Title: We Thought It Was A Dog--Sam and Dean, genfic, rated PG
Title: We Thought It Was A Dog
Author: pink_bagels
Characters: Sam, Dean
Summary: That was a dog that was found by the side of the road...wasn't it?
Note: I'm very much a dog lover, contrary to what this fic may suggest :D (my dog made me write this...)
"How long have you had this animal?"
The young woman shifted nervously where she stood, and wrung her hands. Beside her, a young man in his early twenties held onto her shoulder, his expression equally grim.
"About a week," she said. Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke. "Look, is Puffy going to be okay?"
"We found him by the side of the road," the boyfriend offered. "We would have brought him in sooner, but he seemed okay after we gave him some food and water. I guess we were just ignorant, we've never had a dog before."
"We've been under a lot of stress," the young woman interjected. She looked desperate to please, to assure the vet that she was not the kind of person who was a neglectful pet owner. She was responsible, usually, but these days, so tired..."My mother has gone missing," she suddenly blurted. The tears spilled over now, and she buried her face in her boyfriend's shoulder. "I can't stand it. I can't lose my dog, too. I know it's only been just over a week, but Puffy is so special..."
The veterinarian's frown of grave concern was enough to give the boyfriend pause and solicit a comforting hug to the young woman sobbing onto his t-shirt. "How bad is it?" he asked.
"You say you've had him a week?" the vet asked. "You found him by the side of the road?"
"Yeah, last Friday, when it was raining. On Interstate 15--he was just lying next to the curb on the dirt. It's a miracle he wasn't dead." The boyfriend crossed his arms, "I'd like to know who the bastard was who figured tossing a dog onto the highway was a fun idea."
"A dog...Hmmm." The vet closed his clipboard and gave the distressed couple a level glare. "I'm sorry, but you're both mistaken. You've been horribly misled."
The young woman gave him a confused frown. "What do you mean?"
The vet turned with no small amount of fear towards the oddly shaped lump of fur that was breathing heavily on the steel examing table. Try as he might, he couldn't find its head or its rear, though some orifice had to exist...How else could the thing breathe, or eat?
Certainly, it did eat. There was no question of how voracious and bloody its appetite was.
He took a deep breathe and braced himself for the lie he was about to tell. It had worked for the last one that had been brought into his office, and broke the bad news to the anxious couple.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but this is not a dog. What you picked up at the side of the road was really...A sewer rat."
---
Sam folded the newspaper in his lap into another half and then passed the thin rectangle of newsprint to Dean. Dean was busy eating a hamburger while driving, and had a bit of juggling to manage before getting the paper into his grip. "Just how many arms do you think I have?" he said to his younger brother.
"You just got to learn to multi-task,"Sam said, smiling.
Dean handed Sam the soggy, 7-Eleven burger he had partially devoured. "Fine, then hold this."
"How can you eat this shit?"
"It's got protein and cardboard, all the necessary building blocks of life." Dean cast a glance over the article and then tossed the paper over to Sam. "So, four people, clearly mutilated by some wild animal. What are you thinking it might be...Werewolf? Chupacubra?"
"I'm not sure," Sam said. "It says here that the latest victim, a woman by the name of Mary Stenworth, had been missing for a week before her body was found, mostly eaten, in the basement of her home. Her daughter, Alice Stenworth, had been brought in for questioning, but has since been cleared of all wrongdoing. It's weird, you don't usually see werewolves or chupacubras in people's homes...Not to mention that if someone was missing for a week, it only stands to reason you'd check the whole house, including the basement, for a body."
"A week. Mrs. Mary Stenworth would have been pretty ripe by then. Either she was a very filthy housekeeper or no one in this town has a sense of smell." Dean frowned, and pulled right at the intersection leading them into the town of Placenta, Maine. "Granted, if I was living in a place called 'Placenta', I think it would be safe to say the locals have some odd ideas about what's normal."
Ignoring his brother's observation, Sam typed on his laptop, drawing up a number of addresses and phone numbers. "So, I guess we start with Alice. What's it going to be this time? Ministers? Reporters?"
---
"For God's sake, Puffy, shut up!"
Alice Stenworth answered her front door and was clearly surprised to see two young men standing on her porch. The small dog behind her barked fervently, his tiny white body bopping up and down against the screen door. Dean flashed a professional looking card at Alice which only caused the tiny canine at her side to snarl and growl as he continued to bop up and down like a wayward ping pong ball. He stepped back as he quickly pocketed it in the front lapel of his steel blue overalls.
"Animal control, ma'am," he said, frowning at the puffball of fury that threatened him through the screen door. "There's been a few problems with vermin in the area and..."
"Oh my God," Alice said, air whistling through her clenched teeth. "That bastard, he set you up for this didn't he?"
Sam and Dean exchanged glances which only increased Alice's ire. She flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder and shooed her irate pooch further into the house.
"Look," she said, her arms crossed as she leaned against the screen door. "You can tell that mental case veterinarian we don't have a problem, and he ought to get his damned eyes checked. We have enough problems around here, we don't need his crazy accusations."
With that, the front door was summarily shut in Dean's face with a loud slam.
