Fic: Hair of the Dog
Title: Hair of the Dog
Author: brate7
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, PG-13
Word Count: 1070
Summary: A salt and burn can never be easy.
Hair of the Dog
by Brate
Even in the darkened cemetery, they found the grave with ease. Maybe-finally-this would be a straightforward job, something sorely needed after two weeks chasing a freaking nomadic poltergeist.
Tossing their weapons bag to the side, Dean grabbed a shovel and started to dig, clean, efficient movements throwing the dirt aside. Mirroring his brother's actions, Sam lowered the blade into the dirt, but stopped before removing any from the grave. Feeling an odd tickle at the back of his neck, he raised his head, surveying the vicinity.
About thirty feet from their location stood a very large, very angry-looking dog. Its light fur shone in the moonlight, its red eyes a stark contrast. The animal seemed to fade in and out as he watched. "Oh, shit," Sam whispered.
Dean stopped what he was doing immediately, looking up and following Sam's gaze. "What the hell is that? Black Dog?"
"Dude, it's white," Sam countered automatically.
"Don't make me kill you." Dean gripped the shovel in his hand, ready to wield it as a weapon. "What is it?"
"I think it's a graveyard dog."
"What, like a junkyard dog?"
Sam refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely. He knew his brother wasn't stupid and hated it when Dean acted that way. Which, he knew, was the exact reason his brother did it. "It's a spectral canine," Sam said softly, "devoted to protecting graveyards-keep them from being violated."
"But the bones it's protecting belong to a murderer."
"Maybe you should tell it that." Sam waved a hand in invitation.
Dean shrugged and moved forward a few steps.
The dog bared its teeth and growled, instantly appearing closer by half.
Dean retreated. "Okay, it doesn't want to hear it."
"What a shock."
"What do we do, toss it a bone?"
"The only thing we can do is get out of its territory, and try again tomorrow when it's light."
"Perfect. That just happens to be when the whole damn town could drive by and see us, too." Dean shook his head in disgust. "How do you know about this, anyway?"
"I actually came across one once before."
"When?"
"With Dad."
"You did not!" Dean challenged. "I never heard about it."
"It was when you were laid up with a sprained ankle after you tripped over that bunyip," Sam said.
Dean squinted, thinking back. "You said nothing happened."
"Nothing did happen."
"You encountered a freaking ghost dog, Sam."
"And I ran away, very fast, like we should do now."
"But we have to torch these bones before Cousin Wilbur decides to take another victim."
"Well, what do you suggest?"
Dean went through a variety of facial expressions. "I say we reason with it."
"Reason…with a phantom dog."
"Two words: Lethal Weapon 3."
"Technically, that's three words, Dean."
"Technically, I'm going to tie you to the gravestone and slather you with bacon grease if you don't shut up." Dean cracked his knuckles. "I'm gonna bond with it, doggy-style."
"Now you're starting to frighten me."
"No, it's cool; check it out." Dean dropped to his hands and knees and slowly began to crawl forward.
"Oh, my God."
"Quiet, Sam, you'll mess up my mojo."
While Sam watched, Dean crawled within five feet of the spirit dog and stopped. He started a low, questioning hum that made the ears of the graveyard dog perk up.
It stopped growling and tilted its head, as if to study Dean.
Dean took advantage of its attention and softly woofed under his breath. He crawled another foot, putting him dangerously close to exceptionally sharp teeth.
But the dog didn't bite his brother's head off as Sam had expected-feared. It simply moved in, sniffing. Dean remained still, letting himself be "examined."
Then the dog nuzzled Dean.
"Oh, my God," Sam said again. "You're the freaking Ghost-Dog Whisperer."
Dean smirked as he sat back on his heels and pet-pet!-the spirit animal. "Dude, I'm irresistible. You get digging; I'll entertain Lassie."
Sam dug the grave while Dean chased and played with the dog. It took quite a bit longer, but it was worth it to keep from getting chewed up or torn apart. Sam split his attention between his brother and his job. Finally, he reached the coffin, quickly tearing it open and climbing out of the hole.
Dean ran over with Lassie trailing behind. He opened the bag and grabbed the can of salt, tossing it to Sam. He kept the lighter fluid for himself. The brothers eyed the dog nervously as they poured the "ingredients" onto the body, but the dog merely sat at the edge of the grave, observing.
Striking a match, Dean watched the brief flare before throwing it into the coffin. Flame roared up instantly, forcing them back a step, but the dog stayed put. The fire burned itself out within minutes. Sam grabbed the shovel to fill in the grave.
Head cocked, the dog watched for a moment before turning its back and starting to dig with its paws, tossing dirt back, helping to fill in the hole.
Dean smiled at Sam's stunned expression. "Can we keep him?"
"He's sleeping on your bed," Sam countered.
With the brothers and Lassie working together, the grave was quickly filled. Sam took the other shovel from Dean without a word, and, hefting the weapons bag, he walked toward the Impala. He loaded everything into the car as Dean stood at the edge of the cemetery.
Whining, the dog shoved into Dean's leg, demanding attention. Dean knelt, using both hands to hold its head and scratch it behind the ears.
Sam heard a soft murmur, Good boy. He opened the passenger door and sank onto the seat, shutting the door to let his brother say goodbye in private. The odd part was, he didn't think it strange his brother had bonded with a phantom canine.
The driver's door creaked as Dean got in. He didn't say anything, just looked straight ahead as he drove back to the motel.
They entered the room still coated in silence, something that Sam was finding uncomfortable. But he always knew the best way to get through to his older brother.
"We can always come back through sometime, so you can play with Lassie," Sam offered deadpan. "Maybe bring it a ghost steak?"
