Man is it nice to finally have something to upload! So this is just a little fluffy thing I wrote as a belated birthday present for my best friend. There will be two more parts to be added hopefully within a week or two.

Happy 16th, Jessie! Here is your h/c Weechester w/ tons of fluffy cuteness as promised!

Beta: no, all mistakes are my own

Barking At The Moon
Part I

Hate was not a strong enough word to describe my animosity towards witches. For starters they never played fair. A witch loved nothing more than to throw a curveball in the midst of a fight and a witch hunt rarely went off without a hitch, usually at the expense of a the hunter. Always be prepared for anything on a witch hunt, Dad had always said.

Having said that, at that moment I was starting to crave some action. Because it was pretty friggin hard to kill a witch if you couldn't find her. And just wandering around was getting real boring real quick.

There had been many strange deaths in the town of Roanoke, Virginia and one Mrs. Abigail Richards was conveniently benefiting from every murder. And sure enough, when Dad, Sam, and I broke in to her house through her back window, they found loads of witchcraft type things scattered around the house. The evidence was certainly there, but the witch herself wasn't.

We had searched the first floor before splitting up, Sam and I to the basement and Dad to the top floor. Although I loved any hunt and the adrenaline rush that came with it, I had to admit it was starting to get to the point where I just wanted to find the bitch and get the hell out of dodge. After all, the longer they were there the more likely something would go wrong. And according to Winchester Law, something had to go wrong.

"Come out, come out where ever you are," I called. Sam shot me a look. After all, giving away our position wouldn't help any. Though it was only a single room and it was small at that. There were boxes lined along the wall but hardly enough for a full grown adult to hide behind. Now that I thought about it, the basement was significantly smaller than the first floor.

Sam stood across the room by a bookshelf. His weapon was still half-heartedly raised but his attention was on the books. He dragged his finger across the dust on their spines, marveling at some of the titles.

"Later, geek-boy," I whispered, suddenly right behind him. Sam jumped and whipped around, gun raised, only to come face to face with his grinning brother.

Sam's bitchy retort was cut off when my phone suddenly vibrated and I pulled it from my pocket.

"Hello?" I said without lowering his weapon. Constant vigilance. Another John Winchester lesson drilled deep in my head.

"Any luck?" Dad's voice said from the other end.

"No, you?"

"Why would I ask if I'd found her?" Dad getting snappy was always a cue that the hunt was taking too long. He may not look it, but Dad possessed almost endless patience when it came to hunting. Patience that somehow always seemed to disappear when dealing with Sam.

"So what? Call it quits and come back tomorrow? Maybe she went out or something?" Dad sighed audibly.

"Just meet me in the living room and we'll figure out what to do."

"Yes, sir," I snapped the phone shut. "Alright, Sammy, Dad says…Sam?" The small room was completely devoid of one fifteen-year old brother. "Sam? Quit fooling, we need to get upstairs." A muffled thump came from the boxes next to the bookcase.

I darted over while shouting his brother's name. I tore the boxes aside to reveal…nothing. Just a wall with wood paneling. There was another thump, this time from the other side of the bookcase. Thinking I'd misplaced it the first time, I went around that side and moved those boxes. It was then, as I stared at the empty space behind the boxes that it occurred to me that the noise was not coming from by the wall, it was coming from behind the wall. There was a room or something back there. That explained the small size…And somehow Sam had gotten back there, but how?

I started furiously pounding along the paneling, trying to get through. Of course there was a secret room – classic witch house – why didn't I think of it before? And now Sammy was probably trapped back there with that monster…I could feel my heart beating faster and his breathing pick up.

Tiny drops of blood began to slide down my fingers as I tried to pull back the paneling, tiny splinters slicing through the skin. "Sammy!" I called, throwing my entire weight against the wood. "Leave him alone, you bitch!"