"I'd say that went well," Sam said.
Dean gave the front window of the small house a concerted glare. The tiny dog was in its frame, fury consuming it to the point that it was banging its forehead against the glass.
Dean pointed to the ball of rabid fluff. "Now that," he said to Sam, "is why I will always be a cat person."
---
They sat in the reception room of the vet clinic, the air close and smelling of flea shampoo and rubbing alcohol. It was strangely quiet for a vet clinic, without the usual barking or meowing or howling affiliated with the busier suburbs. The town was small enough to need only one vet, and Dean figured this guy was just getting by in the pet department. "He must get most of his business from the local farmers," Dean said to Sam. "The receptionist said he's on a house call and he'll be back in about fifteen minutes."
As if on cue, the front door opened, sending the bell above it in a jangling bundle of nerves. The barking began at this intrusion, several dogs in the back room worried about the man who brought both pain and eased suffering. Harold Reynolds was a very tall man, Dean observed, a good six-two if not more. He was gangly, with wide shoulders, all bones and muscle. An imposing figure to say the least.
"Doctor Reynolds, these men are from the department of wildlife and forestry..." the receptionist said, and pointed behind him with a pencil to Sam and Dean.
Reynolds slowly turned, and Dean held his breath at the pale face that looked down on him, a five o'clock shadow threatening his features and dark circles lining what were otherwise compassionate brown eyes. He might be a giant, but damn...This guy was clearly going through some kind of hell...
"Finally," Reynolds said, relief flooding through his voice in almost physical waves. "It's about time you people took my reports seriously."
Dean coughed into his fist. "Yeah, well, we have to keep up on this kind of thing..."
Doctor Reynolds narrowed his eyes at Dean, assessing both he and Sam with a concentrated glare. Dean had the uncomfortable feeling he had just had his sincerity dissected and was found lacking. Reynolds gestured with a giant's hand to his office. "Frankly, I don't care what department of forestry or wildlife or daily rumour rag you two might be from," he said. "I need to talk, and you need to listen."
Sam and Dean followed Reynolds into his office, a dark, sombre place with oak panelling and a large, antique oak desk situated in front of a small frosted window. The office had very little light, save for the single lamp that illuminated the various papers scattered over the top of the veterinarian's desk. Dean chanced a good look, and felt sick at the various diagrams of animal muscles and bones, pieces of the actual specimens in bottles lined up on the corner of the desk. A series of photos were splayed out sporadically between these odd accruments, and Reynolds gave him a knowing look as he gestured to the brothers to sit down in the two chairs in front of his desk. Dean sank into one of them and immediately felt dwarfed. It was a giant's chair, and he had to slouch to keep his feet from dangling when he sat in it.
Doctor Reynolds handed Dean a folder, his huge hands wide across the expanse of beige. "I suggest you take a look at this."
Hesitant, Dean gave Sam a questioning glance before opening the folder. The paper moved slowly, and Sam craned over Dean's shoulder to get a good look at the contents.
"Holy shi..." Dean began, and coughed nervously into his fist as he quickly passed the folder into Sam's hands. "Well, there certainly *is* a problem..."
Sam took out one of the photographs, his expression one of intense scrutiny. "All I can see in this picture is blood and ripped skin. Whatever did this has to be huge, powerful."
Doctor Reynolds sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that." He gave his guests a level glare, all the more intimidating thanks to his own gargantuan size. "Follow me."
---
The back room of the veterinary clinic was teeming with barking, which was odd, Dean thought, considering there hadn't been a peep when they first came into the clinic. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said, over his brother's shoulder. "Weird, isn't it? The way the dogs only started barking when Doctor Doolittle came home?"
"They aren't dogs," Reynolds said.
Dean shrugged at being overheard, he wasn't exactly going to hide his suspicions that this man was a demon in disguise. "I half wonder, if they are black dogs," he said, and gave Sam a significant look.
"Little white ones," Reynolds said. "That's what they disguise themselves as."
He opened a large, steel door, and the barking erupted into an insane frenzy. Sam and Dean walked into the boarding room, passing empty cages. From the din in the place, there should have been dozens of dogs here, not just...
"Is that...One dog?" Sam asked.
There, tucked into the corner in a small cell, was a tiny bundle of white fluff. It was curled into a tight ball, looking for all intents and purposes as though it were asleep. But the incredibly loud barking was clearly emenating from it, lifting and lowering with every rise and fall of the tiny ball of fur's back.
"Your telling us a toy poodle did that damage?" Dean said, disbelieving. "Come on, give us *some* credit."
"You think it's a harmless little dog," Reynolds said. "It's what everyone thinks, but it's not what I've seen." He moved closer to the cage, and took something out of his pocket. To Dean's disgust it was a piece of bloody beef.
"You walk around with raw meat in your pocket?" Dean asked.
Dr. Reynolds shrugged. "Keeps the monsters at bay," he explained.
He tossed the red meat over the top of the cage.
The tiny, white ball of fluff squirmed where it lay, the barking suddenly stopped.
"Hey," Dean said. He banged on the cage bars, trying to get the tiny dog's attention. "Hey, little fella, hey...What the hell did you put in that meat?"
