Take Me Home -Part 11
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,609 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 10
Another Sam POV,although I promise not to abuse the privilege. There's only so much doggy stream-of-consciousness a person can take (or write, for that matter). Thanks for sticking around, folks!
*****
Sam is overjoyed when he figures out that they're going for a walk in the forest. Best walk ever. Bar none. Forests are the best.
He takes off running through the trees, the rich loamy scent of the earth filling his nostrils, weaving in and out of the pine trees, chasing after the light that's dappled on the ground. There's a ravine and the sound of rushing water, and he can hear birds twittering all around, the occasional scritch-scritch-scritch of a mouse or a mole or something equally as exciting. He shoves his nose into beds of pine needles, sneezes wetly at the unexpected sharp tang of the evergreens, starts running again. The feel of the hard-packed dirt under his paws is blissful, and he flops onto the ground and rolls around, not caring that he's getting pine needles in his coat, although some part of him thinks that maybe Dean won't be happy about it. The thought is gone almost as soon as it occurs to him, and he sweeps the pine needles back and forth on the ground with his tail, enjoying the sound and the pungent smell it stirs up.
When he turns back, Dean is gone. He lets out a whine, trots back toward the cabin where he left him, feels his hackles rise when he catches a familiar scent, and he takes off as fast as he can, barking fiercely. He doesn't know exactly what it is, but it's bad-evil-wrong and reminds him a bit of the demon from before, except it's different in a way he can't quite figure, and he wants it away from Dean. When he gets there Dean's smell is everywhere, as well as the smell of death, and he finds a body on the floor of the cabin. He noses at it, but it's dead and not important because all he can think of is find Dean, and so he casts about, trying to find where Dean's scent is fresh, follows it outside until it stops just by the edge of the ravine. He whines again, trots back and forth helplessly, doesn't know how to keep going, but he has to find Dean, and the thought won't leave him alone.
He stops, sits, whimpering, until another small bit of knowledge comes back to him. Think, Sam. Ravines don't go on forever. There's a logical thought process to this, and he knows how to do that although he didn't remember before. He gets up, trots along the steep edge until he sees the slope begin to gentle, spots a path winding down toward the water. He leaps down the slope, the earth sliding under his paws, goes tearing off along the river bank, until he spots a familiar shape moving in the current and throws himself into the water. Something at the back of his mind tells him that it's hard to drag a human out of the waters if you're a dog, but he grabs the fabric of Dean's jacket in his teeth and pulls hard toward the bank, paddling furiously. Water gets into his nose and his ears, and Dean is heavy, but he feels silt and pebbles under his feet, and when he's able to get purchase it's not as hard to drag Dean the rest of the way out of the water. He nudges at him, whines, paws at him, seems to remember that he could be doing something else to make things better, except that he's a dog and there's no way of helping. Not really.
Dean coughs and water comes out of his mouth. “Sam? That you?”
Sam whines, but this time it's a happy whine, because if Dean is talking, then he must be okay. He doesn't move, though, and that's not normal, and Sam doesn't know what to do.
“Good dog, Lassie,” Dean mutters, then coughs again. “Now go get help.”
Now that he can understand. Getting help. Right. Other humans have to help with this, and other humans are where the road is, so he takes off, runs at full-tilt back up to the top of the ravine and toward the road. He runs and runs, past the cabin, past the car, all the way back to the highway which he remembers because it smells of tar and exhaust and garbage, and looks for other humans. There aren't many cars, and most of them speed right past, deafening him with their horns, and no matter how much he jumps and barks, none of them so much as slow down. Finally he stands in the middle of the road, faces down the next car, barking furiously, and it swerves onto the shoulder, comes to a screeching halt, and the smell of burning rubber fills the air. One of the doors opens, and he hears voices, ones he doesn't recognize.
“-can't just leave it there. What if it's hurt?” A woman's voice, high and anxious.
“It's fine. Would it be barking in the middle of the road if it was injured?” A man's voice, this time.
“Come on, we have to at least check.”
“What if it has rabies?”
“It doesn't have rabies. Look at it, something's wrong,” the woman is approaching him slowly, one hand outstretched, fingers curled inward. “Hey, puppy,” she croons, and he backs away a step, suddenly unsure of himself. “What's wrong? You lost?”
He barks once, jumps back another step. Dean-is hurt-Dean-is-this-way-come-follow-me-nownownow!
“Elise, don't go near it. It'll bite you!”
“Don't be stupid, Roger, it's obviously someone's pet. Here, puppy! C'mere!” she slaps her hands against her knees in a clear invitation, and Sam doesn't hesitate before throwing himself at her. He rears up on his hind legs, swipes at her face with his tongue, oblivious to the man's yell of alarm and her own squeak of surprise. She pats him, checks his collar. “Hi, Sam. What're you doing out here all by yourself? Where's your master?”
Sam backs off again and starts barking, running toward the forest, then back toward them, back and forth. He pauses, barks again, can't believe how slow they are.
It's the man who figures it out first. “I think it's trying to lead us somewhere. Hey, boy, where's your owner? Is someone out there?”
