Instinct (1/8)
Dean was used to raiding the most god-awful places known to man. Sewer tunnels, morgues, abandoned factories, and - one memorable time - a butcher’s shop filled with the rotting meat that had been left there for over a month.
None of that was anything compared to the sight that greeted him when he stepped inside the home of the latest in a long line of slain creatures - a demon, this time, with a penchant for kidnapping humans and other supernatural creatures alike, keeping them alive for weeks at a time before he killed them gruesomely. Dean was pretty sure that he’d never know what had been done to the creature’s innocent victims during the time between their kidnapping and their death.
If he was honest, he was pretty damn glad. He knew enough about demons to know that they could be more than a little creative.
The house, a previously abandoned property about a half-hour’s drive from the nearest town, could have - at first glance - been mistaken for some kind of meat-processing factory come laboratory. The walls were splattered with blood, and there was a set-up of four metal tables in a neat row down the centre of the room, chains hanging from the corners. The deep gouges and scratches in the otherwise smooth surfaces were proof enough that the people restrained had been at least partially aware of what was happening to them, and Dean’s stomach flipped at the realization.
Lining three of the four walls was a series of metal cages, not unlike those found in a vet’s office or an animal shelter, with heavy locks on the doors; the corners were shadowed, barely illuminated by the faint rays of light just managing to peek through the boarded up windows and the beam of the young hunter’s flashlight. Inside, body after body lay in varying stages of decay. It was clear that the demon had jumped ship before any hunters had even been close to him, and he’d left his victims suffering in the wake of his escape.
Some of them were unmistakably human, tortured and experimented on almost beyond recognition - until Dean struggled to tell them apart from each other, struggled to match them to the thick sheaf of missing person’s files in the Impala’s trunk. They’d died terrified and bloody, and Dean wished that he could send them back to be buried by their families - to offer them all that final modicum of closure, but he knew that it was impossible.
They’d been innocent, sure enough, but the things that they must have experienced in their time as captives was recipe enough for the wake of more than one vengeful spirit, and it was safer to just burn the whole place down around them. If nothing else, they would rest easy.
“Anything?”
Dean jumped, caught off guard by the gruff voice behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed Bobby Singer looking drawn and haggard, face pale and fingers white-knuckled around a heavy canister of gasoline. He knew that the older hunter must have been just as disappointed as he had been by the understanding that they’d arrived too late to do any good - there was no one left to save, and the only thing that they could do now was to burn the place to the ground.
“Just more bodies,” The younger man acknowledged with a sigh, swinging his flashlight around in one more hopeful arc. In one of the cages to his left, his beam caught on the flat eyes of a werewolf, eternally stuck mid-shift and he shivered at the sight; one hand was curled around the bars at the front, long fingers ending in pointed claws. “Two humans, a djinn in the corner. Couple of werewolves, and-“
He cut himself off, the faintest hint of movement registering in the corner of his eye, and he swung his flashlight back to the cage in the farthest corner of the room, a frown darkening across his features. Something shifted in the shadows, small enough that he couldn’t see anything more than a dirty tangle of blankets and a scum-encrusted water bowl tipped on his side.
“Dean?”
The hunter hesitated for just a moment, slipping his gun from the back of his pants, in case this was some kind of trap. After all, everything else in the god-forsaken place had died - why was there an exception? He crept forwards on the balls of his feet, crouching slightly to see better into the depths, and swore when he finally made out what the metal cage contained.
“Dean?” Bobby demanded again, dropping the can of gasoline carefully by his feet and reaching instinctively for his own gun. “What the hell is it, boy?”
Dean waved him off, dropping to his knees and fumbling for his trusty lock-picking set, hands shaking a little as he slid them into the lock and deftly twisted them, listening intently for the tell-tale click. Only a few moments later, he was pulling the lock away and tugging the cage door open, leaning into it to block its occupant from escaping past him.
In the back corner, hazel eyes blinked up at him disinterestedly, ribs visibly shifting in shallow breaths under the creature’s thick fur. Dean expected some kind of aggression as he slipped his leather jacket it off his shoulder and wrapped it around the delicate frame, slipping his arms underneath it and lifting, but the dog barely reacted at all.