Reynolds was unemotional. "Just wait," he said.
The tiny dog lay on its side, for all appearances looking dead. Dean felt a surge of rage pulse through him. Dammit, he had to be dealing with a demon, because much as he hated little dogs he hated puppy killers more. He whirled around, packing heat in his hand, his forehead dripping sweat. "You son of a..."
"Dean!"
The 'dog' was moving again, but not by use of its limbs. Its skin was bubbling, the fur pulsing with huge blisters that grew, one on top of the other, creating a larger mass. The dog began to swell in size, the bubbles of tissue breathing and wheezing as it layered tiers of itself through the form of the dog. It dissolved the snout and the eyes, the feet and tail becoming absorbed into the ever growing tumourous mass of fur and bloody tissue. Dean stood back from the cage, horror evident in his eyes as he witnessed the gruesome transformation.
By the time it was the size of a large german shepherd, the bloblike mass of fur and tissue had grown little tendrils of bone which stuck through the pimply skin like wayward porcupine quills. Dean could make out what was a crude facsimile of a dog's jaw, and near the top of the lump was a skeletal paw, its claws testing the air in automatic responses.
"What the hell is this thing?" Dean said. He stood back from the cage and trained the gun on the thing growing into gruesome shapes in front of him.
"I'm glad you can see it," Reynolds said. "It's got some kind of psychotropic affect on the people who own these things. They don't see the monster their beloved pet is turning into...This thing, I've seen it twice in this town, and I know it's been responsible for at least four murders that have occured in the past month. I found this one behind a farmer's barn, after I got a call for a cow that had been torn apart." There was a large, thick stick leaning against the side of the cage, and Reynolds took it into his grip. "I want to show you something else," he said.
He poked the stick through the bars of the cage, being careful not to touch the blob of tissue and blood that pulsated within its confines. With one strong push he used the stick to roll the thing onto its 'back'.
It hissed and sputtered as its underbelly was completely exposed. A horrible stench wafted up from its innards, and where there should have been nothing save the soft cuteness of a round puppy's belly there was a huge, gaping hole. It oozed black pus, with layers of lips squelching over sharp bone-like quills. They gleamed like surgical instruments, Dean thought. This damned thing had a mouthful of scalpels, ready to dissect and devour a human being like a tender steak dinner.
"Fuck me," Dean said, impressed with the weird horror of it.
"You said you've seen two of these?" Sam said. Dean felt annoyed at Sam's practicality...Couldn't he for once just appreciate the absolute disgusting horror of the moment instead of jumping right into the facts? "I'm assuming this is one of the pair...Where is the other one?"
"We've already met him," Dean said, feeling sick as the thing yawned and rolled back onto its maw/stomach. "His name is Puffy, and he's a yippy little bastard."
---
"Are you people fucking crazy?"
Dean remained stern while Sam played the part of the sympathetic. "Look, ma'am," Sam said, "It's not up to us. Your dog has been deemed a health risk, and all that needs to happen is a temporary quarantine to determine whether his condition is contagious."
"You can't do this," she said, her arms crossed, fury evident on her features. "Puffy is everything to me."
Behind her, Puffy was making enough of a din to call all the legions of hell to his aid...And he just might have been. Dean made a move to enter the house, his snare poking past Alice Stenworth's shoulder. She shoved him back onto the porch with unexpected strength. "That dog is *everything* to me!" she shouted at Dean. "Puffy is my *family*!"
"If that's true, Ma'am, then I'm sure you don't want to see him get sick." Sam inched closer to the open door, especially when he could see that Alice was thinking what he said over. "He will get sick, Alice...*Very* sick if we don't help him. How are you helping him if you don't let us take care of him?"
The barking behind her became deeper, with the distinct intonation of the underworld coming through in echoing waves. Dean frowned, and Alice stared straight ahead as he made his way past her into her house. He was a good two feet over the threshold when he was suddenly whacked on the back of the head with something heavy, and sharp.
"Leave us alone!" Alice screamed at him, her hands tight on the base of a brass lamp as she swung it at Dean. "Puffy is fine! He's fine!"
Sam held her back and struggled to get the lamp out of her hands while Dean stood up in a daze, the back of his head pulsating in waves of pain. He gingerly tested his skull with his fingertips and was alarmed to find his palm stained with blood.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam shouted over Alice's frantic screaming.
"Yeah," Dean said, dazed. "I'm still conscious, anyway. I think she grazed my head..."
Two droplets of blood hit the hardwood floor.
Out of nowhere, Puffy came running, the smell of blood bringing his real personality to the fore. The tiny ball of white ran to the two drops of blood, and eagerly lapped them up.
"I hate you!" Alice screamed at Dean. "You and that crazy vet, I hate you!"
Puffy began to make choking noises, his round black eyes fixed on Dean in a mixture of hungry anticipation and hatred. The tiny face began to dissolve, and bulbous blisters erupted across the tiny dog's back, layering against each other in a disgusting, pus-like foam.
"Now look at what you've done!" Alice screamed.
Dean walked gingerly around the periphery of the steaming mass of pus, bubbles and tissue. A horrible stench made his eyes water, and he dropped the snare to opt instead for the gun he'd kept tucked into the back of his pants.