"Dean?" I froze for a second before realizing it was Dad and it was coming from behind me. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Sam!" As if that explained it. But apparently it did, because after a moment of confusion, Dad's eyes widened and he ran over to my side. "How did Sam get back there?" Dad asked quickly.

There was another thump – like a body being thrown around, I thought with sick apprehension – and an accompanying cry of pain. Blood pumping furiously now, I started banging on the wood with his bloody fists.

"Dean - Dean!" Dad shouted, grabbing hold of my wrists. "Dean, focus. What was Sam doing before?"

"I-I don't know…standing here…" I trailed off as I caught sight of the finger tracks through the dust. There was a red book, average size compared to the rest, on which the tracks stopped. In fact there was a little circle like pressure had been applied, maybe even accidentally.

It was so clichéd I wanted to laugh. Of course the way into the secret room was book on the bookshelf.

With the force of worried adrenaline, I ripped myself from my father's grasp and all but punched the red book through the wall.

A panel on the right slid open and I was through it almost before it was fully open. It was a significantly larger room. The walls had tables and bookshelves lining them and weird symbols were painted across the walls and floor. I recognized about half of them and it suddenly occurred to me just how much could be learned from a witch if they weren't all murdering bastards. But then again, maybe they weren't…after all, hunters only noticed supernatural things when there were enough deaths or disappearances to attract their attention.

Abigail stood in the center of the room, turning to face me when I entered, Dad at my heels. Her green eyes flashed dangerously and her hair started blowing with a mysterious wind. Sam was standing behind her leaning up against the wall he had most likely just crashed into.

She threw her hands out to each side like she was about to take a bow. An inhuman howl escaped from her lips and power seemed to crash off of her in a tidal wave. I was knocked up against the wall behind me and Dad fell half way through the door. Brown hair flew back from Sam's face as he went backwards, his gangly legs tangling up in themselves. The sound of splitting wood filled the room as Sam went through the table behind him. Wood collapsed down on him as well as several glass jars filled with strange colored liquid.

"Sam!" I called. With a simply wave, my feet slid out from under me and I landed painfully on my hip. "Alright you know what, bitch? I've had it up to here. Now you die." I took careful aim in less than a second and had the shot off in another. The consecrated iron ploughed into her heart and she jerked back. The long auburn strands fell limply to her shoulders as the mysterious wind ended and her body collapsed back in a beautiful arc. Her pale hand tumbled off to the side landing next to her and opening to reveal a six-pointed star tattooed on her palm.

"Good riddance." I accompanied the statement with a roll of the eyes. "Sam?" I asked when my little brother was yet to get up. And, come to think of it, Sam seemed to disappear completely. His legs – the only thing I had been able to see of Sam – were no longer visible and there was just no way Sam was small enough to hide under that tiny pile of rubble. The kid was growing like a frikkin' reed for crying out loud!

"Sam?" Dad's authoritative voice came from behind me. There was no movement, which disturbed me more. That was Dad's do-what-I-say-and-do-it-now voice which Sam always responded too, unless of course they were fighting. And the tiny spat they'd had in the car on the way here did not even qualify as a fight – not compared to some of the shit they usually threw at each other.

I dropped to my knees, ignoring the flare of pain at the bone-concrete contact, and began pulling planks of wood away. Bloody fingerprints smeared across them as I tossed them the wood behind me. This wasn't possible…The pile was getting smaller and smaller and still no Sam.

Finally, my fingers brushed something. Something soft…I wracked his brain to remember what jacket Sam had been wearing. Funny how small details slipped away so easily…

But it wasn't Sam, or his jacket for that matter, underneath.

It was fur. More specifically, it was a dog – well a puppy really.

Dog breeds were certainly not my forte (though I didn't doubt that Sam could list off a good twenty even though he had no need for them) but I recognized a border collie when I saw one. My friend from a past school, Jake, had a big black and white border collie, Mack of something like that. And this, this small thing lying before me, was certainly a border collie.

But Sam was not a border collie and I wanted Sam.