He barks, decides they've figured it out, and starts to run, only pausing ever so often to make sure they're following. They're maddeningly slow, but they're only running on two legs, so it's probably not fair to expect them to run as fast as him. He takes them down the slope, back to Dean, and then the woman is pulling out her cell phone and talking agitatedly into it. He hears the word 'ambulance,' and remembers big and white and flashing lights, and he remembers that it's a good thing, that the other humans are going to help. He runs in circles around them while they kneel next to Dean, darting back and forth, barks a few times until the man Roger shushes him, and he subsides with a chastised whine. Roger tries to grab him by the collar, but he doesn't want anyone but Dean touching him, at least not without Dean's permission, and so he backs away, growls deep in his throat when Roger tries to corner him, and the man backs off after that, hands in the air.
“The dog's insane, Elise!”
“No he's not. You're looming over him and his master hasn't told him you're okay. Jeez, Roger, you'd think you'd never been around a dog before. Don't try to grab him, he'll probably bite you. Just wait until the paramedics get here, okay?”
“Fine, whatever.”
The man goes back to kneel next to Dean, who still isn't moving. He's still breathing, Sam can tell that he's still alive, but he's making small, terrible noises of pain, and his eyes are closed. Sam watches from a safe distance, keeps watch in case the thing that smells of bad-evil-wrong comes back, keeps watch because it's his job to keep Dean safe from it now that he knows it's there. It doesn't come back, whatever it was, and then there are lots of people in the woods crashing and making noise with radios and telephones and they crowd around Dean, blocking him from sight. One of the new people makes a grab for him, but he ducks out of the way -run-danger-bad- and then they've got Dean on a plastic thing -stretcher, his memory supplies- and are pulling him up out of the ravine. Sam follows at a distance, wary, keeping upwind and out of their line of sight, but they seem to have forgotten all about him.
They load Dean into an ambulance, and he runs after it, but soon it disappears down the road, leaving him choking in a cloud of dust. He barks disconsolately, looks over his shoulder at where they left the car -Dean wouldn't want to leave the car behind. But he can't do anything about the car, and he wants to be with Dean, so he takes off at a run down the road, keeps running until he gets to the town, and then all the scents jumble together and he doesn't know which way to go anymore. He sits at a fork in the road, scenting the air, but he can't make sense of any of it, can't even smell Dean anymore, and he realizes that he's lost.
That's when he raises his muzzle and howls, long and mournful, as the day fades into night.
*****
(Sorry about the watermark, but it's a great action shot, isn't it?)
Part 12
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 1,609 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 10
Another Sam POV,although I promise not to abuse the privilege. There's only so much doggy stream-of-consciousness a person can take (or write, for that matter). Thanks for sticking around, folks!
*****
Sam is overjoyed when he figures out that they're going for a walk in the forest. Best walk ever. Bar none. Forests are the best.
He takes off running through the trees, the rich loamy scent of the earth filling his nostrils, weaving in and out of the pine trees, chasing after the light that's dappled on the ground. There's a ravine and the sound of rushing water, and he can hear birds twittering all around, the occasional scritch-scritch-scritch of a mouse or a mole or something equally as exciting. He shoves his nose into beds of pine needles, sneezes wetly at the unexpected sharp tang of the evergreens, starts running again. The feel of the hard-packed dirt under his paws is blissful, and he flops onto the ground and rolls around, not caring that he's getting pine needles in his coat, although some part of him thinks that maybe Dean won't be happy about it. The thought is gone almost as soon as it occurs to him, and he sweeps the pine needles back and forth on the ground with his tail, enjoying the sound and the pungent smell it stirs up.
When he turns back, Dean is gone. He lets out a whine, trots back toward the cabin where he left him, feels his hackles rise when he catches a familiar scent, and he takes off as fast as he can, barking fiercely. He doesn't know exactly what it is, but it's bad-evil-wrong and reminds him a bit of the demon from before, except it's different in a way he can't quite figure, and he wants it away from Dean. When he gets there Dean's smell is everywhere, as well as the smell of death, and he finds a body on the floor of the cabin. He noses at it, but it's dead and not important because all he can think of is find Dean, and so he casts about, trying to find where Dean's scent is fresh, follows it outside until it stops just by the edge of the ravine. He whines again, trots back and forth helplessly, doesn't know how to keep going, but he has to find Dean, and the thought won't leave him alone.
He stops, sits, whimpering, until another small bit of knowledge comes back to him. Think, Sam. Ravines don't go on forever. There's a logical thought process to this, and he knows how to do that although he didn't remember before. He gets up, trots along the steep edge until he sees the slope begin to gentle, spots a path winding down toward the water. He leaps down the slope, the earth sliding under his paws, goes tearing off along the river bank, until he spots a familiar shape moving in the current and throws himself into the water. Something at the back of his mind tells him that it's hard to drag a human out of the waters if you're a dog, but he grabs the fabric of Dean's jacket in his teeth and pulls hard toward the bank, paddling furiously. Water gets into his nose and his ears, and Dean is heavy, but he feels silt and pebbles under his feet, and when he's able to get purchase it's not as hard to drag Dean the rest of the way out of the water. He nudges at him, whines, paws at him, seems to remember that he could be doing something else to make things better, except that he's a dog and there's no way of helping. Not really.