"Dean, I think there's a new problem," Sam said. Alice had been neatly handcuffed, her body now slumped against her front door as she sobbed hysterically. Sam nodded deeper into the house, towards the vicinity of the kitchen. Dean kept his eyes trained on the thing growing and sucking and sliding its way along the floor after him in a bloody, slimy trail of mucous, the sounds of its scalpel teeth clicking against and splintering the wooden floor beneath its underbelly. Dean backed up, and made his way into the kitchen.
The smell was what hit him first. Rotting. Damp. Rank.
The remnants of something that might have been human once lay in pieces on the floor of the kitchen, a finger laying sliced open against the corner of the stove, a piece of human jaw resting against the entrance to the garage.
Dean fought the urge to vomit. He kept his gun aimed at the thing blindly searching him out, his t-shirt held against his mouth in a vain attempt to keep away the stench of decayed flesh.
"We got another victim in here," Dean shouted to Sam. "And I'm going to be Puffy's next nibble if you don't tell me how to kill this thing."
"Another person..." Sam turned his attention to Alice. "You knew. There's no psychotropic effect, you *knew* what this thing was..."
"Puffy is my whole world," she spat at Sam. "My mother did squat for me, and my boyfriend didn't give a shit about anything I said, just as long as he got a good lay once in a while." She wiped tears from her eyes, her mascara smeareed across her face. "Puffy listens to me. He's the only one I've ever been able to count on." She narrowed her eyes at Sam, hatred evident in every inch of her features. "But you wouldn't understand that. You're not a dog lover."
"Yo, Sammy!" Dean shouted from the kitchen. "I could use some tips on how to kill this thing about now."
Sam was jostled from his momentary shock to abandon Alice at the front door and come to his brother's aid. When he reached the kitchen, the thing known as Puffy had, indeed, blown up to a considerable size. It was easily the circumference of a large hog at this point, and it had effectively cornered Dean.
"Try shooting it," Sam offered.
"The vet tried it, remember? He said the thing just started puking bullets."
"Holy water?"
"Just pokes holes in the pusbubbles."
"Exorcism?"
"Sam, it's an unholy beast, not a philosopher."
Puffy slid against the floor, its massive bulk testing the remains of the man it had chewed on earlier, the man Dean knew had to be Alice's former player of a boyfriend. Dean leaned against the corner of the kitchen counter, and then sat on it. He frowned as the thing came closer. Dammit, the last thing he wanted his legacy to be was to be done in by a giant slug!
Wait a minute...
Frantic, Dean opened the cupboard doors. When he found what he was looking for, he let out a loud whoop and flashed his younger brother a large grin.
He held up the carton of salt.
"Not only a taste enhancer, but rich in demon killin' goodness." He opened the lid and let the salt fly just as Puffy decided to rear up on his blob of a behind and open his stinking maw to vivisection Dean alive.
"Good for the garden, too," Dean added.
---
A steaming mass of ooze was all that was left on the bottom of the cage. Doctor Reynolds shook out the last remnants of salt left in the box and tossed it to one side.
"I appreciate the help," Doctor Reynolds said.
"I just wish we could have done something for Alice," Sam said, disappointment in his voice. "She's lost her mind because of this."
"People make their choices," Reynolds said, his deep voice gruff. His huge frame filled the entrance to the room as he bent low and walked through it. Sam and Dean followed in Reynolds' massive shadow into the hallway, and then into the dark room that served as the man's office. To their surprise, the place was stripped bare, boxes lined neatly against the far wall, furniture gone.
"You..uh...Taking off?" Dean asked.
Reynolds smiled warmly at him and Sam.
"I knew I could count on the Winchester boys to come to the rescue," he said.
Dean and Sam flinched in unison, as though they had been struck. Sam was the first to speak. "You know who we are?"
Reynolds smiled, and turned away from them both. "You don't forget John Winchester in a hurry," he said. He picked up a box in his gargantuan hands and left his office, his shadow remaining while the rest of him was already gone.
"I wouldn't worry about him," Reynolds' voice said. "Trust me when I tell you...A man like John isn't forgotten. There's a plan already in motion, and despairing over his fate isn't going to free him. You just have to have faith in the system, boys. Things in this world, man and beast and devil and angel...Nothing is what it first seems.."
Struck by what Reynolds' was saying, Sam and Dean ran out of the office, into the main foyer of the vet clinic. To their mutual shock, the entire place had the sudden appearance of a delapidated, abandoned pet store. Dean walked towards the dirty front window, his foot rolling the broken birdcage beneath it in a pensive motion, back ad forth, the sun glinting on the snapped aluminum bars. Suddenly angry, Dean kicked it, where it stirred up a layer of dust and cobwebs in the far corner. "Dammit, I knew it!" he shouted. "He gave me demon vibes like crazy and I didn't listen to my gut! Dammit!"
Dean took a deep breath and braced his hands against the broken, cracked front window of the abandoned store. "What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked. He didn't admit this to himself often, but this time, this one time, he was truly frightened.
