Out Through The In Door - a missing moment of Bean the Dog
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The further adventures of Bean the dog. A missing moment from the hotel when Dean was a dog.
xxxxx
Sam had the remote control and was watching a PBS special on crime in large urban areas versus small rural areas. Dean had sat impatiently while Sam clicked right by the pay per view porn, monster truck rallies and an episode of Cops. This was too much. It wasn’t bad enough that Sam was driving his car, got the bigger bed in their hotel room and was able to use a toilet to pee. This had to stop.
Dean growled his annoyance. Sam put his beer down and stared at him. “What? This is fascinating.” Sam gestured toward the screen. “I studied stuff like this in school.”
Dean watched Sam pick up his beer and take another long, refreshing sip. It was hot in his fur puppet. Dean scratched behind his ear, putting his hind leg down quickly when Sam raised his eyebrows at him.
“Whoa there boy, don’t make me get you neutered,” Sam laughed. In some ways it was fun to make fun of Dean. Mostly it was just good to have him back but Dean was at a disadvantage prank-wise, and try as he might, Sam couldn’t help but enjoy a few well earned pay backs on his big brother.
Dean tried to sit still so Sam wouldn’t make fun of him again, he really did. But that itch, right behind his other ear now, like something had moved into the damned thing. Fleas!
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught Dean’s jerky movements, which would stop the minute he looked at him fully.
Dean was going nuts. The very thought that fleas would dare walk all over him was unbearable. He scratched his back end with his hind foot and before he could stop himself, he was chewing on his own hindquarters.
Sam got itchy watching Dean scratch. He knew it was psychological. Or was it? He got to his feet, put a light jacket on against the rain and took the keys from the hook.
“Woof!” Dean barked accusingly.
“You have fleas,” Sam told Dean, unable to hide his smile. “Probably caught them from that net the animal control guy had over you.” Sam scratched his neck as he reached for the keys.
Dean made a mental note to hunt down that son of a bitch of a dogcatcher and give him back his little gift and then some. Dean didn’t realize how pathetic he looked until he saw his reflection in the window, pawing away the curtains to watch Sam drive away. The Impala stopped half way out of the driveway and backed up to the room door. Dean tried hard not to wag his tail.
Sam came back in the room for Dean. Dean ran out past him, taking a bite of grass on the way to the car before he could stop himself. How humiliating.
Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head, his beloved Impala had a CD player! And what was worse, a band that Dean had never heard before was playing.
Dean barked. Loud.
“Shotgun shuts his cakehole, remember?” Sam grinned. There was actual glee in his voice, the kind that belonged in a glee club on some school campus.
Oh hell no, thought Dean furiously. Dean climbed over the back seat and found a plastic bag containing the receipt for the offensive transplant in the Impala. The grass tickled the back of his throat. Sam’s shoes were on the floor beside the bag. Dean heaved and wretched and up came the grass and froth from his mouth into the bag and onto Sam’s shoes.
Take that! That’s what you get for playing Air Supply in the Impala.
“That’s the way it’s gonna be then eh Flean? Sam asked, pulling up in front of a mom and pop sort of pet shop.
“Woof, well you didn’t think I’d puke on the upholstery, did you?” Dean barked. This time, no letter board was needed. Sam knew exactly where he stood, but if he could keep Dean aggravated, it might take his mind of his ordeal, at least for a bit. But he’d pay for those shoes. Oh yes, he would.
Sam walked Dean into the shop. Dean hit the floor at first, on his belly, alert and acutely aware of every noise from every creature there. He got back up and followed Sam to the pest control aisle. As Sam mused over bottle after bottle looking for non-pesticide flea control, Dean’s nose raised and he wandered as far as his leash would let him.
Cats in cages hissed at him and he barked. A poodle in a cage barked toward him.
“Well, how you doin’?” Dean barked back, puffing up his tale until it resembled a bottlebrush. Then he bit his tongue in distaste. He needed to be made human again, and soon.
“Cute. Did you get her number?” Sam asked.
Dean growled grumpily.
They returned to the car and were back to the hotel in little over twenty minutes with the same sort of bag that had held those disgusting so-called treats that Sam’s little fling had given him. Dean backed away from Sam.
“Bean.” Dean’s ears went flat when Sam called him this. “You know what I mean, Dean.”
Sam went to the washroom and began to run a lukewarm tub. He called to Dean who refused flat out to come. He even patted the edge of the tub and could have kicked himself for making those ridiculous kissy kissy noises that stupid humans think will summon any beast. Finally, Sam picked his brother up and put him in the tub.
Dean sat humiliated as Sam lathered up the flea shampoo, reading the directions carefully. Dean was very helpful, taking every opportunity to give Sam as much of a bath as he was having and soon, both of them were dripping wet. As Dean shook out his long, matted hair for the third time, Sam ducked, his arms around his head and squinted.
