Tags: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester Whump, Protective Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Fallen Angels, Confusion, Magic, Punishment, Revenge, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Knotting, Mating Bites, Soulmates, Visions, Top Sam Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Zachariah Gets Punished, Everything Is Not As It Appears, Size Difference, Sam Winchester Has A Large Penis, Written for the Dean Winchester Big Bang 2024, Original Art by QueenSilber
Summary: Dean is an Omega on the streets, just trying to survive. He is picked up and taken back to an opulent condo, where he is told to clean himself up and await his Alpha. The problem being that Dean can barely remember who he is, let alone who his mystery Alpha might be. And he is being plagued by alternating visions. He is either a desperate Omega, half-starved and filthy, or he is dressed for success in a tailored power suit. Every time he catches a glimpse of his reflection, his reality alters.
Sam is trying his damnedest to save Dean, his soulmate who defended himself after Zachariah assaulted him. But the punishment rendered has left Dean unable to distinguish his true reality. Together with Castiel, Sam works to save Dean and punish the monster who led to them being cast out of heaven.
~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~
I am so thrilled to finally be able to present this story to all of you! It is a twisty, mind-bending adventure, where not everything is as it appears to be. Written for the @deanwbigbang, awesome art was provided by @queensilber and I would like to thank them for all of their hard work! And I also want to thank @jld71 for betaing the story! I hope you all enjoy the story!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 5/5
Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, mention of John Winchester, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Driving, Hospitals, Alcohol, Ghosts, Cursed Object, Curses, Research, Motels, Diners, Cooking, Broken Bones, Casts, Medical Examination, Bars, pool playing, Fighting, Bar Fight, Flirting, Head trauma, Misunderstandings, Bruises, Police, Police investigation, Mistaken Identity, Alpha Sam Winchester, Omega Dean Winchester, Omega Dean Winchester/Alpha Sam Winchester, Reading, a/o, A/B/O, Top Sam Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Medication, showering, Knotting, Claiming Bites, Confused Dean Winchester, Upset Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Caretaker Sam Winchester, Dissociative/Selective Amnesia, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Scared Dean Winchester, Beaches
Summary:
After working a case in the idyllic seaside city of Port Townsend, Sam and Dean have a fight. Angry, Dean leaves, needing to drive and maybe stop at a bar where what he thought playing a harmless game of pool leads to a fight that leaves him bruised and broken. Waking in the hospital with Sam by his side, his memory is affected, leading him to mistakenly believe that he and Sam are mated.
Hello, and welcome to my very first foray into a big bang! Of course, if I’m going to give one a try, Dean Winchester will be the focus. This particular one was also much less intimidating as it was the 2023 Dean Winchester Big Bang: Mini Edition. So, the word count wasn’t high, and we had a couple of months to work on the project with our artists. My artist is TwinOne. I had such a fun time sending over suggestions and watching their artwork come to life through the process.
I hope you enjoy and please let TwinOne know how sweet and lovely the artwork is. I’m over the moon with the results, and it was so satisfying to see someone’s interpretation of my story! It scratched that itch (wink, wink).
Thank you to the mods @deanwbigbang for hosting and running such a fun challenge! Your time and effort is appreciated!
Summary - Set pre-series, Stanford Era: Dean has been sent on a solo hunt in New Orleans. He meets up with an ingenue witch, Selina, who needs his help to save her mentor from a voodoo priestess. The plan doesn’t go as expected; when does it ever? Dean, though, gets a little breather in the aftermath, and it turns out to be just the thing to scratch that itch.
Prequel to "Oh, I'll Be Anything You Want"
Tendrils of smoke. It swirls, radiating bright white, pulsing with life in an empty void. Growls. Incessant barks. Distant at first. With every passing second, the panic rises as the sound pounds closer. Suddenly, hot and foul breath chases out the smoke.
Dean’s lids popped open from the nightmare. His head tilted from side to side, inspecting the area.
He’d hoped the entire thing had been a self-constructed comedy of errors in his mind. A bad dream from which he’d blessedly awakened.