"I think it's only obvious, Dean," Sam said. He put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Dad's got friends in high places."
END
Author: pink_bagels
Characters: Sam, Dean
Summary: That was a dog that was found by the side of the road...wasn't it?
Note: I'm very much a dog lover, contrary to what this fic may suggest :D (my dog made me write this...)
"How long have you had this animal?"
The young woman shifted nervously where she stood, and wrung her hands. Beside her, a young man in his early twenties held onto her shoulder, his expression equally grim.
"About a week," she said. Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke. "Look, is Puffy going to be okay?"
"We found him by the side of the road," the boyfriend offered. "We would have brought him in sooner, but he seemed okay after we gave him some food and water. I guess we were just ignorant, we've never had a dog before."
"We've been under a lot of stress," the young woman interjected. She looked desperate to please, to assure the vet that she was not the kind of person who was a neglectful pet owner. She was responsible, usually, but these days, so tired..."My mother has gone missing," she suddenly blurted. The tears spilled over now, and she buried her face in her boyfriend's shoulder. "I can't stand it. I can't lose my dog, too. I know it's only been just over a week, but Puffy is so special..."
The veterinarian's frown of grave concern was enough to give the boyfriend pause and solicit a comforting hug to the young woman sobbing onto his t-shirt. "How bad is it?" he asked.
"You say you've had him a week?" the vet asked. "You found him by the side of the road?"
"Yeah, last Friday, when it was raining. On Interstate 15--he was just lying next to the curb on the dirt. It's a miracle he wasn't dead." The boyfriend crossed his arms, "I'd like to know who the bastard was who figured tossing a dog onto the highway was a fun idea."
"A dog...Hmmm." The vet closed his clipboard and gave the distressed couple a level glare. "I'm sorry, but you're both mistaken. You've been horribly misled."
The young woman gave him a confused frown. "What do you mean?"
The vet turned with no small amount of fear towards the oddly shaped lump of fur that was breathing heavily on the steel examing table. Try as he might, he couldn't find its head or its rear, though some orifice had to exist...How else could the thing breathe, or eat?
Certainly, it did eat. There was no question of how voracious and bloody its appetite was.
He took a deep breathe and braced himself for the lie he was about to tell. It had worked for the last one that had been brought into his office, and broke the bad news to the anxious couple.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but this is not a dog. What you picked up at the side of the road was really...A sewer rat."
---
Sam folded the newspaper in his lap into another half and then passed the thin rectangle of newsprint to Dean. Dean was busy eating a hamburger while driving, and had a bit of juggling to manage before getting the paper into his grip. "Just how many arms do you think I have?" he said to his younger brother.
"You just got to learn to multi-task,"Sam said, smiling.
Dean handed Sam the soggy, 7-Eleven burger he had partially devoured. "Fine, then hold this."
"How can you eat this shit?"
"It's got protein and cardboard, all the necessary building blocks of life." Dean cast a glance over the article and then tossed the paper over to Sam. "So, four people, clearly mutilated by some wild animal. What are you thinking it might be...Werewolf? Chupacubra?"
"I'm not sure," Sam said. "It says here that the latest victim, a woman by the name of Mary Stenworth, had been missing for a week before her body was found, mostly eaten, in the basement of her home. Her daughter, Alice Stenworth, had been brought in for questioning, but has since been cleared of all wrongdoing. It's weird, you don't usually see werewolves or chupacubras in people's homes...Not to mention that if someone was missing for a week, it only stands to reason you'd check the whole house, including the basement, for a body."
"A week. Mrs. Mary Stenworth would have been pretty ripe by then. Either she was a very filthy housekeeper or no one in this town has a sense of smell." Dean frowned, and pulled right at the intersection leading them into the town of Placenta, Maine. "Granted, if I was living in a place called 'Placenta', I think it would be safe to say the locals have some odd ideas about what's normal."
Ignoring his brother's observation, Sam typed on his laptop, drawing up a number of addresses and phone numbers. "So, I guess we start with Alice. What's it going to be this time? Ministers? Reporters?"
---
"For God's sake, Puffy, shut up!"
Alice Stenworth answered her front door and was clearly surprised to see two young men standing on her porch. The small dog behind her barked fervently, his tiny white body bopping up and down against the screen door. Dean flashed a professional looking card at Alice which only caused the tiny canine at her side to snarl and growl as he continued to bop up and down like a wayward ping pong ball. He stepped back as he quickly pocketed it in the front lapel of his steel blue overalls.
"Animal control, ma'am," he said, frowning at the puffball of fury that threatened him through the screen door. "There's been a few problems with vermin in the area and..."
"Oh my God," Alice said, air whistling through her clenched teeth. "That bastard, he set you up for this didn't he?"
Sam and Dean exchanged glances which only increased Alice's ire. She flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder and shooed her irate pooch further into the house.
"Look," she said, her arms crossed as she leaned against the screen door. "You can tell that mental case veterinarian we don't have a problem, and he ought to get his damned eyes checked. We have enough problems around here, we don't need his crazy accusations."
With that, the front door was summarily shut in Dean's face with a loud slam.
"I'd say that went well," Sam said.
