SPN FIC: Man And Dog (PG, Sam, Dean, Bobby)
Another of my evil!Sam prompts. I swear, writing reasonably short things nice and quick like this is all sorts of LIBERATING. (Ahaha, you can tell I'm meant to be working on my Big Bang, right? *G*)
Title: Man And Dog
Rating: PG (evil!Sam, some language, gen)
Notes: For lunardreamed's prompt of: Evil!Sam transforms Dean in something (I don't know what) so Dean won't leave him. Sort of ran smack bang into a storyline I've been considering for a little while, though I deviated a touch from the prompt, I'm afraid. Also, I've been jonesing to write me some BOBBY since about forever, and that's about the best excuse I can come up with for this. ~1,700 words.
They drag Bobby into the throne room, hissing away from contact with his skin. Bobby hopes the sigils and runes carved into his flesh are burning the sonsofbitches up from the inside. The way the demons glare at him, black eyes reflecting the depths of the pit, he thinks they probably are. He’ll take that victory down with him.
The room is dark and massive, shifting shadows at the edge of his vision catching at his attention. He knows better than to look away, though. In front of that throne, in front of those yellow eyes, it would be the equivalent of putting his head back and baring his neck.
Bobby doesn’t like admitting it, but Sam Winchester doesn’t look all too different.
“Bobby,” Sam says, all sprawl and smiling teeth. “Thanks for coming.”
Bobby snorts, shakes his head, angry. “Idiot boy. This what you wanted, huh? You wanted to upend the world like this, tear it all up, and for what?”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “You know,” he says.
Bobby does. The pair of ’em, both as bad as each other, putting their souls on the line like they’re just so much tat and junk, worthless.
“I know every single one of you damned Winchesters are fools, that’s what,” he growls. “There’s no saving your brother from that sort of deal, boy. I told you that before. And now look what you’ve gone and done.”
The demons flanking Bobby hustle closer and it’s an uphill struggle not to react, not to cuss and bite and tear and maim. Not to hold them down, one by one, an arm at their throats, and exorcise the bastards back to where they belong. Like it would make some sort of difference. Like the doors to hell weren’t hanging open by loose skin after Sam had got through with them.
In front of him, Sam’s lost the smile.
“You were wrong,” he says, his expression gone flat. “There was a way to save him.”
Bobby’s stomach bottoms out. If there was one thing he had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. “Sam,” he says, gruff. “What have you done?”
Sam shrugs, an angry jerk of his shoulders. It’s a strangely petulant look for the antichrist. “What I had to.”
The dog, when it’s brought out, drags at the end of its leash, trying to tug away from the demon leading it, trying to worm out of its thick collar. Its jaw is muzzled tight shut, its eyes white-rimmed and panicked, its claws skittering against the stone floor as it’s dragged forwards.
Sam levels his eyes at Bobby. “That’s why you’re not dead,” he says, coldly. “You’re going to look after him.”
~
The cell is warmer and larger than any cell has a right to be. There’s a litter box in one corner, a dog bed in another, all warm felt and tartan pattern, a blanket folded up inside. There are water and food bowls neatly placed on a plastic mat against one wall, shelves overhead full of colourful chew toys and different sized balls, just waiting.
In one corner there’s a bare mattress, like an afterthought. Above it, there are manacles set into the wall.
The dog backs into the furthest corner and huddles there when they take it off the leash. Bobby waits for the black eyed bitch to leave, not budging an inch from where he’s leant back against the wall, nursing his bruised ribs.
He still doesn’t move when the bolt slides home after her. Just waits. Bobby knows dogs. Had had his very first handed to him after his wife had died, old Benjamin Wallace thrusting an armful of fur and stout little legs at him and not taking no for an answer. And Bobby’s never mistreated a dog in his life, but that don’t mean he doesn’t know the signs.
He knows what being around demons does to them.
“Hey, boy,” he says, low. “Hey.”
The dog looks at him, its stumpy little tail between its legs. It doesn’t move from its corner and Bobby leaves it be. The worst thing he could do right now would be to force the issue, he knows. Putting his head back, he shuts his eyes and thinks this is possibly the biggest mess the goddamn fool Winchester brothers have landed him in yet.
~
The muzzle is still on, and that’s bothering Bobby. The dog has calmed down some, lying curled in the corner, its head on its forepaws. Now and again it’ll turn its brown eyes on him, blink at him, then move its consideration to the rest of the room.
Slowly, Bobby stands up. The dog’s eyes snap right back to him, but it doesn’t move.