Unfortunately, the current situation he found himself in was very, very real.
There was no way Dean Winchester would ever tell his dad about this.
If he somehow managed to escape this debacle, he might die of humiliation if someone found out.
New Orleans had been a disappointment in so many ways. No booze. No beads. No boobs.
He whined at the unexpected stab of pain emanating from his shoulder. He’d been lucky to win the fight in one piece. The sparring partner’s fangs had sunk into Dean’s flesh like malleable clay.
But before the ambush, he’d at least accomplished what he’d set out to do. The hex bag had been buried in the priestess’s backyard. Selina had provided specific instructions. Dean’s sense of direction easily found the northernmost corner of the parcel lot. The muslin-wrapped ingredients he’d been charged with rested beneath a half foot of dirt. All his tasks were completed well before midnight under the brightest full moon he’d seen in ages. He hoped Selina had gone ahead with the spellwork even if he hadn’t gotten back to her in time.
He stared out between the steel bars into the pitch-black. The absence of light left him bereft of shadows to discern as friend or foe.
An itch tap-danced over his neck. Skin rippled at the sensation while he fought the temptation to scratch. Discomfort from the wounded limb took priority for a short spell.
He hadn’t thought things could get worse but turned out jail time was the worst thing that could have happened on top of everything else. Getting caught, literally, in this condition left him vulnerable.
Dean’s nostrils flared and twitched at the overpowering stench of pungent piss and stale shit. He got a whiff of cat dander and sneezed.
The cell block buddy to his right barked to keep it down. It was lights out, after all. Just because he’d been brought in late last night, he was told with a fierce growl, didn’t mean he couldn’t acclimate himself to the way things ran around here right quick. Dean rose only to circle the middle of the floor again. He eventually flopped back down, forced by the pulsing throb of his barely treated and badly bandaged wound. He curled like a ball atop the hard surface. The bone-cold of the place sent a shiver through his body. He closed his eyes again and prayed for sleep.
A fluorescent electric buzz hummed into his ear canal. The flicker of light flashed over closed lids. Tapping into all his senses, something alien swept left to right along the surface of his eyeballs, lazy and slow, as his sight focused.
A languid yawn escaped. The clink-clack of a door unlocking bolted him upright. He scampered to the front of the cell closest to the hallway floor. Nose stuck between bars, Dean tilted his head in vain to glimpse who entered.
Whines. Barks. They echoed off the walls. The instinctual urge to join in added his voice to the chorus.
“I found one that fits the bill a few hours ago.” A raspy elderly voice mixed in with all the noise. Dean recognized it. It belonged to the dog catcher that had entangled him in what looked like a big ass butterfly net. He was the reason Dean was here. He’d done the bare minimum caring for the Pitbull bite. Dean transferred most of the front weight to his left paw. The ache of his right shoulder thrummed in sync with the beating of his little heart. Dean had to be the one to fit the bill.
All Dean could view in his line of sight were soiled, grass-stained tan pants from the knees down and dirty brown combat boots. Pride filled his lungs. The tug of war he’d put up in the net brought the dog catcher to the ground. Their scrap amidst dirt and weeds and a flounce in a mud puddle had left his mark on the human.
Human. Christ, it has to be her coming to claim me. Please.
Hope soared in Dean’s chest when his gaze clamped on the blue (which would be violet if he was looking through his human eyes) leather of a familiar pair of high-heeled ankle boots. A crepe skirt rivaling Joseph’s technicolor dreamcoat covered the boot tops and swished in time with the steps.
“I hope it’s him.” A barely audible female voice floated above, drowned out by the pound puppies’ cacophony.
Selina! Thank Christ! A tinny, high-pitched bark erupted from his throat. Down here! Down here!
Both pairs of boots stopped in front of him. “That’s him there,” the catcher added. A wrinkled finger pointed in his direction.
Selina’s figure descended. Hands gathered the skirt up as she settled into a squat.