Dean gave the front window of the small house a concerted glare. The tiny dog was in its frame, fury consuming it to the point that it was banging its forehead against the glass.
Dean pointed to the ball of rabid fluff. "Now that," he said to Sam, "is why I will always be a cat person."
---
They sat in the reception room of the vet clinic, the air close and smelling of flea shampoo and rubbing alcohol. It was strangely quiet for a vet clinic, without the usual barking or meowing or howling affiliated with the busier suburbs. The town was small enough to need only one vet, and Dean figured this guy was just getting by in the pet department. "He must get most of his business from the local farmers," Dean said to Sam. "The receptionist said he's on a house call and he'll be back in about fifteen minutes."
As if on cue, the front door opened, sending the bell above it in a jangling bundle of nerves. The barking began at this intrusion, several dogs in the back room worried about the man who brought both pain and eased suffering. Harold Reynolds was a very tall man, Dean observed, a good six-two if not more. He was gangly, with wide shoulders, all bones and muscle. An imposing figure to say the least.
"Doctor Reynolds, these men are from the department of wildlife and forestry..." the receptionist said, and pointed behind him with a pencil to Sam and Dean.
Reynolds slowly turned, and Dean held his breath at the pale face that looked down on him, a five o'clock shadow threatening his features and dark circles lining what were otherwise compassionate brown eyes. He might be a giant, but damn...This guy was clearly going through some kind of hell...
"Finally," Reynolds said, relief flooding through his voice in almost physical waves. "It's about time you people took my reports seriously."
Dean coughed into his fist. "Yeah, well, we have to keep up on this kind of thing..."
Doctor Reynolds narrowed his eyes at Dean, assessing both he and Sam with a concentrated glare. Dean had the uncomfortable feeling he had just had his sincerity dissected and was found lacking. Reynolds gestured with a giant's hand to his office. "Frankly, I don't care what department of forestry or wildlife or daily rumour rag you two might be from," he said. "I need to talk, and you need to listen."
Sam and Dean followed Reynolds into his office, a dark, sombre place with oak panelling and a large, antique oak desk situated in front of a small frosted window. The office had very little light, save for the single lamp that illuminated the various papers scattered over the top of the veterinarian's desk. Dean chanced a good look, and felt sick at the various diagrams of animal muscles and bones, pieces of the actual specimens in bottles lined up on the corner of the desk. A series of photos were splayed out sporadically between these odd accruments, and Reynolds gave him a knowing look as he gestured to the brothers to sit down in the two chairs in front of his desk. Dean sank into one of them and immediately felt dwarfed. It was a giant's chair, and he had to slouch to keep his feet from dangling when he sat in it.
Doctor Reynolds handed Dean a folder, his huge hands wide across the expanse of beige. "I suggest you take a look at this."
Hesitant, Dean gave Sam a questioning glance before opening the folder. The paper moved slowly, and Sam craned over Dean's shoulder to get a good look at the contents.
"Holy shi..." Dean began, and coughed nervously into his fist as he quickly passed the folder into Sam's hands. "Well, there certainly *is* a problem..."
Sam took out one of the photographs, his expression one of intense scrutiny. "All I can see in this picture is blood and ripped skin. Whatever did this has to be huge, powerful."
Doctor Reynolds sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that." He gave his guests a level glare, all the more intimidating thanks to his own gargantuan size. "Follow me."
---
The back room of the veterinary clinic was teeming with barking, which was odd, Dean thought, considering there hadn't been a peep when they first came into the clinic. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said, over his brother's shoulder. "Weird, isn't it? The way the dogs only started barking when Doctor Doolittle came home?"
"They aren't dogs," Reynolds said.
Dean shrugged at being overheard, he wasn't exactly going to hide his suspicions that this man was a demon in disguise. "I half wonder, if they are black dogs," he said, and gave Sam a significant look.
"Little white ones," Reynolds said. "That's what they disguise themselves as."
He opened a large, steel door, and the barking erupted into an insane frenzy. Sam and Dean walked into the boarding room, passing empty cages. From the din in the place, there should have been dozens of dogs here, not just...
"Is that...One dog?" Sam asked.
There, tucked into the corner in a small cell, was a tiny bundle of white fluff. It was curled into a tight ball, looking for all intents and purposes as though it were asleep. But the incredibly loud barking was clearly emenating from it, lifting and lowering with every rise and fall of the tiny ball of fur's back.
"Your telling us a toy poodle did that damage?" Dean said, disbelieving. "Come on, give us *some* credit."
"You think it's a harmless little dog," Reynolds said. "It's what everyone thinks, but it's not what I've seen." He moved closer to the cage, and took something out of his pocket. To Dean's disgust it was a piece of bloody beef.
"You walk around with raw meat in your pocket?" Dean asked.
Dr. Reynolds shrugged. "Keeps the monsters at bay," he explained.
He tossed the red meat over the top of the cage.
The tiny, white ball of fluff squirmed where it lay, the barking suddenly stopped.
"Hey," Dean said. He banged on the cage bars, trying to get the tiny dog's attention. "Hey, little fella, hey...What the hell did you put in that meat?"
Reynolds was unemotional. "Just wait," he said.