Sam towel dried Dean and reached for the hair dryer to finish the job. Sam enjoyed making Dean mad by aiming the hot air into his long jowls, which blew back to reveal long teeth like Dean was in some odd astronaut training machine. In ten minutes, Dean’s fur was puffed up like a big, fat sheep.
“Bet you we’d take first in the all mutt category,” Sam joked. “Should I take you back to the store to show your new girlfriend your new do?”
Dean glared, licking his lips to re moisten his teeth.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Sam was enjoying this way too much.
Dean was still a little wet on his underbelly when he deliberately got up on Sam’s bed and shook himself. Out of pure instinct, he looked around for his clothes.
Sam washed the tub and stepped into the shower to wash off the dog hair. Dean hopped off of Sam’s bed and rushed in to flush the toilet. Dean waited for the howl from the rush of cold water and was rewarded with a yell from Sam. Dean reached up and turned off the bathroom light with his paw and headed out, pleased with himself as he listened to Sam fumble for the human shampoo.
Dean stared at Sam’s unfinished beer. The cup was definitely half empty, not half full, there was no denying his dire situation, but damn it, he was going to have that beer. Dean picked up his dish. How he hated to admit that it was his dish, raised edges so he wouldn’t slop his food, that metallic sound when his teeth would accidentally touch it, but it would hold beer as well as water or food.
Dean was proud of himself. He sat perched; ready to take a swig of the fine nectar he’d worked so hard not to gag on while holding the bottle and that gross paper label in his mouth. But there was Sam, hands on hips naked for but a towel.
“Don’ t do it, Dean. You have the metabolism of an aged dog. Who knows what could happen if you drink beer.”
Blah blah blah blah, Dean. Blah blah blah beer. Blah blah blah stop eating chips for dinner. Blah blah blah try some leafy greens. Dean stuck his long tongue out tentatively. Sam leapt for him. Dean made good use of his four legs by sidestepping Sam who went headlong over the bed, bare butt in the air, past the curtains that Dean had conveniently left open.
Sam landed with a thud on the other side of the bed. The sound of sloppy drinking greeted his ears. He was too late to stop Dean from drinking the beer. The bowl was empty and by the time Sam stood up, Dean had belched twice.
“Nice. Listen, if you start passing wind, I’m getting you a dog house,” Sam said, the rug burn on his butt from his skid over the bed starting to sting. He pulled on some light pants and mopped up the water trail he’d left from the shower.
Dean lay on his bed licking his paws lazily. He was slightly dizzy, happy for the first time in too long to remember.
Sam didn’t know that dog’s could snore. He put his pillow over his head, wishing Dean would stop. Then he stared at Dean for a while. Dean’s paws twitched, he sniffed loudly and his tail wagged. It was hard to tell if it was a good dream or bad one until ...
“Dude, you better be dreaming about a woman,” Sam muttered, rolling over and trying to block out the noises.
In the morning, Dean refused his breakfast burrito. Dean never turned down an opportunity to eat.
“Ha!” Sam laughed triumphantly. “You’re hung over!”
“You let your brother drink alcohol?” Bobby said in disbelief. “Sam, I left him in your care for one night, you should have watched him better.”
“Yes sir,” Sam said, genuinely ashamed but still a bit triumphant.
Dean looked at Sam, clearly gloating that he’d gotten into trouble. Many was the times Dean had been told off for letting Sam do something he’d been told not to. The collar was on the other leash now.
Dean studied Sam. Despite the brave face, Dean knew Sam was worried he’d end up alone still. He hated being a dog, but this time with Sam was a gift, no matter how it ended.
Sam stared at his own breakfast burrito that Bobby had brought them, unable to eat his either.
Dean knew Sam was never one for a heavy breakfast. Dean grabbed his duffel that he’d insisted on having even though there was very little he could use from it. It wasn’t easy but he unzipped it with his teeth and brought out a single serving box of Lucky Charms Cereal that he’d swiped from a continental breakfast table some time ago. He dropped it in Sam’s lap.
A flood of memories bombarded Sam’s brain. Hotels much like this one, many years ago. Dean, as he so often did, gave up his own serving of something if Sam fussed. Anything to stop the when’s dad coming back question. Anything to keep him happy.
Sam took the colorful box in his hands. He was glad that Bobby had gone to wash his hands because his eyes prickled at the corners and a single tear made it down his nose before he could even look down at Dean.
Dean was already lapping up some water, looking anywhere but at Sam. The box ripped open at the neat perforations and the sound of milk pouring and the cereal lifting from the bottom made him feel happy, useful.
Dean’s water bowl had just emptied when milk and colorful cereal splashed into it in swirls of rainbow milk. Half of the tiny box was his. Sam nodded and smiled and the brothers understood each other. Their bowls had always been half full and half empty but one day, they would overflow.