Her big almond-shaped eyes, a tad oversized for the heart-shaped face, blinked in relief. Dean halted his bark in mid-yip. Instead of her usual deep purple irises - a breathtaking sight in and of themselves on any given day - he was met with equally captivating dark blue saucers, swirled with golden flecks. The sight of her large frame stirred up amazement.
She grinned. “Yep, that’s him!”
The dog catcher huffed and fumbled with the key into the padlock. “You should take better care of the mutt. No collar or chip. He’s lucky I found him.”
Lucky, my ass!
“He’s not a mutt,” Selina responded in her typical curt fashion. “Purebred beagle.”
“Aint never seen a beagle with green eyes ‘fore,” the dog catcher mumbled. He fished the padlock from out of the loop. “Or one with paws that damn big.” The cage door squeaked with Dean’s nose nudging it open. Dean bounced off his hind legs into Selina’s lap.
Selina slammed a hand on the concrete to remain upright. “Oh, thank God! Scooby!” She wrapped her free arm around Dean.
“Scooby, huh?” The old man removed his cap to smooth down the ten wiry hairs on his head.
Dean’s pulse began to slow, nestled tight and secure in Selina’s embrace. The scent he’d connected with her, spicy incense and pink bubblegum, enveloped his now small and furrier frame.
One back paw reared up and swatted repeatedly at one of his floppy ears.
“What happened to him?” Selina’s tender touch caressed the gauze bandage.
“Got ‘imself in some trouble. Looked to be an animal bite.”
Dean’s lids clamped tight. He cocked his head and continued to flick and dig his paw into the spot behind his ears. Maybe if he used his claws.
“Does he… have fleas?” Selina asked in a tone that regrettably already knew the answer.
Fleas? Dean whined, still scratching. Why the fuck not? On top of everything else.
“We’re gonna take care of this, Dean. Promise.” Selina white-knuckled the steering wheel, hands at ten and two. Her lithe, petite frame perched on the edge of the bench. It was the only way she could reach the Impala’s gas pedal.
Dean languished on the passenger side and sunk into the center of the seat. It was still dark out. Street lamps popped overhead in a rhythmic pattern and spilled light through the windshield. Cobblestone-paved streets jostled the chassis. His baby usually drove like a tank with barely a hiccup; all smooth sailing. He wondered how much the bumpy ride had to do with the road condition under the tires or the person driving his car.
He sighed, closed his eyes, and shivered at the pinprick, itchy tingle of his skin.
Apparently, the spell Selina had cast didn’t include telepathy. No matter how much he wished for her to reach under the seat, feel for the damn bar to pull the bench forward to close the distance between her and the wheel, she wasn’t tuned into his mental signals.
Dean straightened his front legs and stiffened his elbows at the sudden screech of tires. His paws dug into the leather. He lurched forward with the momentum, watching Selina do the same from the driver’s seat. Once they settled to a stop, she stared over at him with a regretful frown. “Sorry. I haven’t driven in a while.”
Dean slitted his lids and yipped.
“It’s not much farther to the shop.” The pointy toe of her boot met the gas pedal and the car sputtered along again. “Once I got a lock on your location and saw how far away you were, I didn’t have a choice but to take your car. But don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of this, Dean.”
You already said that. Dean’s little barks echoed in the Impala’s interior.
“I know you’re trying to tell me something. But I can’t read your mind.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“Man, you’ve got a powerful set of puppy lungs. Want some good news? I was able to lift the hoodoo trance off Esme. All thanks to you.”
Well, at least something good came out of this mess.
It was very good news. He was in New Orleans because his father sent him on a case to help out an old friend. The old friend happened to be a witch doctor named Esmerelda. Esme for short.
Dean’s boots had hit Danneel Street and crossed the threshold of “Step on a Crack” Magical Notions Shop, which Esme owned, one day too late to prevent the inevitable escalation. Esme had been cursed and was unsure when the fallout would take full effect. She hadn’t stepped on a crack but the toes of a powerful voodoo priestess in the French Quarter. That’s why he and Selina had partnered up. To save her teacher, who’d been rendered catatonic. Esme was currently being watched and cared for by the coven, whose members were taking shifts at her bedside.
