Title: Brother's Best Friend

Summary: Things aren't going well between the brothers, so what'll happen when Sam's magically turned into… a dog? --"You've got to be the dinkiest mutt I've ever seen."

Notes: First, the obligatory disclaimer (I don't own Supernatural, damn you Kripke), and second, this was just written for fun—not to be taken seriously.


"Hey Sam, this shirt says Chevrolet." Good ol' Dean Winchester sounded like he just found the golden ticket. His brother, Sam, however, hadn't responded with the same enthusiasm—just a cocked brow while he impatiently tapped his foot.

"Dean, that's a girl's shirt." Okay, and if Sam's hair was any longer, it would cover the 'Hello, my name is…' sticker on his chest that read, "Sam the downer fairy, here to make sure everyone feels dreary all day long."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, so? You've got the figure for it." He waved the shirt like a matador taunting a very pretty, and a very raging bull. Ironically, Sam's nostrils flared. He lunged forward, and tore it right off the plastic hanger.

"Not funny." He snapped after he carelessly tossed the shirt onto the nearest rack of clothes, where it slipped off and fell to the ground, abandoned.

Dean's eyes trailed up and down his lanky form. "Who said I was trying to be?" He smacked his brother in the arm with the abused, naked hanger. When Sam glared at him, he sighed, shoving the hanger into his chest. "Dude, you need to lighten up."

"Lighten up, Dean? You—"

"If I lightened up anymore, you'd have to put on sunglasses to look at me." Dean walked past him, slowly walking down another isle of clothes. "Didn't you read the sign? 'Please do not stare directly into the Dean.'"

Sam followed behind him, bending the hanger in his hands, though not enough to crack it in half. "Oh, believe me, I wasn't about to tell you to lighten up." He was more likely about to tell Dean where he could shove this damn hanger.

"Oh, look Sam—a Trix shirt! God, I hate those bastard children. Just give the goddamn rabbit some freaking yogurt and cereal already, right? Man, oh, man." The blonde chuckled, taking the red shirt off the rack. He held it up to Sam, arching an inquiring brow.

"Knock it off." He brushed past Dean, intent on buying a new pair of jeans. For some odd reason, he didn't prefer all the holes in the few pairs he owned. Dean spun around at the movement, holding up the shirt higher with a shrug, "so you don't do Trix?"

Sam's jaw tightened, and he blatantly ignored the older male. He looked through pairs of discount jeans piled on a wobbly table, but kept an ear out for Dean, because someone had to watch out for the mischievous… twenty-seven year old.

"Behave." He'd earlier warned the shorter male, earning a defiant stare.

"Always, Sam. Just don't expect me to hold your purse for you while you check yourself out in the dressing room." Dean had replied back, sharply turning into the parking lot of the store.

"Okay, the 'Sam is feminine!' jokes? Have got to stop." Okay, and so he might have had lost his temper a little once the car was parked. It was raining, but lightly; it was barely a drizzle. They both had gotten out of the car simultaneously, and Dean nodded in his direction.

"Sure, as soon as you stop bitching at me with your hands on your hips."

His arms had dropped to his sides. "Bite me."

Dean's eyes locked on his, and his jaw hung open for a spit second before it snapped shut, his teeth clashing together. Sam rolled his eyes.

And now, ten minutes later, here they were. Sam went through jeans, looking for ones that would fit his tall stature, while Dean poked around at stuff, his shoes squeaking loudly with each step.

"Excuse me, but you—heh—you have a price tag sticking to your, um, back." Sam turned his head slightly to the side; enough to see the young man, about his age, if not a little older, approach Dean. He wore a nametag and a smock like the other employees there. His short, shaggy hair was as black as a starless night.

He hadn't appeared too interested. "Really? How much am I going for?"

The young stranger smiled, and peeled off the small white sticker. "Two ninety-nine." He answered, his brows lifting up a little as he crumbled it up. It stuck to his fingers as he tried to flick it away.

Dean made a face like someone just farted. "Two ninety-nine… trillion, right?" Yeah, like a price could ever be put on Dean.

"Sure, must be a misprint." The male reasoned with a chuckle, practically beaming at Dean. Sam snorted; turning his attention back to the land of the jeans in front of him after the mystery guy started talking to his brother in a lower voice.

"Okay, we're leaving. Now." Sam nearly jumped out of his socks (which reminded him to get new socks because his toes were starting to peek out) when Dean suddenly came up behind him, invading his personal space, like whoa.

"Why? Did Mr. Price-Tag over there get fresh with you?" He was unable to keep down a throaty chuckle, and suddenly, he could feel the dirty, heated look Dean was giving him. But god help him, he nearly died when Dean hesitantly nodded.

"He… asked me out."

"Ahahahaha—hah!" Would he ever let Dean live this down? No. Nein. Non. Never. Ever. What kind of little brother would he be if he did? "And where are you going with your new boyfriend?" He nudged Dean, and Dean nudged him back ten times harder.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I had to turn him down." He kept his voice low, and full of spite as he snapped into his younger brother's back. "Told him I was leaving town soon with…"


"Well, you, dear." That was when he heard it—he didn't need to see it. The smirk. The cocky, sly smirk—oh, dear. Sam's heart skipped a beat, and then another.

"You didn't."