Fin
The further adventures of Bean the dog. A missing moment from the hotel when Dean was a dog.
xxxxx
Sam had the remote control and was watching a PBS special on crime in large urban areas versus small rural areas. Dean had sat impatiently while Sam clicked right by the pay per view porn, monster truck rallies and an episode of Cops. This was too much. It wasn’t bad enough that Sam was driving his car, got the bigger bed in their hotel room and was able to use a toilet to pee. This had to stop.
Dean growled his annoyance. Sam put his beer down and stared at him. “What? This is fascinating.” Sam gestured toward the screen. “I studied stuff like this in school.”
Dean watched Sam pick up his beer and take another long, refreshing sip. It was hot in his fur puppet. Dean scratched behind his ear, putting his hind leg down quickly when Sam raised his eyebrows at him.
“Whoa there boy, don’t make me get you neutered,” Sam laughed. In some ways it was fun to make fun of Dean. Mostly it was just good to have him back but Dean was at a disadvantage prank-wise, and try as he might, Sam couldn’t help but enjoy a few well earned pay backs on his big brother.
Dean tried to sit still so Sam wouldn’t make fun of him again, he really did. But that itch, right behind his other ear now, like something had moved into the damned thing. Fleas!
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught Dean’s jerky movements, which would stop the minute he looked at him fully.
Dean was going nuts. The very thought that fleas would dare walk all over him was unbearable. He scratched his back end with his hind foot and before he could stop himself, he was chewing on his own hindquarters.
Sam got itchy watching Dean scratch. He knew it was psychological. Or was it? He got to his feet, put a light jacket on against the rain and took the keys from the hook.
“Woof!” Dean barked accusingly.
“You have fleas,” Sam told Dean, unable to hide his smile. “Probably caught them from that net the animal control guy had over you.” Sam scratched his neck as he reached for the keys.
Dean made a mental note to hunt down that son of a bitch of a dogcatcher and give him back his little gift and then some. Dean didn’t realize how pathetic he looked until he saw his reflection in the window, pawing away the curtains to watch Sam drive away. The Impala stopped half way out of the driveway and backed up to the room door. Dean tried hard not to wag his tail.
Sam came back in the room for Dean. Dean ran out past him, taking a bite of grass on the way to the car before he could stop himself. How humiliating.
Dean’s eyes bugged out of his head, his beloved Impala had a CD player! And what was worse, a band that Dean had never heard before was playing.
Dean barked. Loud.
“Shotgun shuts his cakehole, remember?” Sam grinned. There was actual glee in his voice, the kind that belonged in a glee club on some school campus.
Oh hell no, thought Dean furiously. Dean climbed over the back seat and found a plastic bag containing the receipt for the offensive transplant in the Impala. The grass tickled the back of his throat. Sam’s shoes were on the floor beside the bag. Dean heaved and wretched and up came the grass and froth from his mouth into the bag and onto Sam’s shoes.
Take that! That’s what you get for playing Air Supply in the Impala.
“That’s the way it’s gonna be then eh Flean? Sam asked, pulling up in front of a mom and pop sort of pet shop.
“Woof, well you didn’t think I’d puke on the upholstery, did you?” Dean barked. This time, no letter board was needed. Sam knew exactly where he stood, but if he could keep Dean aggravated, it might take his mind of his ordeal, at least for a bit. But he’d pay for those shoes. Oh yes, he would.
Sam walked Dean into the shop. Dean hit the floor at first, on his belly, alert and acutely aware of every noise from every creature there. He got back up and followed Sam to the pest control aisle. As Sam mused over bottle after bottle looking for non-pesticide flea control, Dean’s nose raised and he wandered as far as his leash would let him.
Cats in cages hissed at him and he barked. A poodle in a cage barked toward him.
“Well, how you doin’?” Dean barked back, puffing up his tale until it resembled a bottlebrush. Then he bit his tongue in distaste. He needed to be made human again, and soon.
“Cute. Did you get her number?” Sam asked.
Dean growled grumpily.
They returned to the car and were back to the hotel in little over twenty minutes with the same sort of bag that had held those disgusting so-called treats that Sam’s little fling had given him. Dean backed away from Sam.
“Bean.” Dean’s ears went flat when Sam called him this. “You know what I mean, Dean.”
Sam went to the washroom and began to run a lukewarm tub. He called to Dean who refused flat out to come. He even patted the edge of the tub and could have kicked himself for making those ridiculous kissy kissy noises that stupid humans think will summon any beast. Finally, Sam picked his brother up and put him in the tub.
Dean sat humiliated as Sam lathered up the flea shampoo, reading the directions carefully. Dean was very helpful, taking every opportunity to give Sam as much of a bath as he was having and soon, both of them were dripping wet. As Dean shook out his long, matted hair for the third time, Sam ducked, his arms around his head and squinted.