The tiny dog lay on its side, for all appearances looking dead. Dean felt a surge of rage pulse through him. Dammit, he had to be dealing with a demon, because much as he hated little dogs he hated puppy killers more. He whirled around, packing heat in his hand, his forehead dripping sweat. "You son of a..."
"Dean!"
The 'dog' was moving again, but not by use of its limbs. Its skin was bubbling, the fur pulsing with huge blisters that grew, one on top of the other, creating a larger mass. The dog began to swell in size, the bubbles of tissue breathing and wheezing as it layered tiers of itself through the form of the dog. It dissolved the snout and the eyes, the feet and tail becoming absorbed into the ever growing tumourous mass of fur and bloody tissue. Dean stood back from the cage, horror evident in his eyes as he witnessed the gruesome transformation.
By the time it was the size of a large german shepherd, the bloblike mass of fur and tissue had grown little tendrils of bone which stuck through the pimply skin like wayward porcupine quills. Dean could make out what was a crude facsimile of a dog's jaw, and near the top of the lump was a skeletal paw, its claws testing the air in automatic responses.
"What the hell is this thing?" Dean said. He stood back from the cage and trained the gun on the thing growing into gruesome shapes in front of him.
"I'm glad you can see it," Reynolds said. "It's got some kind of psychotropic affect on the people who own these things. They don't see the monster their beloved pet is turning into...This thing, I've seen it twice in this town, and I know it's been responsible for at least four murders that have occured in the past month. I found this one behind a farmer's barn, after I got a call for a cow that had been torn apart." There was a large, thick stick leaning against the side of the cage, and Reynolds took it into his grip. "I want to show you something else," he said.
He poked the stick through the bars of the cage, being careful not to touch the blob of tissue and blood that pulsated within its confines. With one strong push he used the stick to roll the thing onto its 'back'.
It hissed and sputtered as its underbelly was completely exposed. A horrible stench wafted up from its innards, and where there should have been nothing save the soft cuteness of a round puppy's belly there was a huge, gaping hole. It oozed black pus, with layers of lips squelching over sharp bone-like quills. They gleamed like surgical instruments, Dean thought. This damned thing had a mouthful of scalpels, ready to dissect and devour a human being like a tender steak dinner.
"Fuck me," Dean said, impressed with the weird horror of it.
"You said you've seen two of these?" Sam said. Dean felt annoyed at Sam's practicality...Couldn't he for once just appreciate the absolute disgusting horror of the moment instead of jumping right into the facts? "I'm assuming this is one of the pair...Where is the other one?"
"We've already met him," Dean said, feeling sick as the thing yawned and rolled back onto its maw/stomach. "His name is Puffy, and he's a yippy little bastard."
---
"Are you people fucking crazy?"
Dean remained stern while Sam played the part of the sympathetic. "Look, ma'am," Sam said, "It's not up to us. Your dog has been deemed a health risk, and all that needs to happen is a temporary quarantine to determine whether his condition is contagious."
"You can't do this," she said, her arms crossed, fury evident on her features. "Puffy is everything to me."
Behind her, Puffy was making enough of a din to call all the legions of hell to his aid...And he just might have been. Dean made a move to enter the house, his snare poking past Alice Stenworth's shoulder. She shoved him back onto the porch with unexpected strength. "That dog is *everything* to me!" she shouted at Dean. "Puffy is my *family*!"
"If that's true, Ma'am, then I'm sure you don't want to see him get sick." Sam inched closer to the open door, especially when he could see that Alice was thinking what he said over. "He will get sick, Alice...*Very* sick if we don't help him. How are you helping him if you don't let us take care of him?"
The barking behind her became deeper, with the distinct intonation of the underworld coming through in echoing waves. Dean frowned, and Alice stared straight ahead as he made his way past her into her house. He was a good two feet over the threshold when he was suddenly whacked on the back of the head with something heavy, and sharp.
"Leave us alone!" Alice screamed at him, her hands tight on the base of a brass lamp as she swung it at Dean. "Puffy is fine! He's fine!"
Sam held her back and struggled to get the lamp out of her hands while Dean stood up in a daze, the back of his head pulsating in waves of pain. He gingerly tested his skull with his fingertips and was alarmed to find his palm stained with blood.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam shouted over Alice's frantic screaming.
"Yeah," Dean said, dazed. "I'm still conscious, anyway. I think she grazed my head..."
Two droplets of blood hit the hardwood floor.
Out of nowhere, Puffy came running, the smell of blood bringing his real personality to the fore. The tiny ball of white ran to the two drops of blood, and eagerly lapped them up.
"I hate you!" Alice screamed at Dean. "You and that crazy vet, I hate you!"
Puffy began to make choking noises, his round black eyes fixed on Dean in a mixture of hungry anticipation and hatred. The tiny face began to dissolve, and bulbous blisters erupted across the tiny dog's back, layering against each other in a disgusting, pus-like foam.
"Now look at what you've done!" Alice screamed.
Dean walked gingerly around the periphery of the steaming mass of pus, bubbles and tissue. A horrible stench made his eyes water, and he dropped the snare to opt instead for the gun he'd kept tucked into the back of his pants.