"Didn't what… sweetheart?"

"Dammit Dean, why do you have to make everything so difficult?" Sam lifted up a pair of jeans that would have to do, and stormed away, towards the service station. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean's admirer staring at him, but ignored it.

"I make everything so difficult? Dude, you make everything so difficult!" Dean followed him to the check out line, where the cashier was taking her sweet time ringing up the few customers ahead of them. "You're such a whiny little bitch."

Sam scowled. Am not! "Jerk."

"Yeah, tell me something that already hasn't been stated eighty million times." He waved his hand at him, like 'what the fuck ever' while his eyes skimmed the shelves across from the register that were packed with candy for his preferred sweets.

"Okay then, you're a jerk, who's apparently attracting a whole new crowd." The younger brother shifted towards his shorter elder to waggle his brows at him jeeringly. He expected Dean to at least scowl, but instead he had shrugged, indifferent.

"Hell yeah, I attract anything with a pulse—and then some…" He trailed off, suddenly disgruntled and making a bewildered face. "What kind of hellhole doesn't sell peanut M&M's?"

"They're not a necessity, Dean." Sam gave a small wave to the woman ahead of them who kept glancing behind her shoulder. Her face turned violet and her head whipped around, the ends of her long blonde hair nearly giving Sam whiplash.

"'Not a necessity'?" Dean repeated incredulously. "Are you sure we're related? 'Cause right now, I'm having some doubts."

"Right now?" The brunette mused with a small ironic smile. "I kind of questioned that when I wanted to stay home and read, or play soccer, while you waved a gun around, wanting to kill demons and—" The same blonde woman looked behind her shoulder again, and Sam chuckled nervously, "I mean those deer---those evil, demonic deer who run blindly into cars, and yeah…"

Dean nodded solemnly. "And those squirrels—those evil, demonic squirrels who… do… evil, demonic stuff, with nuts, and surely deserve to… hey, ma'am—" He flashed the nosey blonde a charming smile and gestured, "I believe the cashier's ready for you."

As soon as they were out of the store, both brothers shot each other a killer look. "Evil, demonic deer, Sam? I've never shot a deer." The sky was getting dark, and puddles of water from the earlier shower sloshed about as the brothers walked through them.

"Evil, demonic squirrels, Dean? You've never… oh, wait, yes you have, squirrel killer." Sam was carrying a yellow plastic bag that crinkled nosily in the wind.

"Dude, it was once! Once. And dad got all bitchy at me for it, so I don't still need it from you." Dean's pace slowed down as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, searching for the car keys. Sam stopped a foot away from the Impala, turning back to Dean with an impatient sigh. "Give me a second, Cinderella."

"Cinderella? Getting pretty lame there, Dean, what, are the… Dean!" Dean's head shot up at the suddenly cry right as he pulled out his keys from the pocket of his jacket. His last full thought was, 'huh, don't remember putting these here…' before he looked into Sam's wide eyes… and then… and then there was this strange buzz in his head.

His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell limply to the ground right as the bag Sam had been holding did as the younger male took a fighting stance.


Okay, so Dean may not have felt any pain when he was taken down, but waking up? Good god. He slowly floated back to the conscious world. First, he became aware of the ache that throbbed in his head, then the stiffness of his limbs, and finally, the licking at his face…

Hold up! Licking?

His eyes shot open, and he found a small rat trying to eat his face. "Ah, shit!" He cursed, sitting up, wiping the back of his hand against his moist cheek. The rodent-like creature slipped off his chest and yelped as it scattered onto the ground.

"Sam?" Panic struck in his chest, catching his breath with an iron grasp. Not again, please. The rat started to yap at him, but he swatted it away as his eyes adjusted to the night. "Sam!" He pushed himself up and onto his feet with a tired groan. The parking lot was still near empty, just as it had been before—before what?

Were they attacked? He vaguely remembered Sam… "Shut up." He snapped at the scrawny little thing barking at his feet. "I'm thinkin' here." Now, what did he vaguely remember? Sam, right! Sam had been saying something, and then—nothing. Well, that wasn't right.

Sam's yellow bag containing jeans sat a few feet away, in a puddle of oily water, and next to the said bag, was a pile of clothes. Now, what had—wait, pile of clothes? With a brow cocked for a "what the fuck?" face, he approached the heap of clothing littering the dirty pavement.

Oh, god. They were his brother's. The shirt slipped out from Dean's cold fingers as he looked around, his eyes searching around for anymore signed. They landed on the still freaking barking dog, and the bitching sounded awfully familiar. Dean's stomach dropped. "Oh, no, no… please tell me you're just running around buck-naked, Sam, and not…"

No, no, he was wrong… that wasn't…


No, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous! It was impossible, and stupid, and… no. No, no, no, no. This was a coincidence. Sam must've been kidnapped! Only, they left his clothes, and the little creature must've just happened to stroll by, when it noticed the fabulously unconscious Dean, and…

"You've got to be the dinkiest mutt I've ever seen." The Yorkshire terrier immediately attacked his feet, bearing his small, pointy teeth, while barking and growling at his shoes. Dean sighed, shutting his eyes tightly while he rubbed his temples in a quick circular motion that did absolutely nothing for him. This must be the punishment for the Pretty.