It earned him a smile, a real, if small, one. "Or maybe next time I'll just let him snack on you."
end
Author: brate7
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, PG-13
Word Count: 1070
Summary: A salt and burn can never be easy.
Hair of the Dog
by Brate
Even in the darkened cemetery, they found the grave with ease. Maybe-finally-this would be a straightforward job, something sorely needed after two weeks chasing a freaking nomadic poltergeist.
Tossing their weapons bag to the side, Dean grabbed a shovel and started to dig, clean, efficient movements throwing the dirt aside. Mirroring his brother's actions, Sam lowered the blade into the dirt, but stopped before removing any from the grave. Feeling an odd tickle at the back of his neck, he raised his head, surveying the vicinity.
About thirty feet from their location stood a very large, very angry-looking dog. Its light fur shone in the moonlight, its red eyes a stark contrast. The animal seemed to fade in and out as he watched. "Oh, shit," Sam whispered.
Dean stopped what he was doing immediately, looking up and following Sam's gaze. "What the hell is that? Black Dog?"
"Dude, it's white," Sam countered automatically.
"Don't make me kill you." Dean gripped the shovel in his hand, ready to wield it as a weapon. "What is it?"
"I think it's a graveyard dog."
"What, like a junkyard dog?"
Sam refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely. He knew his brother wasn't stupid and hated it when Dean acted that way. Which, he knew, was the exact reason his brother did it. "It's a spectral canine," Sam said softly, "devoted to protecting graveyards-keep them from being violated."
"But the bones it's protecting belong to a murderer."
"Maybe you should tell it that." Sam waved a hand in invitation.
Dean shrugged and moved forward a few steps.
The dog bared its teeth and growled, instantly appearing closer by half.
Dean retreated. "Okay, it doesn't want to hear it."
"What a shock."
"What do we do, toss it a bone?"
"The only thing we can do is get out of its territory, and try again tomorrow when it's light."
"Perfect. That just happens to be when the whole damn town could drive by and see us, too." Dean shook his head in disgust. "How do you know about this, anyway?"
"I actually came across one once before."
"When?"
"With Dad."
"You did not!" Dean challenged. "I never heard about it."
"It was when you were laid up with a sprained ankle after you tripped over that bunyip," Sam said.
Dean squinted, thinking back. "You said nothing happened."
"Nothing did happen."
"You encountered a freaking ghost dog, Sam."
"And I ran away, very fast, like we should do now."
"But we have to torch these bones before Cousin Wilbur decides to take another victim."
"Well, what do you suggest?"
Dean went through a variety of facial expressions. "I say we reason with it."
"Reason…with a phantom dog."
"Two words: Lethal Weapon 3."
"Technically, that's three words, Dean."
"Technically, I'm going to tie you to the gravestone and slather you with bacon grease if you don't shut up." Dean cracked his knuckles. "I'm gonna bond with it, doggy-style."
"Now you're starting to frighten me."
"No, it's cool; check it out." Dean dropped to his hands and knees and slowly began to crawl forward.
"Oh, my God."
"Quiet, Sam, you'll mess up my mojo."
While Sam watched, Dean crawled within five feet of the spirit dog and stopped. He started a low, questioning hum that made the ears of the graveyard dog perk up.
It stopped growling and tilted its head, as if to study Dean.
Dean took advantage of its attention and softly woofed under his breath. He crawled another foot, putting him dangerously close to exceptionally sharp teeth.
But the dog didn't bite his brother's head off as Sam had expected-feared. It simply moved in, sniffing. Dean remained still, letting himself be "examined."
Then the dog nuzzled Dean.
"Oh, my God," Sam said again. "You're the freaking Ghost-Dog Whisperer."
Dean smirked as he sat back on his heels and pet-pet!-the spirit animal. "Dude, I'm irresistible. You get digging; I'll entertain Lassie."
Sam dug the grave while Dean chased and played with the dog. It took quite a bit longer, but it was worth it to keep from getting chewed up or torn apart. Sam split his attention between his brother and his job. Finally, he reached the coffin, quickly tearing it open and climbing out of the hole.
Dean ran over with Lassie trailing behind. He opened the bag and grabbed the can of salt, tossing it to Sam. He kept the lighter fluid for himself. The brothers eyed the dog nervously as they poured the "ingredients" onto the body, but the dog merely sat at the edge of the grave, observing.
Striking a match, Dean watched the brief flare before throwing it into the coffin. Flame roared up instantly, forcing them back a step, but the dog stayed put. The fire burned itself out within minutes. Sam grabbed the shovel to fill in the grave.
Head cocked, the dog watched for a moment before turning its back and starting to dig with its paws, tossing dirt back, helping to fill in the hole.
Dean smiled at Sam's stunned expression. "Can we keep him?"
"He's sleeping on your bed," Sam countered.
With the brothers and Lassie working together, the grave was quickly filled. Sam took the other shovel from Dean without a word, and, hefting the weapons bag, he walked toward the Impala. He loaded everything into the car as Dean stood at the edge of the cemetery.
Whining, the dog shoved into Dean's leg, demanding attention. Dean knelt, using both hands to hold its head and scratch it behind the ears.
Sam heard a soft murmur, Good boy. He opened the passenger door and sank onto the seat, shutting the door to let his brother say goodbye in private. The odd part was, he didn't think it strange his brother had bonded with a phantom canine.
The driver's door creaked as Dean got in. He didn't say anything, just looked straight ahead as he drove back to the motel.
They entered the room still coated in silence, something that Sam was finding uncomfortable. But he always knew the best way to get through to his older brother.
"We can always come back through sometime, so you can play with Lassie," Sam offered deadpan. "Maybe bring it a ghost steak?"
It earned him a smile, a real, if small, one. "Or maybe next time I'll just let him snack on you."
end