“Oh, Jeez,” Bobby breathed as Dean finally lifted the animal into view. It was a little bit bigger than Dean had first anticipated, perhaps the size of a small border collie, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on its body and in his arms it felt weightless. A thick, metal band was clasped so tightly around his neck that it had nearly broken skin, and Dean winced at the sight of it - suddenly understanding why the dog was breathing so shallowly. “Poor thing’s still a pup, too. Look at its paws.”
The younger hunter gently manoeuvred the animal to get a better look, feeling pity swell in the depths of his gut as he realized what his friend was getting at - in comparison to the size of his body, the dog’s paws looked positively huge, a clear indicator that he had more than a little growing left to do. He was almost surprised at the strength of his reaction to the sight, the feeling of his own hands tightening protectively around the animal, and it was with little hesitation that he spoke again.
“I’m gonna take him out to the Impala,” He announced. “See if I can get this godforsaken collar off his neck… wrap him in some blankets and try and warm him up, too. He’s freezing. Can you manage the rest by yourself?”
Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? I was hunting before you were even diapers. I’m pretty sure I can handle burning a house to the ground.”
Dean grinned, barely remembering to collect his lock-picking set and flashlight off the floor before turning and making his way to the car, one hand reaching up and absently scratching the thick fur behind the dog’s ears.
**
The dog had remained almost alarmingly docile on the way back to the motel, seemingly quite content to be curled up in the backseat in a tangle of blankets.
Dean had to admit that he might have gone a little overboard, creating a structure of blankets and towels that almost resembled a bird’s nest and tucking the puppy neatly into the middle of it. He’d received a lick on his hands for his efforts, before the dog had buried his nose in the musty blankets and finally let his eyelids slip shut.
After a slight disagreement about whether or not they should bath him straight away, Bobby finally relented that the poor animal stunk, and dug through his truck until he found a bottle of dog shampoo that he kept on hand. Dean gently untangled him from his jacket, and lowered him into the motel’s tub, grinning with something that almost felt like pride when the dog locked his shaky legs and bowed his head with determination.
“There’s a boy,” He praised quietly, soothingly running his hand over the dog’s head. “We’ll clean you up quickly, alright? And then we’ll find some food for you.”
He kept one hand underneath the dog’s stomach, supporting him as Bobby manoeuvred the shower head and washed him quickly and thoroughly. The water that dripped off his coat was dark with blood and filth, sudsy with the residue of the shampoo and Dean did his best to gently untangle the small mats of fur. By the time that Bobby was turning the shower off, he looked almost like a different dog.
Where his fur had looked almost black before, it was now apparent that he had dark brown fur across his back and along his nose, lightening out into a soft crème on his underbelly and legs.
“Looks like some kind of husky mix,” The elder hunter guessed, running a towel through the animal’s fur. “Maybe malamute or, hell, by the size of those paws I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he was part wolf.”
Dean raised an eyebrow at that, carefully lifting the dog back out of the tub and carrying him back into the main room. Bobby had been spouting off something about malnutrition and gradual feeding, and Dean couldn’t shake off the strange sensation of spine shifting underneath fur, and the younger hunter cooked up a bowl of microwaveable hot dogs and set them on the floor in front of him.
For a long moment, the dog didn’t move, and then he twisted his head to sniff at the bowl and slowly began to eat. Dean found himself watching the smaller animal like a hawk, frowning when he only managed three hot dogs before collapsing back down on his side and falling asleep almost instantly.
“You think he’s okay?” Dean asked hesitantly, eyes locked on the steady rise and fall of the animal’s ribs. “I mean, he was just left in that shithole for god only knows how long… he could have problems from that, couldn’t he? He could be sick.”
Bobby smiled softly. “It’s possible, but he seems like a strong enough little pup. It’ll take a while to build his strength back up, but I have a feeling that he’s gonna pull through.”
Dean nodded, and Bobby felt his smile grow at the realization that Dean was already so attached; there was no way that the pup was going anywhere. Bobby would bet his life on the fact that by the time the animal was back on his feet, he and Dean would be inseparable.