Glad your mentor is on the mend. That’s even better for me. She can probably zap me back quicker than you. Why aren’t we heading there?
“She’s still pretty weak, though, from what Harold told me over the phone.”
Dean huffed.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I know you wanted to turn into a German Shepherd. But I did say I couldn’t guarantee what kind of dog breed the spell would transform you into. That’s not in my control.” Selina tangled her hands one over the other along the steering wheel column in a clumsy fashion. Dean swayed to the right with Selina’s left turn. “I’m pretty sure, though, the shop’s got some things that will take care of your fleas while we wait out the magic.”
It was true. Selina hadn’t guaranteed much about the spell. And it had been his idea to try it when they rifled through the pages of an ancient grimoire. The voodoo priestess had stitched some warding around her property, only permitting certain humans to cross. An animal transformation made perfect sense.
Dean groaned and rubbed the side of his head into the backrest to ease the itch. Fleas better not have been part of Selina’s witchcraft.
Dean scrabbled paws along the slippery marble floor, trying in vain to sit upright. Every time he thought he’d achieved a precarious balance, his body toppled. He’d starfished, even done a few Bambi-on-ice skating maneuvers waiting for Selina in the tiny bathroom. Claustrophobia settled in, though it’d only been a few minutes since she promised to return and closed the door behind her.
How old was this puppy skin he inhabited? All of Dean - his mind, sensibilities, and humanity - wrapped up tight in this fur burrito felt like him, except when it didn’t. Curious instinct made its presence known. Once he relented on the sitting still attempt, his nose glued to the floor and led the inspecting. He tried to zone in on something interesting to escape the fear. And the endless itching he’d been ordered not to scratch. When Dean thought about it, it wasn’t that different from any given human day.
Overhead, water poured out of the claw foot tub’s red copper faucet. Steam plumed over the deep basin. The impending bath temperature also drew concern. Being a beagle was terrible enough. A boiled beagle? Hell no!
Flared nostrils filled with the overwhelming scent of Selina. A sense of calm broke through the nagging flight response. He’d been in the small apartment only once since arriving in Louisiana. Perched over the magic shop, his first step into her home had flooded his sight. It was a treasure trove of textiles and trinkets blazing with gemstone brilliance. Shelves stuffed with books. Glass jars of unidentifiable powders. Vials of transparent or opaque liquids. Everything a young witch needed to learn the craft.
She smelled nice before. He’d caught whiffs of her here and there when he passed her frame on his human feet. But his canine senses were picking up every atomized particle now. He spotted a forgotten hairbrush hiding in the corner and catapulted forward to claim it. His speed and the slick marble took away any ability to stop in a semblance of elegance. He face-palmed into the rubber tines of the brush. Tangled hair in the brush tickled his nose, and rapid inhales took more of her into his lungs. Yeah. This was nice. It felt good. Safe. He debated chewing.
The door creaked. Dean spun in a flash and let out a pathetic growl of defense, having painted himself into a corner with no way out. Selina stepped inside, paying him no attention. The giantess silenced him with only her presence.
“Apple cider vinegar.” She held up a bottle in victory, clutching a few small droppers in the other hand. They clattered from her grip into the pedestal sink. Sitting on the tub edge, she uncapped the vinegar and emptied the contents with a rhythmic glug into the water.
Drops splattered up and out of the tub, landing near Dean. He flinched. Doggie brain told him this was not going to be pleasant.
“Okay.” Fingers twisted first one faucet knob, then the other, shutting off the flow. Her arm dipped into the water. Dean’s ear perked up at the sloshes. “Not too bad.”
Says you.
“Come on, Dean.” Her wet hand gestured with a come hither.
You know, I might be able to hang on until the spell wears off. I’m good.
Selina sighed. “You’re gonna make me come over there, aren’t you?” She slinked on the floor, knees stretching the fabric of her skirt as she crawled towards him on all fours.
Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.
His insistence fell on deaf ears. She snatched him up in a second. The next, he dangled above the water. Her hands cupped him under whatever a dog’s version of armpits were. He kicked and wriggled. Whined and whimpered.
“It’s okay.” She submerged his hind quarters like a tea bag in and out three times until he gave in and went limp in her arms to steep. “Not gonna hurt you, no matter what you think of witches.” She leaned him forward with care. “Good boy.” When she let him go, he stood in warm water that rose up to just meet his back.
He shivered, puppy heartbeat racing. His nose twitched at the acidity of the vinegar additive. The sound of skin rubbing together crept up behind him. “Next ingredient we need is peppermint.” A soap bar popped into his peripheral vision. It smelled of candy mints left atop a restaurant check, then absentmindedly stuffed in a jacket pocket. “Okay?” she asked.
You gonna stop if I say no? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Okay, so Dean had to admit to himself - even if he’d never cop to Selina - the bath hadn’t been that bad. Selina had a gentle but firm touch. She’d sudsed all of his coat, lifting him first from the front and then the back end. She apologized for getting a little more intimate than Dean had expected with his little puppy prick and ass. The fleas could be anywhere, she reminded him. As the tub drained, she sprayed water from the shower wand and rinsed him clean.
Once he was taken out of the tub and laid atop one towel, another enveloped and rubbed until his fur was damp and not dripping. She communicated all of her actions beforehand. The dropper bottles contained various oils to help rid Dean of the dreaded fleas. With fabric under his paws, he sat tall and tilted his head to study Selina while she worked. She smiled at him, patiently naming each essential or botanical oil she squeezed into a water bottle: Almond, Cedar, Eucalyptus, Lavender.
The concoction soothed immediately on contact. The mix of smells dispelled the last remnants of his anxiety. Delicate, soft fingers caressed his coat and threaded through the fur to find the skin. The blissful massage helped chase away the panic. Yet another thing he’d never admit to Selina. If he ever got the chance to admit anything to her with his human voice again. Weirdly, he seemed perfectly willing to accept such a fate. Maybe things could be much, much worse after all.
After tidying some of the bathroom mess, Selina opened the door and ushered him forth. Dean’s legs scampered toward the makeshift doggie water bowl beside the bank of kitchen cabinets. One would have thought he’d never want to dip his snout in water again. But he gobbled and slurped with his tongue like he hadn’t drank a drop in days. He didn’t know how much time had passed before a plate of cut-up deli ham had been deposited alongside the bowl. He was greedy for that as well. Fangs hooked into the meat. He hitched his head upwards to encourage the food down his throat.
“I know human food isn’t the best for you… like this. But let’s hope we don’t have to experience the results and the spell wears off before then.” Selina commented, leaning against the countertop. “Do you need to go outside and do some business?”
Again, without any say in the matter, Dean’s head sprung upright to lock his gaze on the sweet human caretaker at the words “go outside.” He mulled it over. He’d pissed in the nearest grass as soon as they’d left the pound. An impressively long and satisfying leak. He wanted to shake his head “No” but couldn’t do it. Instead, his eyes tracked a small rug by a chair. His claws clicked along the hardwood - thank god the entire floor wasn’t marble - to what he decided would make a perfect resting spot. He corkscrewed his frame into a compact fur ball atop the cushy velvet and let out a deep, well-earned sigh.
“Good idea. I’m beat, too.” She pointed somewhere behind Dean. “Can get a few hours of sleep before sunrise. I’ll be able to find out how long the spell will last with a clearer head in the morning.” She shrugged. The motion appeared to loosen a yawn from her throat. “But, maybe you’ll wake up all back to normal.”
Dean yawned in return, finishing it with a high-pitched squeak.
Selina giggled. “You are adorable, Dean Winchester. Night.”
Too exhausted to be any more humiliated, Dean’s tail thumped softly in response. He closed his eyes. Clean. Warm. Cozy. Well fed. Watched over.
