Gone To The Dogs 3/?

[mlebayre]

Title: Gone to the Dogs
Author: mlebayre
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: Supernatural, cartoon characters…not mine

Many thanks to 
tru_faith_lost    
maygin80   
sojourner84  and Vanessa for the beta!




The game’s a foot!

Pin wheeling his arms and legs, Dean fought for freedom. He beat away the silky slip which had found its way to his face, covering his eyes, nose, mouth. Grabbing one end of the slip, he yanked.

The damn thing yanked back, trying to smother him.

The clothesline wound around his ankles, jerking him along the ground. “Sa-aum.”

“See, I told you.” Sam stood, arms crossed over his chest, grinning triumphantly.

Fumbling for his knife, Dean wrenched it free with one hand, making an attempt at getting the silky pink slip from his face. Blowing out roughly, the slip billowed away for a second then plastered to him like Saran Wrap. Slashing blindly in the direction of his feet, Dean tried to roll away from the rope. “Maybe you could-” The slip wadded up in his mouth, cutting off his air and speech. Pulling on it, shaking his head side to side, he snapped out at Sam. “Help me and worry about your stupid, stuffed bag of ugly later!”

“It’s not my…” Sam’s speech skipped to a halt when footy pajamas slithered over Dean’s chest and cinched around his neck.

This had just ceased to be funny. Dean gave up on the slip and tried getting his fingers between the pajamas and his neck to pry them loose.

Honestly, the Joker? Some kid had issues if this was what they wanted on their P.J’s.

He caught a glimpse of Sam dropping to his knees, felt his brother’s fingers clamp down on his wrist. “Crap, shit. Gimme the knife.”

Dean’s arm was jerked one way then the other as Sam tried wrestling the knife from his hand. “Dean…” Sam got the knife just as Dean’s legs were yanked up, his entire body pulled first one way, then the other in a zig-zag pattern across the grass. Still clinging to Dean’s arm, Sam was pulled along too, body slamming the ground with a pained aarrummppfff. “Dean!” That time the panic came through loud and clear.

Working his fingers so he could grasp the footy pajamas around his neck, Dean barely got himself some breathing room when he was again sent whipping one way then the other by the clothesline.

Sam pushed to his feet and to a run in the same motion. Holding the knife in his mouth, he jumped at the clothesline. Grabbing it in both hands, he let his momentum carry him over the rope and back down to the ground. That pulled Dean’s legs in yet another direction.

“Sam...get the…never mind that…I can’t breathe.”

He got the slip far enough away to watch Sam saw at the rope. He had nothing more than a moment’s reprieve before the slip blew out and fluttered back down to cover his entire head this time. “Aam-mee…” The slip was in cahoots with the footy pajamas, trying to strangle him.

The arms of the footy pajamas twisted around his middle…and that’s just wrong…tightening as he bucked up to loosen its grip.

“Will you sit STILL?!” Sam snarled out.

In the next instant he’d cut through the clothes line, it fell to the ground, looking like some giant, dead worm. Dean kicked his legs free and managed to pry the legs of the footy pajamas from around his neck…okay, really, very wrong! Sam pounced on him, grabbing at the pajamas which twisted around and shoved against his chest sending Sam sprawling backwards, landing on his butt with a harsh grunt. The pajamas lunged across Dean to Sam, who swatted at them, trying to push them away from his face.

The pajamas swatted back.

It looked like some bizarre form of patty-cake. First the pajamas…Joker pajamas…would flap at Sam’s face then Sam would return with his own hand flapping, all the while making sort of insane growling noises. Dean would have laughed if he hadn’t been in the process of being strangled by the other end of the pajamas and the slip.

Sam got hold of one of the pajama arms. Backpedaling he hauled the garment with him. “You stupid bastard, you are not going to…” Sam’s voice trailed off, his eyes went from the pajamas to rivet on Dean, shouting, “I’m arguing with clothes.” The footy pajama arm made another grab at Sam’s face, he snatched it, twisted and slapped at it again.

Spearing the pajamas through with Dean’s knife, Sam pinned the part with the arms to the ground. Feet against the middle of the pajamas, Sam pushed and kicked.

Which pulled and yanked on Dean’s neck.

“Saa…stop…oww…shiii…” Dean more or less burbled the words at his brother. He managed to pull one end of the slip up far enough so he could see again.

Sam’s eyes met his. The kid’s entire face dropped, looking more like he was the one getting beat up than Dean. “Dean. I…uh…sorry…”

The material gave way, halving with a loud rip sound. The pajamas lost their grip, Sam tumbled backwards away from Dean, landing flat on his back, panting.

Sam shoved his elbows under his shoulders, prying himself off the ground. “You…okay?” He panted out.

