fic: untitled CRACK
So, mimblexwimble posted a rabbit!Dean prompt over at dante_s_hell's meme, and I saw it. I don't know if you know, but I am a rabbit owner myself, and thought of my very own saucy, cocky rabbits and had to give it a try. So, guys, meet rabbit!Dean (or as he's known in RL: CINDER):
He's my last surviving rabbit (and here looks more than slightly demonic, ha), an 8/9 year old guy, and he's the sweetest, most arrogant boy you will ever meet (rabbit-wise, anyway. The only animal that beats him for sheer audacity in my house is my youngest ferret, Sian). Also, just so's ya know, all the actions of rabbit!Dean (including the bites - I still have a two inch scar on my elbow from one of our females, Acorn, when I pissed her the fuck off by smelling like my other female, Poppy, who [whom?] she despised. And Cinder loves nibbling at the tops of my feet, I dunno why) and how Sam interacts with him are modeled on, well, my rabbits and me, so :D
This is unbeta'd, so I apologize for any and all mistakes.
**
He knocks.
Sam doesn't think, doesn't wonder what-if. Can't. But when he hears the sound of steps, dull thump thump thump, drawing closer to the other side of the door, he almost panics.
Lisa's face is followed by her body, tense and strung out but starting to sag with something close to relief. "Sam? Sam Winchester?" Sam nods, mouth dry. "Thank god."
And just like that, he's pulled into the house Dean's been calling home.
**
Dean's...a bunny. A small, muscular gray thing currently sitting and angrily eating a mound of hay dumped into a (hopefully clean, new) litterbox. Dean-as-a-rabbit is apparently the most infuriated prey animal that's probably ever existed. His dense coat (and it's soft, reminds Sam of the one pet store in North Carolina that had chinchillas that Sam petted and petted until John forceably removed him from the store. Chinchilla fur, Sam thinks, and wants to touch again, but his finger's still bleeding from the nip that Dean had given him when he'd first tried. Rabbits might have flat teeth, but they're thin, narrow and fuckin sharp) ripples with every moment, like a nervous twitch racing up and down Dean's spine. His small ears are pressed flat, folded almost like a pair of wings, against his back.
"Well," Sam says, and he laces his fingers together, his bloody finger sticky where it rests against the knuckle of his other hand. Lisa's crowded beside him, staring at Dean eating. Ben's in the other bedroom, probably still shocked quiet. "It's definitely Dean." He tries to laugh, but it's a weird strained sound that he swallows, almost chokes on.
Lisa turns her head, and Sam can feel her stunned stare against the side of his face, boring into him. "Okay," she finally says, and it's faint, unbelieving, but Sam keeps his patented sympathetic smile on his lips and waits for her to leave.
When the door finally clicks shut and her steps recede down the hall, Sam says, "hey, Dean," and covers his face with his hands. Cries.
It's like once he starts he can't stop, and he's sitting on his legs, feeling them slowly go numb from his weight. He's aware of everything: the burn of his feet in new shoes, the pressure/pain of his ankles against the rough carpet, the ache in his shaking shoulders, the way his tears slip into the cracks of his lips, and the way his breath turns his cupped hands into a mini-sauna.
The feel of Dean's rabbit teeth tugging and pulling against the seam of his jeans as he apparently tries to eat Sam's clothes.
When Sam finally sucks up the last bit of tears and wipes the combination of tears and snot from his face, he sees Dean sitting at his knees, one ear pushed forward and the other flicked slightly back, head turned sideways so that one round eye is focused straight on Sam.
"Sorry," Sam manages, "sorry. I was just - " looking forward to seeing you, seeing my brother. He coughs instead of finishing the line of thought, groaning as he straightens his legs out, scooting back to lean against the bedframe. He's careful to avoid Dean's small frame when he stretches, but Dean still fixes him with a look that Sam can only describe as disdainful - like a pissed off cat, but even more coolly arrogant.
Sam doesn't apologize, although it's a really strong urge, and he waits in silence to see what Dean does next. He's half expecting his brother to make his way back to the haybox in the corner, but Dean hops (hops, jesus, and his fur is so short and dense that Sam can see every ripple of muscle in his back and hind legs flex. It's the weirdest thing) up to Sam, jumps in his lap and just stares. More.
"Alright," but the slight weight feels good, the warmth and feel of tiny paws against his shirt and stomach and a button tail against Sam's arm. He can't help it, he moves slow and scoops his brother up, feeling the body tense, and Sam knows Dean's about to kick or jump or fight, and he says, "it's okay. I've got you," and he lifts Dean up higher, feels the form slowly stretch out along his chest, front paws up, head tucked in by Sam's throat. When Sam brings his chin down, he can rub the wide stretch of forehead against his skin.
It's...nice. And maybe this is better, because if Dean were human, Sam doesn't think he'd ever get to be this close to Dean, not even coming back from hell, being gone for months, and he wants it, will take it in any form apparently. Dean doesn't seem to mind the contact, like this, soft clicking purr coming from the back of his throat as Sam mindlessly rubs his chin and jaw along the top of Dean's head.
He's tired, worn out and stupid with crying, and Dean doesn't protest when Sam shifts, shoulders down low and head tipped back against the bed as he kicks socks and shoes off. When he closes his eyes, he can feel himself drifting toward sleep, sharp, tingling sand drifting through his muscles.
His chest and throat are cold when he wakes up, his arms feel empty and something's tickling his feet. He groans, twitches, and then opens his eyes to spy Dean over the tips of his toes.
Sam's groggy and out of it, but the strange knowing looks from a rabbit are throwing him off-kilter. "So," Dean raises his head from where he's investigating Sam's currently bare feet, and flicks both his ears forward, like bull horns, when he hears Sam's voice. "You managed to piss off a witch?" Dean seems to ignore him, ears going back and close to his skull.
Sam thinks that's the end of it until Dean lowers his head and bites at one of the prominent veins on the top of Sam's foot. "Ow! Fuck, Dean!" Sam reels his legs in, tucks them under him, while Dean gives him his one-eyed glare of death. "Okay, okay. We'll give it a day or two, and if it's a spell, it'll wear off, right."
Dean grunts, and Sam watches him jump back into the haybox. It's stupid, maybe, because Dean needs to be Dean again, and soon, but Sam's already missing the soft weight of his brother snuggled up to him.
"I'll get a hug, right, when you're back to being a human?" Sam asks it half jokingly, and Dean cranes his head to look at Sam, idle and flat-eyed, before cow-kicking the side of the plastic box. "Okay," Sam drawls, "point taken."