“Hey, there,” Bobby murmurs, as he edges closer, keeping his movement as careful as possible. “I’m not gonna hurt you, boy. You know me, it’s Bobby. Just Bobby. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
A few feet away, he hunkers down. Better to play it safe. He puts his hand out, just about near enough for the dog to nose at his fingers, the muzzle bumping awkwardly against his hand.
“Such a good boy, aren’t you. You’re safe with me now. You ain’t got nothing to worry about.”
He waits. After a long moment, the dog gets up onto all fours. Warily, it butts at Bobby’s hand with its head. Bobby scratches behind its ear and the dog’s tail hesitantly begins to wag.
“That’s it,” Bobby says. He settles back on the hard floor. “Come on.”
He pats the ground in front of him and the dog comes forward. The muzzle is attached by a buckle at the back of its head. Bobby smoothes down the coarse hair and scritches back there, rubbing up underneath the leather holding it in place. The dog leans into him, warm weight heavy against his arm, and Bobby carefully threads the strap back through the buckle, loosening it enough to pull off.
The material wrapped around the dog’s snout, keeping its jaw tight shut, comes as a nasty surprise. It just ain’t right keeping an animal trussed up like that and Bobby bites down on the fresh wave of anger. His gut tells him Sam can’t have known, wouldn’t have ever done this, but it doesn’t stop him wanting to smack some sense into the boy. Doesn’t stop him blaming him, either.
He undoes the knot, unwraps the material some way and lets the dog tear the rest of it off. Free, the dog barks, once, twice, and licks at Bobby’s hand.
~
The dog goes over to the food bowl, sniffs at it, then comes back to Bobby. It goes to nose at the dog bed, before trotting quickly back again. Bobby rubs a hand over its coat each time, and the dog stands still under his touch, its heartbeat warm under his fingers. Only when Bobby’s done does it go off again to explore a new corner.
It always returns.
~
They feed them both at the same time. A tray for Bobby, another bowl of wet food for the dog. They take the old bowl away, the food inside hardly touched. The dog growls and huddles close to Bobby’s side for the entire duration.
The demon with blonde hair and the face of a sweet, young thing laughs, a cruel, grating sound. “Dean Winchester,” she sneers. “Everyone’s favourite bitch. Funny how things turn out.”
“Go to hell,” Bobby spits, furious.
“Now where would be the fun in that?” Her eyes are dark and too knowing. “All the good stuff is happening right up here.”
After they leave, the dog doesn’t move away from Bobby’s side for most of the night.
“This is all your damned brother’s fault,” Bobby bitches at it. “Fuckin’ Winchesters.”
The dog doesn’t reply.
~
Bobby wakes up to the dog standing stock still in the middle of the room, its ears pricked forwards and its eyes on the door, a low rumbling growl coming from deep within its throat. Suddenly, it starts to bark - and bark and bark. Bobby levers himself up to a sitting position, wincing as the aches in his body fight for acknowledgement.
The dog doesn’t let up when the door swings open and Sam steps into the room, just backs up, away from the doorway, paws scrabbling on the floor. It stands in front of Bobby, its body rigid, making a complete and utter din.
Sam frowns down at it. “Dean,” he says.
The resulting silence is heavy. The dog lies down, its head on its paws, its tail tucked between its legs. It keeps its eyes on Sam, Bobby notes. When Sam hunches down to rub a hand over its coat, the dog whines, its ears lying flat to its skull, but doesn’t pull away.
“You realise what you’ve done?” Bobby asks, heated.
Sam glances at him. “I saved my brother.”
“No, you lunkhead. You turned him into a damned dog. There’s no going back on that and you know it.”
“He’s not in hell,” Sam snaps. His fingers still in the dog’s coat, pressing into the thick hair. “He’s still with me.”
Bobby shakes his head. “This ain’t your brother, Sam. The only reason the mutt’s still here is because there ain’t no immortal soul to be dragged down to hell anymore. You’ve gone and destroyed Dean better than any demon ever could, goddamn it!”
Sam doesn’t answer. Bobby watches him scratch behind the dog’s ears, under its chin. Watches as he rolls the dog onto its back, rubbing down its belly, crooning soft words only for his brother’s ears. Bobby turns away, his throat gone tight.
Finally, Sam stands.
“I’ll find a way,” he says, not looking at him. “If I have to rip the world apart, I’ll find a way.”
Bobby shakes his head, tired, grim, and the door to the cell slams shut. After a moment, the dog crawls into his lap, warm bulk trembling. Bobby runs his hand down a quivering flank. Breathes in deep and unsteady, smelling nothing but dog.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
~
Later, he throws a ball for the dog to fetch.