"Is-is that a dog?" Dad asked incredulously. A better question, I thought, was how it was a dog.

"Sam?" I asked sounded disbelieving even to my own ears. It couldn't be…that just didn't make sense…but it did. Witch hunts equaled the impossible becoming possible.

"I, you don't think…"

"Who knows. All this crap," I gestured to the spilled potions seeping across the ground, "fell on him, anything could have been in them."

I reached out slowly - and no that was not my hand shaking, it was my mind playing tricks on me – and gently prodded the slowly rising stomach of the puppy.

The eyes slid open and turned to face me and in that one moment, I just knew. It was Sam and somehow Sam had gone from Sam to dog. Because those eyes were most definitely my brother's. And holy crap, if I thought Sam had powerful puppy dog eyes before…well now there was an actual puppy to match.

The puppy – Sam! – was about a foot and a half high with long fur. His hind quarters were black but most of his front was white. His head had two ovals of black each covering one eye and running up along his pointy ears. There was a definite snout complete with a moist black nose and a pink tounge. And the soft eyes that just made you want to melt…

"Sammy?" I asked softly. Sam's dog head tilted to the side just the way Sam did when he didn't understand why I was feeling what I was feeling, which at the moment was concern. The soft front legs moved into an awkward position that I guessed was Sam trying to prop up his elbows, but the dog legs didn't work the same and he was soon on the ground. Little wrinkles appeared on his nose as Sam looked down to figure out why such a simply task had failed and froze. Little dog eyes widened and a small noise, practically a whimper, escaped him. His respiration immediately picked up and limbs began to scramble this way and that.

Dog or not, Sam was still my little brother. And big brothers did not allow little brothers to panic without trying to help. As if acting on their own, my hands shot out and gently wrapped around Sam, holding him still. "Whoa, Sammy, relax." Sorrowful puppy eyes turned to me – holy shit those things had power when turned on 24/7 – and Sam opened his mouth, releasing a half-hearted bark. He looked mildly surprised at himself and I had to stifle laughter.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Dad said while running a hand through his hair.

"But Dad-" my brother is still a dog.

"You bring Sam up to the car, I'll see if I can find something to put some of these potions that spilled on him in. Then we'll head back to the motel, get in contact with some people and try and figure out how to turn him back."

I nodded, happy to have a plan, and scooped my furry brother into his arms. Sam whined lightly and burrowed closer into my leather jacket.

"It's okay, Sammy, we'll figure this out," I said softly, so only his brother could hear. If anything, I felt more protective of Sam now.

Once they were all in the car speeding back to the hotel, I voiced the question that had silently been plaguing us all.

"What if we can't get him back?" Both pairs of eyes drifted down the small puppy curled up in my lap while my fingers softly stroked the furry head.

"We will, Dean, we will."

And of course it was true because we wouldn't stop until we did.

Bobby groaned as he climbed up his front steps while nursing his bruised and achy back. He was getting too old for this crap.

The phone started ringing just as Bobby entered the house, eliciting some dark mutterings from the older hunter.

"What?" he demanded gruffly.

"Bobby, we got a problem." As much as Bobby loved the Winchesters, they certainly could be a pain sometimes. Bobby was one of the few hunters who Dad was still friends with because Dad had pissed off most of the rest.


"Sam's a dog." Of all the things he expected out of John Winchester's mouth, proclaiming his youngest son was a dog was not something he had expected.

"You wanna run that by me again?"

"There was a witch hunt and, long story short, Sam landed in a bunch of potions and came out a dog."

"You know what the potion was?"

"No idea, but I managed to gather some samples of some of the stuff."

"Where are you?"

"Roanoke, Virginia." Thankfully, Bobby was only in West Virginia, having taken a rawhead hunt there.

"I'll see what I can scrounge up tonight then head over tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dad said sincerely.

"Don't mention it, Johnny-boy." Bobby hung up then collapsed on the couch.

Those Winchesters had worst damn luck.