivious to the fact that Sam's arm round his naked shoulder was the only reason he was still upright. Sam was trying to steer him over to a chair and after a few seconds, Dean allowed his brother to guide him across the room and sit him down. There were bandages round his sore shoulder but they were hanging loose, like someone had botched the job, so Dean knew that couldn't have been Sammy. Sammy was a past master at binding wounds.

Man, he hated concussions. They always scrambled his brain. He struggled to capture the memories that were slipping through his grasp as if they'd been smeared with butter. He almost wiped his hands down his thighs at the thought, which was just stupid.

He'd been in New Orleans, Dad had taken off saying he had something to do. Dean had finished the voodoo job then… Then what? Somehow he'd ended up in California, and injured. Sam was talking to him while long fingers worked efficiently, tightening the bandages around Dean's shoulder and re-bandaging Dean's buzzing head. So he had a concussion, and a hole in his shoulder. Wasn't that just peachy? He breathed a deep sigh, and discovered his broken ribs. This just keeps getting better and better, he thought. And over and under it all, woven through him like loose thread, was the nagging feeling that he'd forgotten something important.

Something beesides how he'd arrived here, how he'd gotten injured, and how he'd somehow lost his Baby, that is. Just how long had he been in Palo Alto anyway? The way Sam was talking, it was more than a day. He must have been thinking out loud, because Sam answered him.

"I don't know how long you were here before that witch turned you into a dog, Dean. I mean, it was hard enough working out that the damn dog was you in the first place, let alone having a meaningful conversation with canine-you."

"I was a dog? Oh god. I didn't hump anything, did I?" That got him an extra hard eye roll from Sam, which was a bit unfair, because Dean was sure that was a valid concern.

"I'm not going to discuss your mating habits, Dean, and besides I wasn't with doggie-you 24/7." Sam finished fiddling with Dean's bandages and stepped back, causing Dean to nearly topple off the chair, which was when he realised he must have been leaning heavily on his brother. His exposed skin prickled with the chill where Sam's bulk had been sheltering him from the air conditioning's drafts, and he shivered. Sam's face was unreadable as he looked at Dean.

"I need to find you some clothes. Can you remember where you left the Impala?"

Dean thought perhaps he might. The effects of the head injury must be wearing off because certain images were sliding back into his head, all tangled up with the return of pain. A woman, hair wild as she screamed at him, just before he blew her away. Waking up with fur and a tail. Finding Sam, and his Jessica. His mind shied away from the latter pretty swiftly, he could come back to that one later, it was actually easier to think about the dog part. Then the Impala, parked up near the witch's house down by a wide open space - soccer pitches, trees, what had it been it called? Green…no, Greer Park.

"Yeah, yeah. You know Colorado Avenue, Greer Park? I…I think I left her there, round the corner from where the witch lived."

He struggled to his feet, swearing when his naked skin stuck to the plastic chair, peeling off painfully when he rose.

"Yeah, I know it. And you are staying right here. Sit!" Sam was back in Dean's personal space, looming as only Sam could do, since he'd acquired a load more inches when he was sixteen. Except now he had bulk to go with it. For extra emphasis. If Dean didn't know his brother - and he carefully ignored the little voice at the back of his mind that was asking him if he really did know Sam, after two years not talking – Dean might have been intimidated.

As it was, Dean sat back down because he was feeling dizzy and his legs were wobbly, not because Sam told him to. Damn. Having been a dog for a while seemed to have left Dean with a residual urge to be obedient for Sam, probably riding on the back of years of John Winchester's quasi-military training. That thought was so disturbing Dean sat uncharacteristically quiet and docile while Sam found him a veterinarian's equivalent of a doctor's white coat to wear, and swallowed the two rather large tablets Sam gave him – pain killers, Sam informed him, though Dean hadn't asked. He didn't even protest when Sam wrapped him up in a fleecy blanket dotted with black paw prints before leaving Dean locked into the Pet hospital while Sam went to look for the Impala, an indignity that would normally had had him yelling his disgust.

He did rouse momentarily as Sam was closing the door, enough to get in a parting shot on behalf of the Impala.