Title: Man And Dog
Rating: PG (evil!Sam, some language, gen)
Notes: For lunardreamed's prompt of: Evil!Sam transforms Dean in something (I don't know what) so Dean won't leave him. Sort of ran smack bang into a storyline I've been considering for a little while, though I deviated a touch from the prompt, I'm afraid. Also, I've been jonesing to write me some BOBBY since about forever, and that's about the best excuse I can come up with for this. ~1,700 words.
They drag Bobby into the throne room, hissing away from contact with his skin. Bobby hopes the sigils and runes carved into his flesh are burning the sonsofbitches up from the inside. The way the demons glare at him, black eyes reflecting the depths of the pit, he thinks they probably are. He’ll take that victory down with him.
The room is dark and massive, shifting shadows at the edge of his vision catching at his attention. He knows better than to look away, though. In front of that throne, in front of those yellow eyes, it would be the equivalent of putting his head back and baring his neck.
Bobby doesn’t like admitting it, but Sam Winchester doesn’t look all too different.
“Bobby,” Sam says, all sprawl and smiling teeth. “Thanks for coming.”
Bobby snorts, shakes his head, angry. “Idiot boy. This what you wanted, huh? You wanted to upend the world like this, tear it all up, and for what?”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “You know,” he says.
Bobby does. The pair of ’em, both as bad as each other, putting their souls on the line like they’re just so much tat and junk, worthless.
“I know every single one of you damned Winchesters are fools, that’s what,” he growls. “There’s no saving your brother from that sort of deal, boy. I told you that before. And now look what you’ve gone and done.”
The demons flanking Bobby hustle closer and it’s an uphill struggle not to react, not to cuss and bite and tear and maim. Not to hold them down, one by one, an arm at their throats, and exorcise the bastards back to where they belong. Like it would make some sort of difference. Like the doors to hell weren’t hanging open by loose skin after Sam had got through with them.
In front of him, Sam’s lost the smile.
“You were wrong,” he says, his expression gone flat. “There was a way to save him.”
Bobby’s stomach bottoms out. If there was one thing he had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. “Sam,” he says, gruff. “What have you done?”
Sam shrugs, an angry jerk of his shoulders. It’s a strangely petulant look for the antichrist. “What I had to.”
The dog, when it’s brought out, drags at the end of its leash, trying to tug away from the demon leading it, trying to worm out of its thick collar. Its jaw is muzzled tight shut, its eyes white-rimmed and panicked, its claws skittering against the stone floor as it’s dragged forwards.
Sam levels his eyes at Bobby. “That’s why you’re not dead,” he says, coldly. “You’re going to look after him.”
~
The cell is warmer and larger than any cell has a right to be. There’s a litter box in one corner, a dog bed in another, all warm felt and tartan pattern, a blanket folded up inside. There are water and food bowls neatly placed on a plastic mat against one wall, shelves overhead full of colourful chew toys and different sized balls, just waiting.
In one corner there’s a bare mattress, like an afterthought. Above it, there are manacles set into the wall.
The dog backs into the furthest corner and huddles there when they take it off the leash. Bobby waits for the black eyed bitch to leave, not budging an inch from where he’s leant back against the wall, nursing his bruised ribs.
He still doesn’t move when the bolt slides home after her. Just waits. Bobby knows dogs. Had had his very first handed to him after his wife had died, old Benjamin Wallace thrusting an armful of fur and stout little legs at him and not taking no for an answer. And Bobby’s never mistreated a dog in his life, but that don’t mean he doesn’t know the signs.
He knows what being around demons does to them.
“Hey, boy,” he says, low. “Hey.”
The dog looks at him, its stumpy little tail between its legs. It doesn’t move from its corner and Bobby leaves it be. The worst thing he could do right now would be to force the issue, he knows. Putting his head back, he shuts his eyes and thinks this is possibly the biggest mess the goddamn fool Winchester brothers have landed him in yet.
~
The muzzle is still on, and that’s bothering Bobby. The dog has calmed down some, lying curled in the corner, its head on its forepaws. Now and again it’ll turn its brown eyes on him, blink at him, then move its consideration to the rest of the room.
Slowly, Bobby stands up. The dog’s eyes snap right back to him, but it doesn’t move.