“Yeah.” Dean leaned to one side, catching his breath, waiting for his racing heart to slow down. “Just give me a min-”

“Ha!” Sam curled long legs beneath him, stretching them to their fullest and was up and moving, bouncing over Dean’s legs and sprinting at the woods.

“Sam!”

Stopping long enough to point to the woods, head turning back to Dean so fast his hair fanned out in his wake, then fluttered back to his head Sam’s words tumbled out of his mouth. “Look! There. Dude, it’s laughing at us!”

“Huh?”

Before Dean could think much about what was happening, Sam was off and running again, full tilt at the woods. Catching sight of what Sam pointed to, a coyote. Not just any coyote, the same coyote, looking suspiciously like their coyote. Which was impossible, or should be, maybe should be. Whatever.

Dean staggered to his feet, throwing the slip down, hopping and kicking to free his feet from the clothesline. “Get off me.” He grumbled out then stopped to take a glance around, making sure no one was watching him struggle with, and talking to laundry. “Sam!” He tried shouting again. Again it was no use. Sam bolted across the clearing to the woods, crashed through and out of sight.

Scooping up the knife Sam dropped, replacing it in the sheath in his boot, Dean chased after his errant sibling.

Hitting the woods’ edge a few mere minutes behind Sam, Dean could hear his brother pounding through the trees, jumping whatever objects were in his path. Dean also heard cackling. Cackling! What the hell? Nothing should cackle.

Legs pumping faster, pouring on the speed, trying to keep upright and not trip on the underbrush, Dean burst through a clump of bushes, got close enough to Sam to grab his arm. “Sam. Stop. SAM!”

Sliding on the damp ground, Sam spun to face him. He turned to look behind him, then back to Dean so quickly Dean wondered how Sam didn’t collapse from dizziness. Sam pointed, shaking his arm at the path through the woods spreading out in front of them. “That’s him. It…he’s there, we gotta get him. It’s him!”

Before Dean could comment, slap his kid brother upside the head and knock some sense into him, Sam ripped free of his grip and was off again, bounding through the woods. Dean sagged for a few seconds against a tree.  Really when did Sam develop so much more energy than Dean? Maybe it was about the time he’d lost his mind and decided they were hunting stuffed animals.

Listening to Sam hurtle through the woods, and chasing after him was not in Dean’s plan for the day.

“Damn.” He grumbled. And chased.  After Sam. Again.

Two minutes later, Dean caught sight of Sam, slowing down so he didn’t slide down an embankment on his ass. Just ahead of Sam, across a dried creek bed, was indeed a coyote. A coyote that turned, looked back at Sam, and…crap, crap, crap…had yellow eyes.

“Sam, no!” Dean shouted, trying to stop Sam’s pursuit.

Jumping a downed tree, avoiding collision with low branches by a fraction of an inch, Dean’s heart leapt to his mouth when he saw what snoozed in the dried creek bed, tucked into a small hollow of ground. “Sam, stop! Sam! Sammy!”

Sam didn’t see what he’d just woken up, or wasn’t paying attention, or didn’t care. Dean had no idea. More likely Sam was on one of his single-minded, blinders on to everything else, obsessed with one result, hunts. Sam was determined to get the coyote.

Problem was, what Sam didn’t see, or was ignoring was something about to get Sam.

Hitting the embankment, Sam finally lost his footing on the damp leaves and moist earth, slipping down the rest of the way. Foot snagging on some tree root, or some other such woodland thing, Sam was sent sprawling, face first to the ground, nothing but a jumble of arms and legs.

Palms against the ground, Sam was about to push up when Dean saw complete horror spread over his face. Sam gulped, trying to move away so fast his hair had a hard time catching up, and scrambled backwards, arms and legs going in all directions.

“Sam. Sit still. Don’t move, Sammy, I’m coming, I’ll get it. Don’t move. Don’t you move.”

Sam was making some sort of fish out of water imitation, trying to go four directions at once, sheer panic in his face. But could he just sit still? Not really. It was partially Dean’s fault. Sam turned immediately to Dean’s voice, still trying to move away from what he’d landed nose to nose with.

Then there was the cell phone. The one in Sam’s pocket that picked that instant to go off. Sam’s hand slapped his side, fishing for the damn phone, ‘cause Sam just couldn’t let it ring, let voice mail pick it up. Noooooooo…couldn’t do that!

All of which was moving.

In the next instant, Sam’s indignant howl split the forest calm. Arm thrown over his face-more moving-was a useless defense. Face scrunched, Sam scooted backwards, toward Dean. Or tried to. “DEAN!”

If only Sam hadn’t moved.

Chapter 4