"Hey! Don't you jimmy the door or try hotwiring my baby, dude. My keys will be in my jacket pocket, you'll just have to find my clothes first, right?"

Sam's dismissive hand wave wasn't reassuring, and Dean slumped back into the hard plastic chair disconsolately, huddling into the too-short doggy blanket, his pale legs sticking out of the bottom so he must have looked like some sort of refugee from a disaster movie.

Man, this sucked balls. And now he could no longer do that to himself either, a recollection that had him blushing.

0x0x0x0

Seeing Dean like this was getting what he wished for then not knowing how to handle it. Somehow since changing back into his proper, human form his brother was more than just physically naked, the latter being a sight Sam had seen so often it didn't even register. No, this was different. Sam felt Dean had been stripped bare in a way that was more than just skin deep and he couldn't wait to get out of there; any excuse would do. Which was ironic considering how he'd been longing for Dean to become himself again, ever since discovering their adopted dog was his brother.

One good thing, Greer Park wasn't that far to jog from the animal hospital on El Camino Real. The sun had set several hours ago, and the desert air had cooled with the coming of the darkness, but running kept Sam warm. It didn't take him long to spot the sleek black beauty of the Impala, parked alongside some trees behind a couple of soccer goals in the park. Across the field floated the laughter and banter of the boarders in the floodlit Skateboard park, and the ever present hum of traffic on the Bayshore Road, but the residential close where Dean had left the Impala was quiet. The families were probably all settled down over their TV dinners and their computers, living their normal apple pie lives, safe behind their carefully cultivated gardens and concrete driveways. Unwittingly safer now the witch that used to live next door to them was dead.

Tracking down the deceased witch's house and Dean's clothes was a harder task. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew Dean would freak if he didn't get Dad's leather jacket back, Sam would have risked Dean's wrath and jimmied the Impala. In spite of Dean's fears, Sam could have done it without leaving a mark on her. He might have been out of the family business for a few years but some skills never leave you – and he'd had a good teacher.

Sam was nothing if not methodical, and using the car as his starting point, he eventually spotted an anomaly in one of the whitewashed houses at the end of the col de sac facing the park. Most of the residences in the close had large double garages built into their fronts, all uniformly presenting a closed face on the outside world. All bar one, where the left hand garage door had been left open; just a foot gap at the bottom of the rollup, but it gaped black as a mouth and beckoned to Sam. He approached with caution, wary of activating security lights that might alarm watchful neighbours, but if there had been any, they were no longer working. The streetlight across the way didn't reach as far as the bland front of this house, and Sam was able to slip through the shadows to lift the garage door a little higher so he could slide in under the gap.

Once his eyes adjusted to the minimal light, Sam could see that his instincts had been spot on. An internal door to the house stood ajar, and Sam had no doubt that if he were to enter, he'd find the corpse of the witch Dean had killed. Fortunately, there was no need venture any further inside, as the first thing to come into sharp focus was the dull golden glint of Dean's amulet. He scooped it up and immediately hung it round his neck for safekeeping, its weight reassuringly heavy against his sternum.

Sam could see Dean's clothes were scattered in a darker shadowy trail from Sam's feet where he stood just inside the entrance to the garage, up to the steps into the house, which on closer inspection proved to be draped with Dean's leather jacket – with the keys to the Impala in the pocket. Yahtzee.

Sam took care to close the garage door fully behind him when he left. He could almost hear Dean's voice gleefully declaring "ding dong the witch is dead" as the lock snicked shut.

oxoxoxo

Dean was pining.

Sam had left him on his own and … goddammit. He was miserable as hell. He slumped down into the uncomfortable shell of the plastic chair, huddled in his blanket and the starchy white coat and sulked. The spell might have worn off to the extent that Dean had his own body back, but shaking off canine instincts was proving another matter entirely. Not that Dean got as far as articulating this thought; his head was muzzy and everything was jumbled up in there, so he wasn't really thinking much at all. It was more that he was still feeling things. And what he felt was lonely. Abandoned. He missed Sam. He missed Dad. He missed his baby. His freaking pack.

Dog or man, Dean was not designed to be a lone wolf.