Dean coughs and water comes out of his mouth. “Sam? That you?”
Sam whines, but this time it's a happy whine, because if Dean is talking, then he must be okay. He doesn't move, though, and that's not normal, and Sam doesn't know what to do.
“Good dog, Lassie,” Dean mutters, then coughs again. “Now go get help.”
Now that he can understand. Getting help. Right. Other humans have to help with this, and other humans are where the road is, so he takes off, runs at full-tilt back up to the top of the ravine and toward the road. He runs and runs, past the cabin, past the car, all the way back to the highway which he remembers because it smells of tar and exhaust and garbage, and looks for other humans. There aren't many cars, and most of them speed right past, deafening him with their horns, and no matter how much he jumps and barks, none of them so much as slow down. Finally he stands in the middle of the road, faces down the next car, barking furiously, and it swerves onto the shoulder, comes to a screeching halt, and the smell of burning rubber fills the air. One of the doors opens, and he hears voices, ones he doesn't recognize.
“-can't just leave it there. What if it's hurt?” A woman's voice, high and anxious.
“It's fine. Would it be barking in the middle of the road if it was injured?” A man's voice, this time.
“Come on, we have to at least check.”
“What if it has rabies?”
“It doesn't have rabies. Look at it, something's wrong,” the woman is approaching him slowly, one hand outstretched, fingers curled inward. “Hey, puppy,” she croons, and he backs away a step, suddenly unsure of himself. “What's wrong? You lost?”
He barks once, jumps back another step. Dean-is hurt-Dean-is-this-way-come-follow-me-nownownow!
“Elise, don't go near it. It'll bite you!”
“Don't be stupid, Roger, it's obviously someone's pet. Here, puppy! C'mere!” she slaps her hands against her knees in a clear invitation, and Sam doesn't hesitate before throwing himself at her. He rears up on his hind legs, swipes at her face with his tongue, oblivious to the man's yell of alarm and her own squeak of surprise. She pats him, checks his collar. “Hi, Sam. What're you doing out here all by yourself? Where's your master?”
Sam backs off again and starts barking, running toward the forest, then back toward them, back and forth. He pauses, barks again, can't believe how slow they are.
It's the man who figures it out first. “I think it's trying to lead us somewhere. Hey, boy, where's your owner? Is someone out there?”
He barks, decides they've figured it out, and starts to run, only pausing ever so often to make sure they're following. They're maddeningly slow, but they're only running on two legs, so it's probably not fair to expect them to run as fast as him. He takes them down the slope, back to Dean, and then the woman is pulling out her cell phone and talking agitatedly into it. He hears the word 'ambulance,' and remembers big and white and flashing lights, and he remembers that it's a good thing, that the other humans are going to help. He runs in circles around them while they kneel next to Dean, darting back and forth, barks a few times until the man Roger shushes him, and he subsides with a chastised whine. Roger tries to grab him by the collar, but he doesn't want anyone but Dean touching him, at least not without Dean's permission, and so he backs away, growls deep in his throat when Roger tries to corner him, and the man backs off after that, hands in the air.
“The dog's insane, Elise!”
“No he's not. You're looming over him and his master hasn't told him you're okay. Jeez, Roger, you'd think you'd never been around a dog before. Don't try to grab him, he'll probably bite you. Just wait until the paramedics get here, okay?”
“Fine, whatever.”
The man goes back to kneel next to Dean, who still isn't moving. He's still breathing, Sam can tell that he's still alive, but he's making small, terrible noises of pain, and his eyes are closed. Sam watches from a safe distance, keeps watch in case the thing that smells of bad-evil-wrong comes back, keeps watch because it's his job to keep Dean safe from it now that he knows it's there. It doesn't come back, whatever it was, and then there are lots of people in the woods crashing and making noise with radios and telephones and they crowd around Dean, blocking him from sight. One of the new people makes a grab for him, but he ducks out of the way -run-danger-bad- and then they've got Dean on a plastic thing -stretcher, his memory supplies- and are pulling him up out of the ravine. Sam follows at a distance, wary, keeping upwind and out of their line of sight, but they seem to have forgotten all about him.
They load Dean into an ambulance, and he runs after it, but soon it disappears down the road, leaving him choking in a cloud of dust. He barks disconsolately, looks over his shoulder at where they left the car -Dean wouldn't want to leave the car behind. But he can't do anything about the car, and he wants to be with Dean, so he takes off at a run down the road, keeps running until he gets to the town, and then all the scents jumble together and he doesn't know which way to go anymore. He sits at a fork in the road, scenting the air, but he can't make sense of any of it, can't even smell Dean anymore, and he realizes that he's lost.
That's when he raises his muzzle and howls, long and mournful, as the day fades into night.
*****
(Sorry about the watermark, but it's a great action shot, isn't it?)
Part 12