"Dean, I think there's a new problem," Sam said. Alice had been neatly handcuffed, her body now slumped against her front door as she sobbed hysterically. Sam nodded deeper into the house, towards the vicinity of the kitchen. Dean kept his eyes trained on the thing growing and sucking and sliding its way along the floor after him in a bloody, slimy trail of mucous, the sounds of its scalpel teeth clicking against and splintering the wooden floor beneath its underbelly. Dean backed up, and made his way into the kitchen.
The smell was what hit him first. Rotting. Damp. Rank.
The remnants of something that might have been human once lay in pieces on the floor of the kitchen, a finger laying sliced open against the corner of the stove, a piece of human jaw resting against the entrance to the garage.
Dean fought the urge to vomit. He kept his gun aimed at the thing blindly searching him out, his t-shirt held against his mouth in a vain attempt to keep away the stench of decayed flesh.
"We got another victim in here," Dean shouted to Sam. "And I'm going to be Puffy's next nibble if you don't tell me how to kill this thing."
"Another person..." Sam turned his attention to Alice. "You knew. There's no psychotropic effect, you *knew* what this thing was..."
"Puffy is my whole world," she spat at Sam. "My mother did squat for me, and my boyfriend didn't give a shit about anything I said, just as long as he got a good lay once in a while." She wiped tears from her eyes, her mascara smeareed across her face. "Puffy listens to me. He's the only one I've ever been able to count on." She narrowed her eyes at Sam, hatred evident in every inch of her features. "But you wouldn't understand that. You're not a dog lover."
"Yo, Sammy!" Dean shouted from the kitchen. "I could use some tips on how to kill this thing about now."
Sam was jostled from his momentary shock to abandon Alice at the front door and come to his brother's aid. When he reached the kitchen, the thing known as Puffy had, indeed, blown up to a considerable size. It was easily the circumference of a large hog at this point, and it had effectively cornered Dean.
"Try shooting it," Sam offered.
"The vet tried it, remember? He said the thing just started puking bullets."
"Holy water?"
"Just pokes holes in the pusbubbles."
"Exorcism?"
"Sam, it's an unholy beast, not a philosopher."
Puffy slid against the floor, its massive bulk testing the remains of the man it had chewed on earlier, the man Dean knew had to be Alice's former player of a boyfriend. Dean leaned against the corner of the kitchen counter, and then sat on it. He frowned as the thing came closer. Dammit, the last thing he wanted his legacy to be was to be done in by a giant slug!
Wait a minute...
Frantic, Dean opened the cupboard doors. When he found what he was looking for, he let out a loud whoop and flashed his younger brother a large grin.
He held up the carton of salt.
"Not only a taste enhancer, but rich in demon killin' goodness." He opened the lid and let the salt fly just as Puffy decided to rear up on his blob of a behind and open his stinking maw to vivisection Dean alive.
"Good for the garden, too," Dean added.
---
A steaming mass of ooze was all that was left on the bottom of the cage. Doctor Reynolds shook out the last remnants of salt left in the box and tossed it to one side.
"I appreciate the help," Doctor Reynolds said.
"I just wish we could have done something for Alice," Sam said, disappointment in his voice. "She's lost her mind because of this."
"People make their choices," Reynolds said, his deep voice gruff. His huge frame filled the entrance to the room as he bent low and walked through it. Sam and Dean followed in Reynolds' massive shadow into the hallway, and then into the dark room that served as the man's office. To their surprise, the place was stripped bare, boxes lined neatly against the far wall, furniture gone.
"You..uh...Taking off?" Dean asked.
Reynolds smiled warmly at him and Sam.
"I knew I could count on the Winchester boys to come to the rescue," he said.
Dean and Sam flinched in unison, as though they had been struck. Sam was the first to speak. "You know who we are?"
Reynolds smiled, and turned away from them both. "You don't forget John Winchester in a hurry," he said. He picked up a box in his gargantuan hands and left his office, his shadow remaining while the rest of him was already gone.
"I wouldn't worry about him," Reynolds' voice said. "Trust me when I tell you...A man like John isn't forgotten. There's a plan already in motion, and despairing over his fate isn't going to free him. You just have to have faith in the system, boys. Things in this world, man and beast and devil and angel...Nothing is what it first seems.."
Struck by what Reynolds' was saying, Sam and Dean ran out of the office, into the main foyer of the vet clinic. To their mutual shock, the entire place had the sudden appearance of a delapidated, abandoned pet store. Dean walked towards the dirty front window, his foot rolling the broken birdcage beneath it in a pensive motion, back ad forth, the sun glinting on the snapped aluminum bars. Suddenly angry, Dean kicked it, where it stirred up a layer of dust and cobwebs in the far corner. "Dammit, I knew it!" he shouted. "He gave me demon vibes like crazy and I didn't listen to my gut! Dammit!"
Dean took a deep breath and braced his hands against the broken, cracked front window of the abandoned store. "What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked. He didn't admit this to himself often, but this time, this one time, he was truly frightened.
"I think it's only obvious, Dean," Sam said. He put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Dad's got friends in high places."
END