If this doesn't scream out 'Miller Time!' I don't know what does. With a heavy, and awfully confused, sigh, Dean scooped up the small dog and Sam's clothing into his arms. What the hell am I going to do? He wondered, still not even sure what had happened. He looked down at Sam warily. "Just… watch the upholstery, okay?"

If it were at all possible, Dean was dead sure that the dog just smiled up at him. Smiled. Dean gulped, slowly walking towards his car; he felt like he had the worst hangover ever… and he hadn't even begun to drink yet.


"Caleb, it's Dean. When you get his message, I need you to call me back—it's urgent." Dean was a mighty Winchester, and when a mighty Winchester said it was urgent, they meant it, and didn't need to classify, or elaborate. Why, that's for schmucks! He ringed for anyone he could think of.

"Pastor Jim? Yeah, it's Dean. Is everyone on a hunt tonight or what? Man, I need some help with a small—a really small, yet really, really big problem." Some squeaky barking was heard in the background followed with a roar of, "Sam, if you don't shut your mouth, I will lock you in the bathroom!" Dean cleared his throat. "Right, so call back. Please."

"Hey dad, it's your son, you know, Dean, and I wanted you to know that everything is fine. Nothing is wrong with me or Sam, and we're doing fine without you. Don't call back, just letting you know." Reverse psychology had to work!

It was getting late, and Dean was getting peeved. Pets weren't even allowed in the crappy motel he was staying at, but that wasn't a dog, that was his brother. Or at least, he kind of hoped. He wasn't really in the mood for another repeat of the Benders family, and neither was his still healing shoulder.

"All right." He reasoned, turning to the dog. Sam sat on the ground, staring up at Dean with the most literal puppy dog eyes ever, his head slightly tilted to the side. "If you're Sam, bark once—once." He held up one finger, and no, it wasn't the middle one, for once.

And Sam barked once—once.

"Okay, if you're really Sam, bark three times, and then pause for thirty seconds, and then bark twice." Sam growled, and Dean nodded, his brows rising. "All right, you win…" He still wasn't fully convinced. "After you roll over." He now pointed his finger down at him, moving it in a spiral motion.

Sam, in all his adorable dog-ness, let out a sharp huff of air through his tiny, cut little button nose, and then rolled over. Even in his dog form, he didn't look quite thrilled when Dean broke into a bout of laughter. Thus, it was only justice when he sunk his teeth into Dean's sock clad foot.

"Ow! You little bitch!" What? It was justice. "You try that again, and I'm getting the pliers, you nasty little… brother, you." Awkwardness levels may wary, but they were still brothers.


The night had started and ended with Dean googling the hell out of, well, Google, while Sam bitched in his ear, and honestly, it wasn't much different than usual circumstances. Only difference was Sam happened to be a 6' 4" human male and now he was a four pound, black and brown shaggy yorkie.

"Now who's the taller brother?" Dean had lightly teased before shutting off the laptop so he could charge it. That, and so he could get a little sleep before he passed out on the keyboard—Sam would kill him if he drooled all over it. Just a few winks. He silently promised, crawling into the single sized bed, not even bothering to lie under the covers.

The following morning, Dean woke up to find Sam curled up in a ball on his chest. He lifted up his head, cracking a smile when he heard the soft snoring sound the small canine made. "I knew you wanted me, perv." He whispered, gently caressing the top of Sam's small head with the pad of his thumb.

Sam opened a brown eye, giving him a familiar look, and then closed it. His ears twitched when Dean yawned, running his palm down his back. "I was hoping this was a dream." He hesitantly admitted with a humorless laugh. "My brother's an asslicker. Who the hell did you piss off, Sam?"

Now, both of Sam's eyes opened. He woofed, and Dean made a face when the hot dog breath hit his face. "You know, minus the breath, and you're a pretty good looking dog. You know, for a dinky mutt." He flicked Sam's ear, and the dog hopped off his chest and onto the floor, his long, thick nails scraping against the hardwood setting.

Dean yawned again, and stretched his arms out over his head. Time to get up, and get some work done. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. A disgusted chill scattered up his back when his right foot landed in a puddle. A puddle. He tilted his head back, and cursed.

"Sam, if you did…" He looked down, and cursed again. "Gross. Just gross. If you think I'm cleaning up after you, you've got another thing coming." Yeah, like Dean's foot. The blonde cursed again.


Dean found one voice mail message waiting for him. It was Caleb, and he called the older hunter back, sitting in the bathroom on the toilet with the lid down and with the door closed. Caleb, believe it or not, chuckled when Dean told him what happened, and what was the more experienced hunter's first question?

"What kind of dog?"

Dead sighed, running his free hand through his short hair. "Yorkshire terrier." He admitted, glancing back at the door, where at the bottom he could see Sam's nose peeking in. "I can't believe my brother's a dog."

"Are you sure it's him?" The skeptical man asked as Sam started barking at the door, probably feeling left out.

"Have you ever see Sam's death gaze? It's him. Besides, how can you even doubt me? We brothers share a bond—shut the hell up! I'm not coming out until you quit attacking my toes, you little shit."

"Sounds just like old times."