“Why don’t you get some sleep, son?” Bobby questioned quietly. “He’s not going anywhere. Not tonight.”
Dean nodded slowly, turning his eyes to the pup one last time before finally heading for the bathroom himself. Behind him, Bobby smothered a grin behind his hand and turned to root through the cupboards for food.
**
Dean drifted into wakefulness slowly, more warm and comfortable than he had come to expect from a night spent in a motel room… particularly the places that they tended to stay in, where the vacancy signs were missing letters and the carpets were stained with more bodily fluids than could ever be considered sanitary. For a long while, he was content to let himself drift between consciousness and slumber, reluctant to rise himself for another day of a gruelling fitness regiment and far too many hours cooped up at one of the ridiculously small tables in the nearest library.
Eventually, the ever-increasing pressure on his bladder forced his hand, and he reluctantly blinked his eyes open. The bed to the left of his was empty, sheets casually tossed back over the mattress in an indifferent attempt to make the bed, and a piece of folded up motel stationary proudly declared: GONE FOR COFFEE, 10.30. BACK SOON. - B.
Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes, grinning affectionately at the sight, because if there was any one person in the world that came close to the Winchester appreciation of coffee, it was Bobby. It wasn’t until he shifted his body in an effort to stand that he first registered the warm weight resting against the side of his body, settled in against his shoulder. He was already reaching for his gun by the time that his brain registered that it was just the pup, long-ingrained instincts causing his hand to tighten briefly around the butt of the gun before releasing it.
At some point during the night, the young creature seemed to have abandoned his tangled nest of blankets on the floor in favour of climbing in next to Dean, though how he’d managed to snuggle himself so tightly to the hunter’s chest without waking him was anyone’s guess. Whilst Dean undoubtedly enjoyed his sleep, he was a hunter through and through, trained to wake at the slightest noise or movement.
He couldn’t exactly bring himself to be mad whilst the pup was snoozing happily away however, and he knew that if his need for the bathroom hadn’t been such a pressing issue, he’d likely have lain there until the animal had awoken of its own accord. As it was, he settled for murmuring an apology as he gently extracted himself, pausing to scratch behind the animal’s ears when sleepy hazel eyes finally blinked open.
The dog half-wagged his tail lazily, shifting over a little to give Dean his belly, and the young hunter spent a few moments simply making a fuss of him before finally making his escape to the bathroom.
He left the door to the bathroom ajar as he relieved himself and stepped into the shower, keeping an ear out for subtle snick of the lock that would announce Bobby’s arrival. His father had taught him from a young age that privacy was in no way essential, but survival was - and when he was sharing a motel room with another hunter, locked doors were always left open. Having back up was no good if they couldn’t get inside the room to defend you.
Only a few minutes later, the door swung open and shut with a thud, and there was the distinctive sound of keys and a handgun behind dropped on the rickety table.
“Got your coffee,” Bobby announced, rustling around with something. “And I brought back breakfast.”
The smell of bacon drifted into the bathroom, and Dean rushed through the rest of his shower, escaping back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist as quickly as he could. Bobby was tucking into a hearty pile of pancakes and sausages, and he barely offered Dean a second glance as the young hunter rifled through his duffel for some clothes.
The dog had relocated himself from the bed to the small space underneath Bobby’s chair, head ducked and watching the floor for anything that might get dropped. Apparently at some time between the night before and Dean getting out of the shower, he’d found his appetite.
“Not like you to sleep so late,” Bobby offered as the younger hunter settled opposite him, and grinned mischievously. “Or to snuggle.”
Dean flipped the lid off his own breakfast, grinning wider at the sight of it piled high on the plastic tray, and shrugged his shoulders. “Had to make sure he didn’t freeze, didn’t I?”
Bobby snorted a little at the response, shaking his head at the kid’s quick-wit. If there was one good thing that Dean Winchester had inherited from his stubborn-ass father, it was his ability to throw back an easy retort no matter what was shot at them.
“Speaking of the mutt,” Bobby continued conversationally. “Have you thought of a name for him yet?”