He drifted off, hard-pressed to recall the last time he’d ever been all those things.
Dean’s running. His puppy paws gallop atop the soft, giving earth of a field. He’s darting through the wheat. His snout cuts through the crops, scraped by wispy stalks.
He can hear how heavy he’s panting. The exertion and speed has his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
But he’s not running from something.
Dean’s just running. Because he can.
He breaks through and into a clearing. The sun’s rays warm his furry coat. He spots a quintessential farmhouse in the distance. He can see the large wrap-around porch. A pair of rocking chairs. Off to one side is a laundry line studded with freshly washed clothes, flapping in the breeze. An oak tree, taller than the two-story home, stands guard along the other side. A tire swing dangles from one of its sturdy branches. A few white cotton candy clouds rest above it all in the bluest of skies.
He feels the farmhouse calling to him. He just knows. It’s home.
All the colors of the rainbow that his human eyes normally detect fill his vision. He zig zags between a row of apple trees, closing the distance. A fallen apple halts him. He sniffs; the sweetness is too good to pass up. He gnashes into the mealy flesh, attacking it from all angles. He tongues the juices into his welcoming throat.
“Deeaaan!”
His head snaps up. That voice beckons him home. He resumes his sprint. That voice. He hasn’t heard it in ages.
He cuts through a tall patch of sunflowers to find the voice's owner waiting for him, seated on the porch steps.
“There you are!” Sam calls out. He tosses a tennis ball a few feet in the air above his head, catching it without having to glance at his palm. This Sam is young. Thirteen or so. He’s spindly, a toothpick with knobby joints, and a smile that takes up half his face.
Just like he remembers.
“Mom said we’ve got time before dinner.” Sam juggles the ball from one hand to the other.
Mom. Mom’s here.
“Ready?” Sam asks, winding his arm back for a killer pitch.
Dean yips.
Dean yipped himself awake.
It’s morning.
He’s still a beagle.
Selina watched as Dean did his business in the backyard of the Magic Shop. Unlucky, she had to experience the results of feeding puppy Dean human food. But she didn’t complain, picking up after him. “All done? How about some breakfast? Eggs and bacon sound good?”
That sounds amazing to Dean. But he’s beginning to think Selina is a glutton for punishment.
The bacon sizzled in the cast iron pan. Selina explained why Dean was still walking on four legs instead of two. “So, even though the magic worked and Esme’s on the mend, I should probably have bound your reversal spell in with that enchantment to speed things along. You would have been human by the time the full moon set this morning.” She fished a couple pieces of bacon out of the pan with a fork and laid them atop some paper towels. “I’m pretty sure it’ll wear off by tomorrow. If it doesn’t, Harold said he’ll come by and see what he can do. He doesn’t want to leave Esme yet. I’ll ask one of the other witches if you can’t wait, though.”
Dean knew that Selina trusted Harold almost as much as Esme. The other witches in the group were fickle and not the kindest to Selina, from what Dean saw firsthand. Witches, man. Dean trotted over and sat by one of Selina’s legs. He rubbed his face along her smooth calf. She looked even younger in her sleep shorts and t-shirt. Still massive, though.
“I will, Dean. I’ll eat crow for my mistake. You’ve done more than anyone would’ve for someone they don’t even know.”
A friend of Dad’s doesn’t get left behind. It’s cool, Selina. How about some bacon to smooth things over?
“What does that whine mean?”
He raised up onto his haunches and leaned front paws on the oven door.
“Oh, bacon. Right.”
The rest of the day is easy, lazy. A day he hasn’t felt in a while. Not since Sammy left him.
The days without his brother have brought out more of the hard lines and jagged points in John’s countenance. Deep down, Dean wants to hope it’s not him bringing that out in their father. That it’s the void, the empty spot that used to contain Sam that no longer filters out the hate and hurt; that used to misdirect all that drill sergeant behavior. His little shit of a sibling was all of John’s fervent focus of protection for so long. Dean sees it plain as day. John doesn’t know what to do with all his feelings. So he bottles them up. Drinks them away. Or spats them out at Dean, chipping away at him.