"You know, Caleb, I have no problem dropping him off with you for a few days." He picked up a plastic cup off the sink's counter, and tossed it at the door, telling Sam to knock it off. He felt a ping of guilt, knowing Sam must feel so confused and lost right now, but that didn't mean he had to go all Cujo on his brother's ass, or actually, feet. "And I think he has rabies."

"Hang in here, Dean. I'll try to figure something out for you that doesn't involve a leash and a shit scooper for the rest of your life."

Dean thanked him, trying to feel hopeful, but failed. Sam was usually the hopeful one. He closed the flip phone shut and leaned forward, his elbows resting against his knees. What to do, what to do…

A smirk toyed on his lips.

What to do.


"Aw, what a cute puppy! Hello little fellow, what's your name?" Oh, god. Why hadn't anyone ever told Dean that a dog was a chick magnet? If he had known, he would've ditched the brother for a dog a long time ago—okay, not really, but still.

"This is Sammy." Even though Dean was quite the flirt, he was still a brother first, and didn't allow the pet store woman to hold Sam. After all, he still didn't know how the damn guy managed to get turned into a dog in the first place.

"Well, hello Sammy! Do you need help with anything?"

Oh yeah, Dean impulsively thought. I've got this crick in my neck… "I need a leash, oh, and a collar, and dog food, er, yeah, and probably a few chew toys."

The woman blinked, her smile dropping a little. "Anything else?"

Dean glanced down at Sam quickly. "I don't know. What else does a dog need?"

The employee blinked. "Is this your first pet, sir?"

"Nah, I've had Sam for twenty-two years."

She exhaled slowly. "Right. Well, we have dog beds in the back, but if you follow me, I'll show you the basic needs for Sammy. Having a pet is a big responsibility." Any flirting was now long gone and buried.

"Yeah, well, Sammy here isn't going to be staying long so I don't exactly need stuff for the long haul." Sam barked, possibly in agreement. The woman still wore a funny look, but showed Dean where leashes and collars for, for starters. "Dear god." Dean breathed when he passed a mirror, and saw himself carrying the pooch. "I feel like Paris Hilton, only with bigger boobs, and a cuter dog."

Sam sneezed, or at least, it sounded like a sneeze, but it could've been a hacking sound. Dean didn't look amused. "Shush, or I'll get you a pretty pink collar, princess. Oh, look, they sell dog tutus!"

Yeah, whatever, Sam might be a dog, but he wasn't stupid. He knew Dean wouldn't be caught dead with a dog wearing such things. Although, Dean's eyes had twinkled when he saw the wee little doggy boots. He couldn't tell the color of the boots, because you know, being color blind and all.

But Dean wasn't, and he wasn't really surprised when Dean picked out a black color with silver studs. "You know, he has to keep a badass appearance to scare off the bigger dogs." Dean had explained to the saleswoman, who just smiled awkwardly. Thankfully, he had chosen a plain black leash.

"Does the kind of dog food matter? 'Cause it's all the same, right?" Both Sam and Dean had managed to look at each other at the same time. "What? You're a dog—you eat dog food." Dean finally realized how crazy it looked for him to be whispering to his dog, so he grinned at the woman, explaining, "he's bilingual."

"Right. And over here…"


"Oh, come on, Sam! It's made with real beef, uh, flavoring." Dean sat cross-legged on the floor of his single motel room, urging his brother to eat. Sam wasn't buying it. "I am not tasting it first." Dean bit down on his lower lip, suppressing a smile. "I remember when we were at Bobby's when you were seven and I dared you to eat one of Rumsfeld's biscuits…"

Sam barked, because he obviously remembered it too.

"Shh, what did I tell you? Don't make me go back and buy a muzzle either." All that came from Dean's mouth were empty threats, and they both knew it. However, Sam had known Dean long enough to know his brother wouldn't hesitate much to lock him in the bathroom, or in the car, with the window rolled down a crack. "I don't like this any more than you do, Sam."

Because, you know, except for all the teasing, and how he could dangle quips over this experience over Sam's head for years to come, he really wasn't getting much out of it.

"I don't know about you, but I'm in the mood for a cheeseburger." Dean groaned as he pushed himself off the ground and to his feet. All the hunts gone wrong and painful had started taking a toll on his young, nimble body. "I'll bring you back something, 'cause I'm not… oh, come on, Sam! Don't look at me like that."

But Sam did. He perked up one ear, tilted his head at the perfect angle, and even put one little paw up, like a plea. Oh, and not to mention the cute, heart melting look he was blazing up at Dean. Even Puss in Boots had nothing on Sam.

"I said I'll bring you back something, so you can either wait, or—" With his foot, he nudged the opened can of dog food towards the yorkie. "Chow down."

And then Sam whimpered. It was a dog whimper, so soft, so sad, so… aww worthy, especially when his wee little stump of a tail began to wag. Dean sighed, reaching for the leash.

"You're still a freaking pain in the ass."


Sam was naturally resistant to the leash. There were just some things he just wasn't into, and being dragged around by a rope usually wasn't something he liked. He tried not to walk, to speed up in front of Dean, and even tried to run in circles around Dean's feet, to trip him.

"Knock it off." Dean snapped at him, lifting up his feet to untangle himself from the leash. "If you don't end up neutered by the end of the day, consider yourself loved and lucky."

