A/N: Another piece unearthed from the comp, brushed free of dust and cobwebs. Preseries short, in which John and Dean take on some crazy undercover roles for a case.


Close Encounters of the Zoobilee Kind

"I'm terribly sorry, Dr. Rudd. He's usually such a sweetie-pie with the vets."

The offending creature squinted at Dean as it was wrangled out the room by a summer intern in khaki shorts and a green polo with the St. Louis Zoo logo stitched on the front.

John flattened him palms on the stainless steel tabletop and watched with a lowered head for the door to swing shut. "Dean, we need to keep these jobs if we want to get the information we need about those animals. At least for a few more days."

"What? That little fucker bit me!"

"And you tried to bite it back," John hissed, leaning in closer in the spacious, sterile room. Despite his tone, he was almost...amused.

Dean rubbed at his wrist, curling his lip at the red smear inside his latex glove. This was without a doubt the dumbest fucking thing his dad had ever coerced him into doing. "I hate animals." He looked up and around the room. "Where'd they put that son of a bitch?"

"They took it out. Maybe you shouldn't say things like 'little fucker', you're gonna blow this job for us. What kind of veterinarian talks about animals like that?"

Dean ignored him. "Which way did they take it?"'

"We're not here to hunt the flamingo, Dean."

"No, we're here to hunt a ghost lion."

John glared, but a smile struggled to break free. "Don't forget the ghost rhino."

There were also possible attacks by the ghosts of a rattlesnake and a particularly peckish kangaroo. Zoo patrons attacked by the ghost of a kangaroo – John had flat out laughed in Bobby's face.

"Oh. Yes. HOW could I forget the ghost RHINO?" Dean pulled off his glove and inspected the bite; smaller than he's thought, but that wasn't too reassuring. "I've probably got the friggin' bird flu. Rabies or some shit."

John shhed Dean at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Two sets: one human, and one very obviously not. Their next appointment for the afternoon.

"Doctors? Michelle told me there was a problem?" A familiar blonde in a blue logo-stitched polo entered the room, attached to her left hand a thick cord, and attached to that thick cord the biggest fucking horse on the planet.

John smiled his best smile. "No. No problem."

Dean mumbled something like, bird flu, under his breath, but it went unnoticed by the young woman they had been working with since Monday.

"Great, because Stardust here is overdue for his meds. We're still trying to clear up his infection." The blonde rubbed her palm sympathetically on the colossal Shire's nose. It nuzzled affectionately against her hand before letting loose a horrific sneeze. The girl laughed it off, wiping grimy green goo onto her already soiled khakis. She transferred the rope into John's hand. "I'll leave you two to it."

As soon as she was out of sight, Dean looked between the massive pill on the steel stand – THAT'S what that's for – and the horse flaring its nostril at him, communicating in no uncertain terms, just TRY it. He met his dad's eyes next, expression dead serious. "I'm not putting my hand up that thing's ass, and that's just the way it is."