Dean has been coping with his feelings as best as John. Realizing he’s handling the broken compass in his core the same way. Nose down. Find a job. Work the case. Kill the monster. Fill the despair with a win. Fill the despair with booze. Inflict rage on any other to empty out the despair. Stoke passion in any other to empty out the despair.
Anything and everything to kick the can down the line. Because he’s realized - Sam was his hope and lifeline as much as he was dad’s. And, without him, well, he doesn’t really know what’s left.
He’s been tossed a lifeline here and there when he’s built up the nerve to call Sam at Stanford—only a handful of times over the past couple of years. The knots and twists in his stomach unfurled when Sam picked up the phone. Accepted and acknowledged his presence. That he’s still here, he remembers he has a brother. Even when that brother had to risk the wrath of John if he ever found out a connection was made.
But this day, wrapped in fur, small, and defenseless, he’s reminded of what could be left for him. Selina softened around him in his puppy form. Her smiles widened. She shined sweet and gentle.
They holed up in the apartment for safety. Scampered out to the backyard for potty breaks and played fetched with a tennis ball. It’s the sunniest day he’s felt in years. Warm. Light. Clear. Fresh.
It’s the snuggles at the end of that day that he loved the best. Allowed entry into Selina’s bedroom. Allowed to hop onto the mattress and curl atop the crushed velvet comforter. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Dean. No one gets to spend the night in my bed.”
He pushed in close, nuzzled into the layers that separated their bodies. Her energy - different, charged, holding what he thinks is potential magic - gives him comfort.
He slept like a baby.
“Oh! Dean!” Selina screamed.
Dean eyes popped open.
He’s chilly.
Bigger.
He’s back.
He’s naked.
“Shit!” Dean barked out in his human voice. He glanced at Selina's side of the bed. An upheld hand shielded her view. A racing heart matched the speed of his legs swinging off the bed, standing up.
But he doesn’t have a fucking clue where his clothes are.
Selina pointed to the bedroom door, still not daring to look at him. “Living room. Side table, by the chair.” She squeaked.
He fled the scene, spotted his folded clothes. Faster than a cowboy caught fooling around with a farmer’s daughter, he donned his underwear, t-shirt, and jeans. He called out, “All clear. Nothing more to see here!” His cheeks blazed with humiliation under his attempt at nonchalance.
Selina crept through the doorway. Cheeks red and flamed. Excited, amused, and happy. Remnants of the smiles bestowed upon him yesterday in his canine form. “You’re back,” she sighed.
Dean outstretched his arms for display purposes. “I’m back.”
“How do you feel? Any different? Weird?”
He stopped to actually think, taking a moment to process. “Um, kind of hungover.”
Selina nodded, exhaled. “Okay. That’s normal, from what I’ve been told.”
Dean chuckled. “Nothing normal about this.”
“For us, it is.” Selina corrected.
Selina doesn’t skimp on the bacon for breakfast.
The celebratory feast tasted sublime, well-earned. He was starving.
Sat around the small bistro table, they talked as they ate. Their conversations before the spell had been curt, filled with sass. Selina had snapped at him with every one of her responses. He’d understood, of course. Even if he hadn’t given her an inch of understanding in his smart-ass attitude. She’d been under immense pressure. The stakes were high, and the outcome relied heavily on her ability not to screw up.
Man, did he understand.
Now, they’d both mellowed with the shared experience. Relief. Success. Dean cataloged every inch of her. Human eyes took in all the vibrant colors hidden from his doggie view. Her purple eyes and porcelain skin held an ethereal quality. A tad punk with violet highlights and a nose ring. She was beautiful.
“What was it like?” Selina dolloped more scrambled eggs on his plate. She leaned in, hanging on his every morsel of information.
“Man,” Dean snorted. “Trapped in a funhouse mirror, with none of the fun.”