Dead had learned that Dog!Sam wasn't nearly as patient as Human!Sam, nor was he as nice. When he had gotten into the car, put on some Kansas, Sam yapped up a storm, threatening Dean with his small, pointy teeth. Sam's bite was far worse than his bark… sometimes.

Unfortunately for Dean, but fortunately for Sam, the collar around Sam's neck wasn't tight enough, and the canine managed to slip it off. Sam took off like a bullet down the street, and Dean chased after him, cursing up a storm. In the distance, a sailor blushed.

"Sam!" Sam was a good block ahead of him—the imp could rival Superman at the speed he gained. Dean wasn't necessarily slow, but it wasn't of any help when he ran into a car. Yes, ran into a car.

"Ohmigosh, are you okay?" An older woman asked, her eyes wide, and her face pale as Dean blinked away the winking stars. "Do you need—"

"Sam!" The blonde huffed, taking a few seconds to catch his breath. The car had been driving through a one way street, and instead of running around it, Dean had ran into it, hitting the passenger door hard enough to make his head spin, but not hard enough for him to double over, or fall to the ground, in pain.

"What? Are you sure—"

Impatiently, Dean waved the leash and collar at her before he broke out into a run, knowing that he'd probably lost his stupid brother by now. Why the hell did he take off? I'm going to kill him.

And he was right about losing his brother. He reached the end of the street where it now intercrossed; meaning Sam could've taken any route. "Aw, man."

He lost his brother—his brother, the dog.

And all before dinnertime.

As in on cue, his cell phone went off in his pocket, and he lifted a brow. Sure, there was no way in hell it was Sam, but that didn't mean the thought couldn't have crossed his mind. On the bright side, it was Caleb.

"Please tell me you have good news, 'cause right now, I need it."

"What, is the yorkie giving Dean a hard time?" Caleb snorted, obviously in a good mood, which actually pained Dean. "Have you told your father yet that your brother is under a spell?"

"Kind of. Dad didn't call when I was dying, so the chances of him calling when Sam's trapped in a four-legged, flea-infested… did you say spell?"

"Well, yeah, people don't normally turn into dogs for no reason."

"Sure, but I always assumed Sam was part-rabid dog anyway. You wouldn't happen to know how to reverse this spell, would you?"

"Do I look like a Charmed One, Dean? You don't know who cursed your brother?"

"Dude, I don't even know where the fucker is, never mind that shit."


"You lost him? You lost Sam?"

"I was chasing him, but then I got sidetracked."


"A Volkswagen Beetle."

(Yeah, and he practically squashed it.)

More silence.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I've got to go find… my brother. Call me if you find anything else out, okay?"

"Will do, Dean, will do."

Dean shoved the cell into the pocket of his jeans, and took a few small uncertain steps. His hip ached with pain, probably already bruising from his run in with the car. He looked around, squinting, hoping for some kind of sign to follow.

"God, I hate dogs."


They hadn't been in Scranton for two hours before Sam was magically turned into a dog. Dean hadn't wanted to make any pit stops—he just wanted to drive though—but no, because Sam just had to go to some stupid clothing store after their last hunt when Sam's good pair of jeans somehow managed to get shredded by a horny, attention seeking ghost.

Right. That hunt—and Dean had lost his green jacket, and a blue plaid shirt. His right nipple was still sore when he thought about it. But all that? Just a distant memory, a story to maybe bring up later.

Anyway, back to the topic, they hadn't been in Scranton long enough to make enemies! Was Sam just a part of a random act of cruelness? Or was Dean suddenly blessed with turning-people-into-small-dogs power? But what about when he blacked out…?

… In the parking lot of that store.

But what was so peculiar about the store? They had Chevrolet shirts! Where could a store like that go wrong? But, ah, they supported Trix! They supported little children taunting a poor, deprived rabbit of what he so desired, just because he was a rabbit!

Yeah, so, whatever.

Dean wandered around aimlessly, randomly calling out his brother's name. Why couldn't he have been the one to get changed? He could've been a Great Dane, or some other awesomely large dog.

Then again, with his given luck, he would've ended up a poodle.

He wouldn't have run away from his younger brother, but he probably would have chewed up all of Sam's shoes and stuff. (And maybe Sam's CD collection, just because, although it would probably leave a horrible, horrible taste in his mouth.)

"Where are you, Sam?" He hoped no one would mistake him for a mutant rat and try to exterminate him. "Sam?" He called out with uncertainty when he thought he heard Sam's squeak-esque barks. Sure enough, when he turned around, not ten feet away stood the hyperactive Dog!Sam. "Woo boy, do not play games with me."

To his horror, Sam took off again, and this time, Dean was not letting him get away—no, sir! He chased after that damn dog with a new speed! A new cautious speed that is, because it hurts running into cars. It was a pain he hoped the Impala would never have to face…

"Sam, get your scrawny ass back here!" Sam led him to a dead end, which just confused the hell out of Dean, especially when he started barking at him, persistently. Dean hadn't quite followed. "What is it? Do you know where Jimmy Hoffa is? Is Timmy trapped down a well again, boy?"

Sam was not very amused. Thus, he took off into the shallow wooded area, which lead down towards a small hill. And down from the hill was a grassy field, and across from the grassy field was a street, and across from the street was… that clothing store.