After Sam had been gone for half an hour, Dean could add boredom and hunger to his growing list of issues. It took him a few more minutes to remember that now he was human again, there was nothing to stop him exploring the place. Surely there was a staff kitchen somewhere, or even just a fridge.

His legs were wobbly as a new born pup's at first, but as he wandered around the small hospital he started to feel physically stronger, though he was still having trouble remembering much about the last few days. His stomach was very happy to discover there was indeed a small kitchen and more importantly, that there was an opened six pack of Sol beer in the fridge and a half-eaten cherry pie. Dean silently thanked whomever and smiled. It was almost as if the kind veterinarians had known Dean was coming. He drank the first beer straight down and opened the second while he polished off the pie.

The edge taken off his hunger, the loneliness washed back over him and he sighed heavily. His shoulders slumped for a moment, then he perked up again at the thought that there must be other animals here. He grabbed a third beer and went to look for company.

0x0x0x0

The last thing Sam expected to find on his return to the Pet Hospital was the now fully human Dean fast asleep curled up inside one of the open metal pens out the back, all snuggled up with a large golden Labrador with a broken leg. The paw print fleecy blanket was griped in one hand and an empty beer bottle in the other. Where the hell his brother had managed to find alcohol in an establishment for the care of sick animals, Sam had no idea, but wasn't that just freaking typical? The Labrador looked up at Sam as if to say 'don't ask me, man' and Sam wished desperately for a camera. Not that he expected Dean to stick around long enough to get full value out of the blackmail material this was offering, but it was also surprisingly cute. Brushing aside the temptation to leave Dean sleeping with his new friend, Sam chucked Dean's jeans at his head with a cheery 'Wake up, jerk'.

0x0x0x0

Brady had expected to have Jess to himself for the rest of her short but sweet life, so was not best pleased when Becky turned up out of the blue around 5pm. The two girls decided to bake cookies for Sam, so Brady was left trying to find excuses for hanging around. Fortunately, once the girls got busy with the flour and sugar and all that other crap, they forgot all about Brady, so he just kept his head down in the living room, whiling the time away until he could have his fun.

By 9.30pm Brady's patience was wearing thin. Would that skinny blonde skank never leave? Not that he was averse to a little collateral damage, but Jess was his real target. He didn't want to dilute the impact by throwing in any distractions, even though the temptation to add Becky's blood to the mix was strong, especially as she was winding him up by lingering so long and making him wait for the anticipated denouement. Jessica's death was all he needed to give Sam the required push back onto the road and into a life of hunting. Anything else would be overkill. Brady chuckled to himself at the pun. But seriously, additional extras, sweet though they might be, would only jeopardise the Plan. Too much death and destruction surrounding the youngest Winchester could draw the wrong kind of attention. Besides, Brady didn't want the inconvenience of having to explain any variations to the top brass. He had plans of his own, which didn't include any kind of spotlight shining on Tyson Brady – Orias wanted to melt away into the background once this mission was over and have some fun with his devilishly handsome human meat suit. Going back to Hell would seriously crimp his style.

He was a few seconds away from cracking and coincidentally breaking a few of Becky's fragile bones when she finally decided to go back home. Brady was hard put not to show his satisfaction as she hugged him and Jess goodnight. He was grinning when he turned round from closing the door behind Becky's skinny ass, which got him a funny look from Jess. He just grinned wider.

"Party time!" He said, as he flipped his wrist and sent Jess flying across the room. After all, nobody had said he couldn't have some fun with her before sticking her up on the ceiling.

0x0x0x0

With Dean fully dressed and finally feeling more human than dog, the brothers made their way back to the Impala.

Sam was on his cell to Jess but from the sound of it ended up talking to Brady instead. Jess was baking and had her hands full of cookie dough. For a second Dean was warmed by a fleeting memory of Mom's hand round his as he stirred cake mix in a kitchen filled with golden light. He shook off the vision with a grimace. He couldn't afford sentimental distractions like this, dammit.

Dean's first thought was to check his cell phone for any messages from Dad. He wasn't really expecting there to be anything new on there after nearly a month of silence, so his heart gave an unpleasant lurch when he found the 'voicemail waiting' notification flashing at him. Conscious of Sam hovering at his shoulder, Dean pressed play and put the phone on speaker. The message was full of static and broken up, but Dad's voice was clear.

"Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger."

"Shit." Dean checked the details; the voicemail had been left three days ago. Three fucking days.

"You know there's EVP on that, don't you? What was he working on?" Sam asked.

"He was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy, Andrew Casey…" Dean pulled out a well folded, torn out sheet of newsprint from the glove box and handed it to Sam. "They found his car, but he'd vanished. Completely MIA. And before you say it, he wasn't the only one. Five guys, all the same five-mile stretch of road. So Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough, but then I came to Cali and got caught up in the whole freaking witch thing and now this."

Dean didn't mention that the whole reason he'd gotten side-tracked was because he'd detoured to Palo Alto to check on Sam. He couldn't say it, just like he couldn't beg Sam to leave with him to look for Dad. Maybe he would have before, but not now; especially since he'd seen Sam with Jess, witnessed him laughing, looking more relaxed than Dean had ever seen him. Happy. So fucking happy.

So he swallowed down the words he longed to say, words he knew would make Sam leave Stanford and hit the road with him – I can't do this alone. I don't want to do this alone. He clamped it down, shrugged the mask of bravura back on along with his leather jacket. Neither was enough to keep him warm at night, but it would have to do. He'd managed for the last four years without his little brother, he could cope on his own now.

He looked at the apologetic expression on Sam's face and hid a wince. The two brothers opened the Impala's doors in perfect synchronisation, as if the intervening years hadn't left them on opposite sides of the country most of the time.

"It's getting late and I need to hit the road. You," Dean punctuated his words with a poke to Sam's chest that Sam batted away indignantly, "You need to get back to Jess and catch some shut eye before your job interview tomorrow morning."

He started the Impala's engine, letting her throaty purr sooth his soul.

"It's a law school interview, Dean, and it's my whole future on a plate."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Sammy." Dean grinned, covering for the ache in his heart. He was so glad he no longer had a tail, because it would have been tucked between his legs right now, exposing all his inner most feelings. Thankfully, human Dean was harder to read. His smile became a little more genuine as Sam turned away, grumbling under his breath.

"You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve year old."

Dean shoved a cassette into the player and AC/DC started to play Back in Black.

"It's Sam, okay?"

Dean turned up the volume and gestured towards his ear with a faux apologetic expression.

"Sorry, I can't hear you, the music's too loud."

His smile was finally wide and real as he gunned his baby's engine and pulled away, ignoring Sam's muttered comment that he'd preferred Dean when he was a dog.

0x0x0x0

It was a bit strange to be returning to Sam and Jessica's apartment building in the Impala. The last time Dean had seen it was from a dog's eye view, and all he'd been interested in at the time was thoughts of food and the freedom of running. Okay and maybe also peeing on every tree and bush in sight. Food and freedom were still pretty high on his agenda but Dean was relieved to find that the latter urge had totally vanished.

He got out of the car when Sam did, and they stood facing each other over the big Chevy's gleaming roof. Suddenly the car seemed too wide to reach across, a shining black expanse he could easily fall down into and be lost forever. Dean's gaze flitted about, unable or unwilling to rest anywhere. Sam was sporting that kicked puppy look again that Dean had rather thought he'd made his own over the last few days. It was unfair that Sam seemed to be able to do it better than Dean had, even when Dean had literally been a kicked pup.

Sam looked down where his big hands were resting on the car, then across at Dean.

"You probably shouldn't be driving with that wound, you know. You don't have to leave right away, you could stay the night here, with me and Jess."

As if mentioning his injuries had woken them up, Dean shifted uncomfortably against the dull throbbing ache in his shoulder and the sharper burn in his ribs. He almost welcomed the physical pain as it took his mind off things he'd rather not be thinking about. This he could and would make light of, in a way Sam would find totally familiar and totally frustrating. Deflection and evasion. They were Dean Winchester's speciality.

"Nah. I've had worse. And I've got plenty of codeine. It's been three days since Dad left that message. I need to run it through the gold wave and see what the EVP gives us, and I need to be on the road in case..."