“Hey, there,” Bobby murmurs, as he edges closer, keeping his movement as careful as possible. “I’m not gonna hurt you, boy. You know me, it’s Bobby. Just Bobby. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
A few feet away, he hunkers down. Better to play it safe. He puts his hand out, just about near enough for the dog to nose at his fingers, the muzzle bumping awkwardly against his hand.
“Such a good boy, aren’t you. You’re safe with me now. You ain’t got nothing to worry about.”
He waits. After a long moment, the dog gets up onto all fours. Warily, it butts at Bobby’s hand with its head. Bobby scratches behind its ear and the dog’s tail hesitantly begins to wag.
“That’s it,” Bobby says. He settles back on the hard floor. “Come on.”
He pats the ground in front of him and the dog comes forward. The muzzle is attached by a buckle at the back of its head. Bobby smoothes down the coarse hair and scritches back there, rubbing up underneath the leather holding it in place. The dog leans into him, warm weight heavy against his arm, and Bobby carefully threads the strap back through the buckle, loosening it enough to pull off.
The material wrapped around the dog’s snout, keeping its jaw tight shut, comes as a nasty surprise. It just ain’t right keeping an animal trussed up like that and Bobby bites down on the fresh wave of anger. His gut tells him Sam can’t have known, wouldn’t have ever done this, but it doesn’t stop him wanting to smack some sense into the boy. Doesn’t stop him blaming him, either.
He undoes the knot, unwraps the material some way and lets the dog tear the rest of it off. Free, the dog barks, once, twice, and licks at Bobby’s hand.
~
The dog goes over to the food bowl, sniffs at it, then comes back to Bobby. It goes to nose at the dog bed, before trotting quickly back again. Bobby rubs a hand over its coat each time, and the dog stands still under his touch, its heartbeat warm under his fingers. Only when Bobby’s done does it go off again to explore a new corner.
It always returns.
~
They feed them both at the same time. A tray for Bobby, another bowl of wet food for the dog. They take the old bowl away, the food inside hardly touched. The dog growls and huddles close to Bobby’s side for the entire duration.
The demon with blonde hair and the face of a sweet, young thing laughs, a cruel, grating sound. “Dean Winchester,” she sneers. “Everyone’s favourite bitch. Funny how things turn out.”
“Go to hell,” Bobby spits, furious.
“Now where would be the fun in that?” Her eyes are dark and too knowing. “All the good stuff is happening right up here.”
After they leave, the dog doesn’t move away from Bobby’s side for most of the night.
“This is all your damned brother’s fault,” Bobby bitches at it. “Fuckin’ Winchesters.”
The dog doesn’t reply.
~
Bobby wakes up to the dog standing stock still in the middle of the room, its ears pricked forwards and its eyes on the door, a low rumbling growl coming from deep within its throat. Suddenly, it starts to bark - and bark and bark. Bobby levers himself up to a sitting position, wincing as the aches in his body fight for acknowledgement.
The dog doesn’t let up when the door swings open and Sam steps into the room, just backs up, away from the doorway, paws scrabbling on the floor. It stands in front of Bobby, its body rigid, making a complete and utter din.
Sam frowns down at it. “Dean,” he says.
The resulting silence is heavy. The dog lies down, its head on its paws, its tail tucked between its legs. It keeps its eyes on Sam, Bobby notes. When Sam hunches down to rub a hand over its coat, the dog whines, its ears lying flat to its skull, but doesn’t pull away.
“You realise what you’ve done?” Bobby asks, heated.
Sam glances at him. “I saved my brother.”
“No, you lunkhead. You turned him into a damned dog. There’s no going back on that and you know it.”
“He’s not in hell,” Sam snaps. His fingers still in the dog’s coat, pressing into the thick hair. “He’s still with me.”
Bobby shakes his head. “This ain’t your brother, Sam. The only reason the mutt’s still here is because there ain’t no immortal soul to be dragged down to hell anymore. You’ve gone and destroyed Dean better than any demon ever could, goddamn it!”
Sam doesn’t answer. Bobby watches him scratch behind the dog’s ears, under its chin. Watches as he rolls the dog onto its back, rubbing down its belly, crooning soft words only for his brother’s ears. Bobby turns away, his throat gone tight.
Finally, Sam stands.
“I’ll find a way,” he says, not looking at him. “If I have to rip the world apart, I’ll find a way.”
Bobby shakes his head, tired, grim, and the door to the cell slams shut. After a moment, the dog crawls into his lap, warm bulk trembling. Bobby runs his hand down a quivering flank. Breathes in deep and unsteady, smelling nothing but dog.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
~
Later, he throws a ball for the dog to fetch.