Sam towel dried Dean and reached for the hair dryer to finish the job. Sam enjoyed making Dean mad by aiming the hot air into his long jowls, which blew back to reveal long teeth like Dean was in some odd astronaut training machine. In ten minutes, Dean’s fur was puffed up like a big, fat sheep.
“Bet you we’d take first in the all mutt category,” Sam joked. “Should I take you back to the store to show your new girlfriend your new do?”
Dean glared, licking his lips to re moisten his teeth.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Sam was enjoying this way too much.
Dean was still a little wet on his underbelly when he deliberately got up on Sam’s bed and shook himself. Out of pure instinct, he looked around for his clothes.
Sam washed the tub and stepped into the shower to wash off the dog hair. Dean hopped off of Sam’s bed and rushed in to flush the toilet. Dean waited for the howl from the rush of cold water and was rewarded with a yell from Sam. Dean reached up and turned off the bathroom light with his paw and headed out, pleased with himself as he listened to Sam fumble for the human shampoo.
Dean stared at Sam’s unfinished beer. The cup was definitely half empty, not half full, there was no denying his dire situation, but damn it, he was going to have that beer. Dean picked up his dish. How he hated to admit that it was his dish, raised edges so he wouldn’t slop his food, that metallic sound when his teeth would accidentally touch it, but it would hold beer as well as water or food.
Dean was proud of himself. He sat perched; ready to take a swig of the fine nectar he’d worked so hard not to gag on while holding the bottle and that gross paper label in his mouth. But there was Sam, hands on hips naked for but a towel.
“Don’ t do it, Dean. You have the metabolism of an aged dog. Who knows what could happen if you drink beer.”
Blah blah blah blah, Dean. Blah blah blah beer. Blah blah blah stop eating chips for dinner. Blah blah blah try some leafy greens. Dean stuck his long tongue out tentatively. Sam leapt for him. Dean made good use of his four legs by sidestepping Sam who went headlong over the bed, bare butt in the air, past the curtains that Dean had conveniently left open.
Sam landed with a thud on the other side of the bed. The sound of sloppy drinking greeted his ears. He was too late to stop Dean from drinking the beer. The bowl was empty and by the time Sam stood up, Dean had belched twice.
“Nice. Listen, if you start passing wind, I’m getting you a dog house,” Sam said, the rug burn on his butt from his skid over the bed starting to sting. He pulled on some light pants and mopped up the water trail he’d left from the shower.
Dean lay on his bed licking his paws lazily. He was slightly dizzy, happy for the first time in too long to remember.
Sam didn’t know that dog’s could snore. He put his pillow over his head, wishing Dean would stop. Then he stared at Dean for a while. Dean’s paws twitched, he sniffed loudly and his tail wagged. It was hard to tell if it was a good dream or bad one until ...
“Dude, you better be dreaming about a woman,” Sam muttered, rolling over and trying to block out the noises.
In the morning, Dean refused his breakfast burrito. Dean never turned down an opportunity to eat.
“Ha!” Sam laughed triumphantly. “You’re hung over!”
“You let your brother drink alcohol?” Bobby said in disbelief. “Sam, I left him in your care for one night, you should have watched him better.”
“Yes sir,” Sam said, genuinely ashamed but still a bit triumphant.
Dean looked at Sam, clearly gloating that he’d gotten into trouble. Many was the times Dean had been told off for letting Sam do something he’d been told not to. The collar was on the other leash now.
Dean studied Sam. Despite the brave face, Dean knew Sam was worried he’d end up alone still. He hated being a dog, but this time with Sam was a gift, no matter how it ended.
Sam stared at his own breakfast burrito that Bobby had brought them, unable to eat his either.
Dean knew Sam was never one for a heavy breakfast. Dean grabbed his duffel that he’d insisted on having even though there was very little he could use from it. It wasn’t easy but he unzipped it with his teeth and brought out a single serving box of Lucky Charms Cereal that he’d swiped from a continental breakfast table some time ago. He dropped it in Sam’s lap.
A flood of memories bombarded Sam’s brain. Hotels much like this one, many years ago. Dean, as he so often did, gave up his own serving of something if Sam fussed. Anything to stop the when’s dad coming back question. Anything to keep him happy.
Sam took the colorful box in his hands. He was glad that Bobby had gone to wash his hands because his eyes prickled at the corners and a single tear made it down his nose before he could even look down at Dean.
Dean was already lapping up some water, looking anywhere but at Sam. The box ripped open at the neat perforations and the sound of milk pouring and the cereal lifting from the bottom made him feel happy, useful.
Dean’s water bowl had just emptied when milk and colorful cereal splashed into it in swirls of rainbow milk. Half of the tiny box was his. Sam nodded and smiled and the brothers understood each other. Their bowls had always been half full and half empty but one day, they would overflow.
Fin