"In case Dad needs you?" Sam's tone was bitter, and Dean didn't want to go there, not now. There was a decade of resentment and hostility in that sentence, and that was a Pandora's box best left unopened. So Dean did his best to keep his voice level.

"Yes, Sam. You heard what Dad said, and you know he doesn't joke around. You take care of yourself and of your girl. Use salt, protect the doors and windows. Be afraid of the dark again, Sammy, you know what's out there."

He didn't wait for Sam to respond, ducking back into the Impala and slamming her heavy door shut. So he couldn't be sure if it was just wish fulfilment that he thought he heard Sam say 'You be careful, Dean. Stay safe.'

0x0x0x0

Sam stared at the Impala's tail lights with mingled sadness and frustration as Dean drove away into the night. How did Dean manage to do that to him every time? Leave him wanting to hug him and punch his lights out in almost equal measures? He watched until the Impala turned a corner at the end of the street and sighed. With Dean out of sight, Sam would go back to his normal life. His beautiful Jessica was upstairs waiting for him, his law books were open on the coffee table ready for his interview tomorrow, and his brain just needed a little nudge to resume the patterns he'd imposed over the last few years away from hunting, safe from ghosts and mysterious assailants that burned mothers. Yet knowing all this wasn't enough to stop Sam missing his brother – or missing their Dad too, though that was one thing he was never going to admit.

He started up the stairs to their apartment slowly at first, each step heavy with regret. But as he neared their door, thoughts of Jess lightened his heart, so that by the time the key was in the lock, he was almost smiling.

There was no sign of Brady, and Sam was relieved. He liked the guy well enough, but all he wanted now was to bury himself in Jessica's arms and forget about his family, everything. The apartment smelt of baked goodies, it smelt like home.

"Jess? You there?" he called, then he heard the shower running. There was a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table, his favourite, with a post-it note on top. Missed You! Love you! He read it with a smile on his face and grabbed a cookie on his way past into the bedroom. Flinging himself down on the bed he closed his eyes with a sigh of pure contentment.

It was the second warm drop hitting his forehead that made him open his eyes. The third drop stole all the breath from his lungs.

0x0x0x0

It wasn't the pain that was now raging through his body as the last of the morphine wore off. It wasn't the dull ache of leaving Sam behind. The trigger when it came was a scent, the faintest trace of rotten eggs that wafted though the Impala's open windows as Dean drove past a dumpster outside a Chinese restaurant called Golden Wings – stupid little details Dean was barely aware of registering as all his memories came flooding back. Or rather, Sirius' memories. Something Sam had said about Brady had been niggling at him, though he had no idea why, but now he was being overwhelmed with Sirius' instinctive hatred of the man, and Dean knew he had to get back to Sam straight away.

Because Brady was with Jess, and Brady was evil. Sirius had known it, and now Dean knew it, deep down into his bones. Images were flashing into his brain and he had to shake his head to clear it so he could see to drive – eyes flashing black, a gesture that had sent Dean (Sirius) flying back into that pit, sneering hurtful words, Brady's boots connecting with his ribs, Brady lifting that shovel and bringing it down on Dean/Sirius's head.

1967 Chevy Impala's weren't renowned for their manoeuvrability, but Dean swung Baby into a screeching burnt rubber U turn in a matter of seconds, and pointed her chrome plated nose towards Sam. His shoulder screamed at him worse than the Impala but he ignored them both. Thanks to his stupidity, first in getting bewitched and second in allowing Brady to dupe him and take him out, Jess had been alone with Brady most of the day, while Sam was preoccupied with sorting out Dean's injuries. If anything happened to Sam or Jess, it would be down to Dean. His fault. His stomach churned as if the Impala was a boat on the high seas instead of a car hurtling too fast down blessedly empty suburban roads, and his palms were sweating, slipping on her leather-cased steering wheel. He thought he was probably developing a fever, but he couldn't find it in him to care. All that mattered was finding Sam, making sure that his little brother and his girl were safe.

When he slammed on the brakes outside Sam's place his heart was beating so hard he could barely hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears. He was out of the car and running before he even registered the ominous orange tinge to the light showing at the window of Sam's apartment. And that the light was flickering.