Leaves crinkled and branches snapped as Dean walked forward, picking up Sam. A leaf stuck to his paw. "You know, there were easier ways to lead me here."

Sam would beg to differ.


The brothers sat in the Impala, the windows rolled down. How could it possibly get so hot out when the sun was setting? Dean shifted in his seat, bored. Sam was perched up against the passenger door, his head peeking out.

"This is some action packed shit right here." Dean lamely stated with a yawn. Sam, once again, ignored him, so he sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "God, I'm so sick of talking to a puppy."

At least Sam wasn't a cat. Dean wouldn't make a good scratching post. Besides that, cats shed too much, and the elder Winchester would rather fall face first into a tub full of nails twice in sheer gratitude of a second option than to brush his brother, so he'd have the interior condition of the Impala to worry about. I mean, come on, people, the UPHOLESTERY! It just doesn't do cat hair.

Then again, don't dogs shed?

Dean was getting wary, and Sam's nails were quite thick, long, and sharp.

"As soon as you're back to your mouth breathing, nitpicking self, you're so cleaning out this car and—what the—where the—Goddammit it all, Sam!" Sam practically flew out of the car window, barking, and took off to the entrance of the building. "And he wonders why we can't have nice things." Dean snapped with a huff before he got out of the car and sprinted after his dog of a brother.

Luckily for Sam, a woman was walking out of the store, and he scurried past her feet. She gasped, looking around her feet, all like, 'what the hell was that?' Then Dean ran past her, mumbling an apology as he brushed past her, and she glanced behind her shoulder, trying to catch another glimpse, now all like, 'my, my, my… who the hell was that?'

Dean tried to whistle, but only air and bits of saliva passed through his lips, so he slowed down, and whistled again. Only this time, he used two fingers to aid, and he whistled, which was now useless, because he lost track of Sam trying to whistle.

Don't worry! That didn't matter, because just then, he didn't need to see Sam, because he heard him. He also had heard the cries of, "ah, get this thing away from me! Shoo, shoo!" And he hurried down an isle, where a guy was restocking diapers, and tried to kick the dog that barked prominently at him.

Wait—that wasn't just any dog he kicked at, it was his brother!

"Hey you!" He grabbed the male's shoulder, forcefully turning him around to face him. His jaw slacked. "You." It was the guy who had hit on him and asked him out. His hand dropped from his shoulder, and his gaze fell down to Sam's, who sat there now, looking up at him like, 'you're an idiot.' "Shit. I'm getting rusty."

The guy, whose nametag read WILL, frowned. "Okay? Is this your dog, sir? We don't allow pets into the store." His voice shook slightly, but it was noticeable, especially Dean, who did not look happy. He hadn't shaved that morning, and the stubble only made his rugged appearance more threatening.

"That—" He pointed to Sam. His words spat out like venom. "—Is not my pet. That is my brother."

Will's eye twitched. He scratched awkwardly at his pierced eyebrow. "Talk about brotherly love. I never—" He let out a strangled cry when Dean grabbed a fistful of his ugly smock.

"You are going to reverse whatever it is you did."

"Or what?" Dude, don't… just don't ever challenge the guy who could easily sweep and mop the floor with your skinny ass. Or, who could cash your check. To prove this, Dean used his free hand to lift up his shirt enough for Will to get a gander of the waistband of his boxers… oh, and the gun he had somewhere or another, but who cares, because his boxers had an odd design to them that was distracting. "You won't kill me."

"Kill you? No. Hurt you? Yes." Will visibly flinched, struggling to get out of Dean's death grip. "And you know—" He let go off his smock, gave him a quick pat to make the wrinkles he caused less noticeable, and then flicked his nametag. "—Will, you changed the wrong brother. Sam? He uses words. Me? Not quite."

"I didn't know he was your brother!" The dark haired boy snapped under his breath before calling out, "security! Security!" He practically scampered away, his tail between his legs.

Sam totally shot Dean a glare that said, echoing with sarcasm, "Well, you handled that just great, Dean." Jesus, even when he was a dog Dean got patronized and ridiculed by his younger brother.

"I guess this is our cue to leave. Lead the way, Lassie."


"Does this place even have security?" Now was a great time to question that, Dean. The brothers stood in the back alley of the store, peering out around the corner. "How anticlimactic." He adjusted his gun. Sam gnawed at his paw. "You know, Sam, you can't go all Joe College as a pup, but on the other hand, you could make me quite a bit of money if you learn to tap dance on your hind legs…"

Sam gnawed harder at his paw without as much as a glance up at his big brother, but his ears were quite twitchy. He was not going to stay a freaking mongrel another day, night, hour, minute, second, or nanosecond if he had anything to bark about it—no, say about it, say about it!

"You know though, I love how you're still all Nancy Drew in your little doggy form." Now, words like "doggy" weren't usually in Dean's vocabulary, but honestly, he loved the killer looks Dog!Sam still managed to shoot at him. "Imagine that, I turn down a guy, so he turns my brother into a dog. Issues, much? And here I thought women were supposed to be the psychotic sex."

Sam put his head down, and made a soft sound. He kept having these strange urges to bite Dean, which kind of irked him. Being a dog, he found himself acting more impulsively, and hoped as soon as everything was well as can be again he wouldn't attack Dean with his mouth—oh, god, that sounded wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. With his teeth—he didn't want to attack Dean with his teeth! No, something was still off. Dammit.

