Chapter Text
“You Hunters, always quick to intervene, trying to stop us,” the Witch scowled at Dean, her magical powers holding him tightly against the wall. Dean struggled against the hold, to no avail, the invisible pressure too much for him to pull himself away, “Especially you Winchesters! You know…you and your brother cause more harm than good.”
“Just ridding the world of monsters like you, one beheading at a time,” Dean snarked, wincing against his invisible bonds.
“I’m a monster because I killed a few people to harvest their organs to bring back my sister?” the Witch scoffed, “Shall we discuss all you’ve done and who you’ve hurt to bring back your brother time and again?” she countered with a sneer, “No, I believe this world is better off without Dean Winchester,” she smirked, turning to the wooden table in the middle of the room and glancing over her tome, a bony index finger tracing along the pages, “Aha!” she exclaimed, lifting her head to look at Dean with a wicked grin.
“Whatever you do to me, my brother will kill you,” Dean growled.
“Doesn’t matter,” she smiled, lifting her hands towards Dean, “Sam just can’t seem to hunt without his big brother around. I’m doing the world a public service,” she spat, before starting an incantation. Blue sparks flew from her hands and into Dean’s chest. He screamed at the pain, feeling like his body was twisting into itself. The sparks grew into blinding light and he felt the invisible hold on him disappear before he blacked out.
Dean stirred slightly, groaning at the ache in every part of his body. He opened his eyes, seeing blue sky spattered with treetops, leaves blowing in the light breeze. The last thing he remembered was the witch casting some spell. He rolled from his back to his front and pushed up, his body falling back down as it didn’t seem to work as usual. He looked at his hands, which were suddenly fur-covered paws. His eyes traveled over himself and he quickly realized he wasn’t himself, but a dog. Fucking witches.
His clothes were gone and as he looked around himself, he saw none of his belongings. Can’t call Sam. He spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out his new body, how it moved and responded, how he walked and ran, how the muscles moved in different places and ways than he was accustomed. Once he felt reasonably confident, he looked around himself, noticing his vision and sense of smell and hearing all seemed sharper. Handy.
He was in the middle of some random wooded area, though he could hear traffic close by. He followed the sounds, realizing he was in a small wood beside a suburban neighborhood. As he emerged onto a sidewalk, he could see people in either direction walking along, enjoying the day.
“Mommy, look! A puppy!” Dean turned his attention towards the sound, seeing a little girl approaching him rapidly, her hands outstretched to touch him. He backed up a few steps warily, seeing the mother jogging to catch up with her overeager child.
“Melissa, Sweetheart, don’t touch!” the mother scolded, reaching her child before she got to Dean. He found himself frozen to the spot, unsure how to react. The mother straightened after coldly chastising her daughter and Dean felt a quiet rumble in his chest at the way she talked to the girl. The woman looked down at him in disgust and fear, “He doesn’t have a collar and he’s mangy,” the woman scoffed, grabbing her daughter’s hand and pulling her phone from her pocket, dialing a number.
Dean had a sudden urge to bite this woman. I’ll show you mangy. But he refrained, looking at the girl who seemed sad to not be able to touch him.
“Yes, Animal Control?” the woman spoke into the phone and Dean felt the hairs on his neck rise. Of course. Before she could continue, he took back off into the woods as fast as his body would allow, which seemed to be pretty freaking fast. Sam, Cas…need some help here, he thought over and over again as he burst out the other side of the woods suddenly, into a street. The last thing he saw was the bumper of a non-descript sedan before he felt the impact and blacked out once more.
Dean decided quickly that he didn’t like the pound, at all. It was like a jail, but with less freedom and constant bitching and moaning from the other inmates. After he was hit by the car, he was scooped up by Animal Control, patched up, and had been in his cage for the better part of a week. Picking locks wasn’t exactly an option and he was completely enclosed. So he had no choice but to go with Plan B…the people who came to claim and adopt pets.