Fire. Sam's place was on fire.

He took the stairs two at a time and didn't hesitate at the door, just kicking it in so that the frame cracked and splintered. He was prepared for the roar and the smoke and the heat of the flames as the oxygen from the hallway fed the fire, but he only had eyes for Sam. He ignored it all, moving forward into the maelstrom, searching for the only thing that mattered.

Where was his brother?

He yelled, Sam!, coughed, yelled again.

Then he heard Sam's desperate, anguished cry from the bedroom.

"No!" then "Jess!"

The heat was singeing the hairs on his cheeks as he made a dash for the bedroom door, part of him knowing what he was going to find. And though his heart was aching for Jessica Moore, he barely spared her bleeding, burning body more than a quick glance, where she was pinned to the ceiling over Sam's bed. It was the stuff of his own nightmares, the way her long blonde hair was catching alight and the dark bloody slash across her belly was dripping blood like rain. He didn't need to look up to have that image seared into his brain forever, because for him it was already there.

Sam was wide eyed and horrified, transfixed by the sight of his girlfriend burning, but Dean only knew one thing. He had to get his little brother outside as fast as he could. It was an ancient imperative never forgotten, ingrained deep into Dean's psyche. He grasped Sam's arms bruisingly hard and didn't let go.

Sam's hoarse screams pierced Dean, and his brother's limbs failed as Sam fought against Dean's grip. A fist caught Dean's chin, snapping his head back, and he was hard put to say whether the sparks he was seeing were inside his head or in the burning room. A knee rammed into his side, taking even more of his precious breath away as his broken ribs creaked with the impact. Dean gritted his teeth, tasting his own blood. He held on and half dragged, half carried Sam out of the apartment.

When they crossed the threshold it was as if a line had been crossed for Sam too. All the fight went out of him and he sagged in Dean's arms, a dead weight that Dean struggled to man-handle down the smoke filled stairs and outside into the clear night air. The building alarms were shrilling out and shocked residents were starting to evacuate the building, providing a convenient crowd for Dean and Sam to melt into. In the general hubbub no one noticed the two young men making their way beyond the circle of interested and concerned bystanders to lean wearily against the classic black Impala parked a little haphazardly across the street. Fire trucks arrived to illuminate up the night with their flashing lights, and Dean stared blankly as the fire-fighters unrolled their hoses. Powerful jets of water arced, sparkling and beautiful, into the air.

A waste of effort, as Jess was beyond rescuing and Dean could do nothing to stop his little brother coming apart in his arms – except hold on. So that's what he did. Dean held onto Sam with dry burning eyes – everything was burning - while Sam shook with the force of his sobs.

After what seemed like a long time, Sam stilled, then his body stiffened inside Dean's embrace. Dean felt he should say something, but Sam was the one who was good with words, not him, and he could thing of nothing that wouldn't sound trite in the face of this desolation. When Sam pulled away, Dean let him go because he didn't know what else to do.

Sam walked round to the back of the Impala and opened her trunk, and Dean realised his brother had lifted her keys from his jacket. Moving stiffly, Dean stood at Sam's shoulder and watched in silence as Sam's long fingers swiftly chambered a couple of salt rounds into Dean's sawed-off. Sam's face was puffy and blotchy from crying, but his expression was one Dean recognised all too well.

Dark, angry and completely closed off.

Dean had seen that same look before, on their father's face long ago in another time and place that was a mirror of this one, way back in 1983 when their journey had begun. His heart sank. He had wanted so badly for Sam to come back, for them all to be a family again – albeit a screwed up family without a Mom who hunted ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night.

But not like this.

Dad was missing and Sam was broken and Dean? Dean was too afraid of losing them both.

Sam sighed and nodded; some decision had been made. He threw the shotgun back into the trunk and said the words that brought Dean back to himself. Dean didn't relax. Every muscle was tensed up and screaming at him like Sam had been screaming at Jess, painful and desperate. He couldn't let go while his little brother was hurting like this, but he could and did fix his game face back on.

Dean squared his shoulders and closed the trunk with heavy thump that signified both an ending and beginning.

Yes.

The Winchesters had work to do.

The End