"Where there's a Will, there's a way. And we've got a Will. That bastard has to leave the store sometime, and when he does, we'll be waiting." Dean paused briefly, dumbfounded. When did I start sounding like a crazed, stalkerish lunatic? Sam would probably answer, when don't you sound like a crazed, stalkerish lunatic, and stalkerish isn't a word, Dean. Also, it's redundant when you use… Yeah, he already tuned the possible Sam retort out.

"You think he's in there welding a weapon with hangers?" Dean leaned against the brick building, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. When Sam moved to sit by his feet, he moved away, scrunching up his nose. Like I'm ever going to trust you near my feet again. "Fuck this. I'm not going to stand out here waiting. I'm going to march in there—what the hell? I'm already dead. Legally, anyway. Can't put a dead guy in the slammer."

However, the dog hadn't agreed, (Your logic sucks out loud), Dean and barked at him as he walked away, impatient and stubborn as ever. He even growled when Dean ignored him, and kept on walking. So, it was Dean's fault when Sam feverishly charged at his brother—above the ankles.

"Looks like your brother isn't too fond of you." Out from the shadows came Will, who looked apologetic, but had a smug smile tugged back on his pale lips. Thankfully, he no longer donned the stupid smock. He had watched with amusement as Dean cursed, picking up his brother to stop him from trying to eat him, only to have the small dog sink his teeth into his forearm.

"Screw you!" Dean's eyes glowed with anger. He bent down a little, dropping Sam to the ground, and then looked back at Will. "And you! You Sonofabitch. What the hell did you do?"

"It was just a little practical joke." Will tried, with a shrug. He took a step back, laughing nervously, his eyes darting back and forth from the brothers, like he didn't know which one would attack first. "I, uh, tried it on you first, but it hadn't worked, and I was still angry, so…"

"Angry? You're pathetic. You don't turn people into animals because you were rejected, no matter how handsome that person was!"

"You think you rejected me? Hah!"

"You're delusional."

"No, you're delusional."

"Dude, no." Dean put his arms up, laughing humorlessly while glancing down quickly at Sam—was he smiling up at him? Dogs don't smile, right? It made him shiver. "You're not my type, you know, so there's no need to—"

"I was trying to make a sale, and you didn't even wait for me to give my pitch!"

"But I don't catch or pitch!"

Having enough of this freak show, Sam started barking, as if, 'hello, remember me? I'm a dog! A DOG.' A flushed Will sighed, shaking his head. He hesitantly apologized, for turning Sam into a mutt, and for using a sleep potion on Dean, who went all, 'huh?'

"A sleep potion… it kind of makes you black out. I think I used a little too much because I didn't expect you to pass out in the parking lot for nearly ten minutes."

"I laid sprawled out in the parking lot for ten minutes without anyone noticing?"

Will shrugged. "It was a little dead around here."

"This town must be immune to my—" Once again, Sam barked up a storm, reminding Dean why he was conversing with this strange young man. "Jesus Christ, shut up, Sammy! Enough of this bullshit, how the hell do I change Sam back? I don't have to kiss him or nothin', do I?"

Again, Will shrugged, only a little more helpful this time. "I'm not that strong. It's only, like, a twenty-four hour potion. Maybe a thirty hour one, I don't know."

"You're a horrible witch."

"I'm not a witch! I practice Wicca—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, witch boy. So, Sam just has to wait this out? 'Cause you know, I'll know if you're lyin' sooner or later." He looked down pointedly at Sam. "And can I ask you one thing? Why a yorkie, man?"


Sure enough, hours later, Sam woke up naked in a bathtub. The past events were an intangible blur, and he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "What the…? Dean?" He called out with uncertainly when he looked around for a towel, anything, but turned up empty. Hell, there wasn't even a shower curtain. Who let the fangirl in? "Dean!" He sat up, bringing his long legs to his chest.

The walls were painted a bright lime green color that hurt his eyes. There was a small window above his head that had curtains that wouldn't even make do as a miniskirt. They were decorated with fluorescent pink hearts. The tub, sink, and toilet were a dull yellow color, and Sam wondered how Dean managed to pick out the strangest motel rooms.

Slowly, Sam eased himself out of the tub, and tried to open the bathroom door, but it wouldn't budge. He squinted angrily at it. "Come on, Dean. It's me! Dean? Are you all right? Dean, please." His stomach was growling, and he had a weird taste lingering in his mouth. "I promise I won't bite you, man." He pounded on the hard door with a clenched fist. Impatience was genetic.

Finally, some shuffling was heard outside the door, and there was a clicking sound. He waited a second before he turned the doorknob, and sighed a breath of relief when it opened. Remembering his nudity, Sam opened the door enough to stick his head out. "Could you grab some clo—" His jaw dropped at the disheveled appearance of his brother. "Were you sleeping?"

"Uh, no." Dean stated while rubbing sleep out of his eyes. All of a sudden he froze, and his eyes lit up like a children's on Christmas morning. "Shit, Sam! It's damn good to look up at you." He grinned, and reached up, ruffling the top of Sam's messy hair. "How do you feel? Are you all right? You're all human right; you don't like have a tail or anything do you?"