“But, you still felt like you?”
“Yep.” He chomped away on a strip of bacon.
“You understood me,” she stated. “I could tell.”
He tilted his head in question.
Selina giggled. “Yeah, you’d give me one of those expressions like you were thinking things over. Wanting to communicate.”
“Hmmm,” Dean nodded. Lips smacked. He wanted to ask in a way that didn’t make it seem like he was overly concerned about the answer. “I know you said there wasn’t any telepathic stuff going on… you couldn’t read any of my thoughts?”
Her head shook, matter of fact. “Not a one. Which would have been super helpful if I could’ve. You typically can’t get that kind of bond or connection at my level. And, more often than not, that’s pretty rare. A familiar type situation.”
He chewed his thoughts down.
“I wouldn’t have pulled off the reversal spell that cured Esme if it hadn’t been for your plan.” Selina sipped her coffee.
Dean cocked his head, emphasizing the ridiculousness of that statement. “You would’ve figured something out.”
“Not as quick as I needed to.” Selina shook her head. “Not without your help. Making it so that the reversal spell had to be performed by the greenest of Esme’s students and without any coven assistance… the priestess wanted it to be next to impossible.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help.”
Selina grinned. “Even with fleas?”
Dean shivered. “Yeah, that I could’ve done without.”
“I’m glad you came back all in one piece. I was really worried there would be some pet residue. Like a tail or floppy ears.”
“I don’t know,” Dean contemplated. “A tail might come in handy.”
The thought had them both laughing.
“So,” Selina began, “any chance that brother you mentioned, Sam, is gonna find out about any of this?”
“No way. Not ever.” Dean shook his head.
“Well, I hope you get to see him soon. The way you talk about him. He seems like a pretty great guy. I don’t think he’d tease you too much about being a beagle.”
“You don’t know, Sam.” Dean almost added he probably didn’t know him anymore, either, but pursed his lips shut.
“I owe you, big time.” Selina offered.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, you do.”
“Well, I should get dressed and we should go out. Let me take you on a proper tour of New-or-lins.” Selina drawled, “Laissez les bons temps rouler.”
Dean swallowed hard and locked eyes with her. “I don’t know. We could probably just stay in and find some ways to let the good times roll.”
Selina side-eyed him, but Dean sensed the interest brewing underneath the show. “Didn’t you say you’d rather roll around in the mud with a pig than ingratiate yourself with a witch when we first met?”
He shrugged. “I think I can make an exception for you.”
Selina held a hand to her chest. “I’m honored.”
He grinned. “You should be.”
The moment was perfect for Dean to lean over and kiss her.
Of course, that’s when John called.
John needed him. There was no time for a tour of the French Quarter or even a half hour of good times in Selina’s apartment.
Dean stood at the door and waited as Selina packed him a breakfast sandwich for the road. “Don’t you think you’ve fed me enough?”
She waved a hand in the air, walking towards him. “Hard to tell. You never stop eating.”
He grabbed the bag she presented. “Thanks.”
“It’s the very least I could do. Thank you again, Dean.”
Instinctively, he wrapped her up in a hug. “Anytime.”
She whispered in his ear. “Next time you swing by, look me up.”
He breathed in the scent of her - wanting something else to remember her by - and placed a kiss atop her forehead. Anything more and he knew he’d never leave. “Absolutely.”
It wasn’t until he descended the stairs and was out the back door, away from Selina’s view, that he gave into the urge to paw at his ear like a dog.
Yeah, the next time he called Sam - which he felt would be soon - there was no way he was telling him about any of this.
Well, he might mention the beautiful witch he met in New Orleans with the purple eyes. And how she had been just the thing he needed to scratch that itch.
My art for @jhoomwrites’ amazing fic Purgatory: Population 1 for the Dean Winchester Big Bang! This was quite a lot of fun, go give the story some love!
Click for better quality.
(Shoutout to @aceriee-san, @delicious-irony, and @cryptomoon for their indispensable art beta-ing 💜. It takes a village…)
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