Dean blinked dumbly. “What?”
“A name, idjit. Something to call him? Pup just ain’t doing it for me.”
The younger hunter seemed genuinely startled, leaning back in his seat and blinking rapidly. Underneath the table, there was a faint brush against his leg as the dog darted out from underneath Bobby’s chair and settled himself underneath Dean’s.
“I don’t…” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it, I’m not gonna be able to give him up, am I? I was going to just take him to the shelter.”
Underneath his chair, the dog whined low and quiet, and Bobby frowned a little. “You still could, if you really wanted to. Nobody’s going to make you keep him, son, I just got the impression that you wanted him to stick around.”
Dean sighed. “I… Damn it, I do. I just… you know what dad’s always said about pets. That they don’t fit in with the life.”
“Dean, you’re an adult,” Bobby pointed out. “You don’t have to run all of your decisions past your father. So what if he’s not happy about it? What is he going to do about it? And that whole bullshit about them not fitting in with the life is bullshit. Did my Rummy ever look like he didn’t love his life?”
“No, he always seemed happy.”
“Well, then. There you go. If you don’t wanna let the dog go, then don’t make him leave. Simple as that.”
Underneath the seat, the dog finally seemed to realize that he wasn’t getting any food, and curled into a small ball, resting his head on Dean’s foot. The hunter looked down, taking in the narrow muzzle across the bridge of his foot, hazel eyes shut in a peaceful rest, and he knew that Bobby was right. There was no way that he could give the dog up. As stupid as it was, he was already far too attached for that.
No, the dog was there to stay.
“I have literally no ideas for a name.” Dean admitted after a pregnant pause, and Bobby’s face broke into a grin at the confession. “Like, how do you ever name a dog? Where did you come up with Rumsfeld, for god’s sakes?”
Instead of taking offence at the slight against his naming skills, Bobby only grinned wider. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself, boy. Rum already had his name when I picked him up for the shelter.”
Dean groaned.
“In the meantime,” Bobby continued. “You might want to think about getting him some dog food and bowls and stuff… and a collar and a leash. Sooner or later the poor animal’s gonna need the bathroom.”
**
By the end of the day, Dean was nearly three-hundred dollars poorer, and the dog was an official part of the family. There was the possibility that he might have gone a little overboard after Bobby had let him loose in the pet store, chuckling to himself as he pushed the cart behind the younger hunter.
The pessimistic part of him that had been concerned about leaving the dog alone half expected it to be gone by the time that he got back, but instead he found it curled up in a ball on top of Dean’s bed, and he couldn’t help the relieved grin that crossed his face.
“You,” He said, pointing accusingly at the dog, doing his best to hide the emotion. “Have just cost me a fortune. You’d better be worth it, mutt!”
As if in response, the dog jumped neatly down from the bed and padded across the motel room carpet to press his head in to Dean’s hand a lick gently across his palm. Dean reached up to scratch behind his ears almost instinctively, before turning away to dump his purchases on his bed. Across the room, Bobby sunk onto his own bed, flicking the TV on as he kicked off his boots and settled back against his pillows.
The bonus of being between cases was the rare opportunity to rest, and it seemed that he was more than content to make use of that opportunity.
Dean didn’t pay much attention to what the older hunter was watching, tugging one of the few toys that he’d found himself tossing into the cart out of the bag and gently throwing it to the dog. His tail wagged as he caught it, and he settled down with it in his mouth.
From the TV, the voice of a female news reporter sounded, “In other news, authorities are currently investigating what has been reported as a ‘suspicious’ fire at the Redfern house late last night. A representative from the Sherriff’s office has confirmed that they suspect that the fire was the result of arson, though claims that bodies were found in the wreckage have yet to be verified. The house, previously owned by one Sam-"
On the floor, the dog’s ears pricked up and he turned to stare at the TV as if he’d been called. Dean frowned a little, eyes meeting Bobby’s over the animal’s head.
“Sam,” He called softly, and the dog turned to face him, tail wagging lazily. Against his better judgement Dean found himself grinned. “Well, then. Guess that saves me a job… Sam it is.”
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