Dean did his best to put on a show for those who came strolling through. But he found most people avoided him. After hearing the kennel worker refer to him as an American Mastiff, he guessed he figured why. Couldn’t have been a Lab or Retriever, he thought, had to be a large, restricted breed. But of course. Still, he persisted, putting on his best show. However, after the douchebag redneck showed up, things became harder. Dean could sense it all over the guy, he wasn’t kind to anyone, especially dogs. When the man took an interest in him, Dean growled in warning. When the man shushed him and reached out to touch him, Dean nipped in his direction but didn’t actually bite, causing the man to withdraw with a scowl. Great, now I’ll be unadoptable.
At the end of his first week, he was starting to lose all hope. The hope of being adopted, the hope of Sam or Cas finding him, the hope of ever finding a way out. Until she came.
“So, what kind of dog you lookin’ for today, ma’am?” the kennel worker asked her. Dean smashed his face against the cage, straining to get a look at the woman. She smelled sweet, a bit musky like she’d been working hard, but he could somehow smell sadness and loneliness on her as well, which he found particularly peculiar. She was tall, for a woman, broad and strong, and an average beauty, but attractive nonetheless. She reminded him of an Amazon woman, or a Warrior Princess somehow.
“Well, I’m looking for a companion dog, hardy. Preferably a larger dog.” the man nodded, listing off a few of the dogs they had available. After a brief talk, he offered her to walk around and see if any were to her liking. Dean watched as she made her rounds, before coming to his cage and stopping. She knelt down, looking him over with a sweet smile.
“Hey there,” she smiled at him, reading over the tag on his cage before looking back at him, “Aren’t you beautiful?” she said, slowly lifting her hand, placing the back of it against the cage and waiting for him to come to her. Dean was surprised. Other than the one man, no one had given him a second glance. He slowly rose up to his full height, or as tall as he could on four legs, and approached her, nudging his cold, wet nose against the back of her hand. He suddenly felt like maybe his plan would work as she smiled broadly at him.
“Ah, you don’t want that one,” the kennel worker appeared at her side and she stood, frowning down at Dean.
“Why not?” she asked, confused.
“He was found wandering a neighborhood. Scared a mother and her kid half to death before he was hit by a car. We had one fella look him over, but he growled and nipped at him too. It’s a shame, we’ll probably have to put him down,” the man sighed and Dean suddenly felt panicked. He supposed he could always try to escape when they removed him for euthanasia. Dean let out a soft whine as he watched the woman be ushered away. She turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder with a frown, before allowing herself to be ushered elsewhere.
Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he laid on the floor of his cage, his head resting on his front paws. He gave himself comfort, imagining ripping out that witch’s throat with his canine teeth. He got so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the small family now looking down at him. They were discussing amongst themselves if he would be a good guard dog, possibly train him to help with shepherding and other farm tasks. The child protested, saying he didn’t look friendly, but the parents continued to chatter amongst themselves their plans for Dean.
“Um, excuse me?” it was the woman again. She came back. “That’s uh…that’s my dog,” she said, a little firm but polite, “Or, he will be,” she smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the family before they moved along. She watched them leave before kneeling down in front of his cage once more, “Hey boy,” she smiled, “I know the guy said you weren’t a good choice. But when I saw those people talking to you all I could think was ‘get away from my dog’,” she smiled warmly at him, “What do you think, boy? Wanna come home with me?”
Dean took in her warm expression, her words reigniting the bit of hope he had before he barked in response. Yeah. Go get the guy. Get me the Hell out of here! She left and returned several long minutes later, which felt like an eternity to Dean, the kennel worker in tow.
“Still think you should’ve gone with the Golden Retriever,” the man shook his head, leaning over to unlock Dean’s cage, a leash in his hand, “Alright boy, I’m gonna open this up and slip the leash on you for this nice lady. I don’t want any trouble,” Dean bit back the urge to growl at the man, but sat on his rear feet, waiting for the cage to open. Once the leash and collar were in place, he handed it to the woman and shook her hand.
“Thank you so much,” she smiled gleefully, reaching down to run her hand over Dean’s head. He was surprised by how good it felt, “Come on boy, let’s go home.”