Sam's hand immediately slapped against his lower back. "Shut up."

Still grinning, Dean patted his brother's (face) cheek lightly before picking up rolled up clothes off a table besides the door and passing them through to Sam. "Huh, well, you've still got that bark."

"Wait, why didn't you just leave clothes in here for me to—"

"'Cause I didn't want to spare you any embarrassment?"

"I should have bitten your toe off, Dean, I should have bitten your toe off."


"Hey Pastor Jim! Thanks for getting back to me, but the situation has been… what? Oh. Nothing really—Sam was turned into a dog for a day and some odd hours, but he's back to his usual brooding self, and—huh? What kind? A Yorkshire terrier--yeah, I know, right? You should've seen him chasing his tail…"

Sam ignored the smirk Dean had sent his way and carried out his brother's duffel bag and his laptop to the car. Thankfully, there wasn't much to pack up; he wanted to get out of the city as soon as freaking possible… well, after he got a cappuccino at least. He wanted something out of this rotten, yet memorable, experience.

He waited for Dean outside, resting his tall form against the Impala, his arms folded loosely against his chest. "You called Pastor Jim?" He asked softly when Dean got near. "And Caleb? Did you call… dad?" His eyes had been fixed down on a dried up splotch of paint on the blacktop, but now he glanced up, his eyes meeting Dean's hazel orbs.

"Nah. Probably wouldn't have called back anyway, right? I think in order to catch his attention, we need a certain…" He'd been aiming for a sarcastic comment, but suddenly, he didn't feel very sarcastic, and merely shrugged, "demon." He quickly changed his mask and jiggled the motel key in the air. With his other hand, he tossed Sam the car keys. "I'm going to go return this. You start her up."

"Sure thing." He walked around to the other side, unlocked the driver's door, (oh my god, the doors lock?), and slipped in, backing the seat a few inches. The car started up with a purr, and Sam patted the steering wheel, silently thanking the Impala for being so faithful on their "road trips."

Once Dean came back, and shot Sam a look that warned, I didn't say you were driving, but got into the passenger side anyway when Sam frowned a bit, his eyes getting a little too Bambi for Dean's liking, he opened his mouth. "You know, Dean, I am a little surprised…"

"That I didn't just hand you over to the SPCA?"

"No. That you let Will get away with what he did to us."

A single, innocent blink. "I did." It sounded like a question, but came out more of a statement. Sam studied his stoical face when they approached a red light. He could see it in his brother's cheek—he was suppressing a smile, a smirk, maybe a grin, whatever. And then there was that wayward twinkle in his eyes that easily betrayed him.

"What did you do?" The light turned green before Dean answered, and Sam pulled into the small lot of Sunoco, a cappuccino still on his mind. "Dean?" He asked again, more persistently, unable to keep a smile off his face.

"I might've… taught him a lesson." Dean replied back nonchalantly.

"A, er, Barney lesson, or a Fight Club lesson?"

"It might've been… a don't-dabble-with-magic lesson, with an appetizer of a don't-mess-with-a-guy's-little-brother lesson." The brothers exchanged glances, chuckling to themselves.

"You know we're too messed up even for Springer?"

"But we'd make great television." Word. "Someday, when we're dead—"

"Or fleeing from the authorities."

"—There's going to be a television show about us. It'll be loved by many, and envied by so many more."

Sam opened the car door, but didn't get out yet. He looked back at Dean cynically. "Yeah, like a show about two brothers battling the supernatural in a car would really take off." Wow, he really needed that cappuccino. He pulled his long limbs out of the car, hearing Dean's voice flow behind him.

"What did I tell you about that attitude, Sam? You were one cookie-less child." Sam rolled his eyes and slammed shut the door. "Don't forget I still own the collar and leash, boy." Dean called out the window seconds later, and Sam laughed.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." In the convenience store, he got himself a cappuccino, a coffee for Dean, and picked up a bag of peanut M&M's… just because. He even made eye contact with the cute cashier, and golly gee, he was happy to be human again. He loved his opposable thumbs, his colored vision, his fingers, and basically everything else.

After paying, he started to move to pick up the two stryofoam cups and the white mini-plastic bag the cashier had stuck the candy in when his cell phone rang. He pushed his items to the side of the counter, allowing the person behind him to go next, and pulled out the phone from his pocket.

His heart seemed to stop when he saw the three simple letters. Dad. "H-hello, dad?" His ear was greeted only with static, and he hung up after a long moment of disappointment. Whatever. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, already wanting to forget about it, and left with his purchases.

"Aw, Sammy, you know the way to a man's heart." Dean had joked when Sam handed over a coffee and the bag containing the M&M's. Sam only nodded, still feeling numb from the earlier shock. He took a sip from his drink, and made a face.

"What the hell did you feed me? I can't get this peculiar taste out of my mouth."

"Nuh-uh, Sam, it's not what did I feed you, it's what the hell did you put in your mouth?"

"Oh, god. Lets just get out of here." He set down his cup in a holder, and started the car. "Do you wish to bid adieu to this bizarre little town?"

"Nah, let's just shag some ass. If you see a dark haired nutcase chasing us down, screaming something about wax, just step on the gas a little, mmk?"