Chapter Text
This time, it wasn’t even Dean’s fault. He hadn’t messed anything up, for once in his life; there had been no wrong summoning incantation, no witch curse, he hadn’t even given into the temptation of touching the weird glowy dagger he’d found in one of the artifact boxes in the bunker, even though he’d really wanted to. That was the thing; Dean didn’t want to be the cause for yet another problem they would have to deal with. There was enough of that on its own, without him stupidly stumbling into another one of his accidents. There was always another life to save, another world to stop from running itself to the ground and exploding.
So Dean had been extra careful to keep from getting into another scrape. No blacking out from alcohol, no acting before thinking. And, if he did say so himself, he’d done a decent job. And it wasn’t his fault.
Dean’s only crime was wanting to get a break from all of this - pretending he was alright and not just fucking exhausted all of the time in front of Sam, trying to make up for all the shit he put Jack through, dealing with whatever happened to him when Cas so much as glanced at him and just getting the space to think, for once. Just – not having the world depend on him, not having to feel this damn heavy weight on his shoulders that made it difficult to just get out the bed in the morning because – he could mess it up, he could mess it all up and the world could end or, worse, Jack and Cas and Sam could get hurt. It’d be his temper that he couldn’t control, no matter how much he tried or it’d be the ghost of John, rearing its head and making him fail Jack. Dean wanted an escape.
And, well, they always said you should be careful what you wished for.
Mornings in the bunker began slow, usually. Since Cas had decided to stay and actually sleep here, Dean had pushed his breakfast back an hour so that he and Cas could drink coffee together. Which was just in time for Sam to get back from his morning run and Jack came out of his room, too, since Jack liked eating with Cas, for some reason. Dean always suspected it was because he could get away with eating the sugary cereal in front of Cas and Sam wouldn’t dare say anything because Jack was more Cas’s child than his.
But Dean didn’t actually sleep as long. As someone who had experienced the horrors he had, the nightmares come to life, as someone who used to run on four hours of sleep in jeans and boots, he could only grasp fragments here and there. Three hours from eleven to two in the morning, then again from two thirty to four and then from five to seven. Each a mixture of confusing flashes from hell, unsettling replays of deaths, gruesome nightmares of him losing Sam and those weird ones of Cas he usually didn’t like to think about.
So it wasn’t unusual for him to wake up disoriented and with a wretched, cold feeling in his chest. But this time, it was different.
Dean gained consciousness and immediately knew something was fundamentally wrong.
The first sign was probably that he wasn’t in his fucking bed. Instead, he was somewhere dark, damp and warm. It smelled like laundry detergent, stone and… Cas? But no, that had to be his imagination, some remnant of a dream or something. There wasn’t no way Cas was here. Not when he knew this wasn’t right without even opening his eyes. A monster could have gotten the jump on him, kidnapped him, schlepped him to some kind of warehouse to drain him of blood-
For a few seconds longer, he stayed still, trying to gauge where he was and get a feel for the room. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake – better if he got out on his own, without much of a fuss. Then Sam wouldn’t have to worry and come save him. Dean had wanted them all to have a quiet week. After all the stress only a few months ago, they had deserved it.
What worried him more was that he didn’t remember going out, which either meant he had gotten too drunk to remember anything – not impossible, since Dean notoriously couldn’t hold his own promises, going back on his word and messing it up - or that… whatever it was had gotten into the bunker.
For once, Dean fervently hoped he’d been stupid and made a mistake. The thought of some vamp, some demon creeping into his home and touching everything with its dirty, evil hands, rifling through his stuff, getting to- to- Dean’s thoughts began to spiral, flashes of blood, of Sam- of Cas- Jack… A familiar cold, panicky feeling shot through him and that was the last thing he needed right now because if Cas and Sam… they needed him alive, not strung up because he couldn’t keep his shit together, because he was thinking about…
Dean gritted his teeth, tensed up and forced himself into rationality by focusing on what he could fix instead of what he couldn’t. He couldn’t know if something had happened. He couldn’t know if it was a monster at all. He could, however, see if he could get out of wherever he was.
Dean would never admit it, not even under the promise of death, but he had stumbled across some advice about avoiding panic on that fancy new hunter website Sam had recommended and… it kinda actually helped. The urge to get up and go fight, go find his family, subsided enough that he could think, notice that what he was lying on was decidedly way too comfy to be a stone floor. There was something soft all around him, like he had been piled into lots and lots of lumpy pillows and as he now strained to listen, there was a consistent hum of electricity in the air, like the powering of a fridge or the ancient machinery of the bunker. Somewhere, air rushed into the room to keep it ventilated. But no footsteps. No hushed whispers, not even rustles of clothing from someone standing guard.
There was no way this was some monster’s doing. He must’ve fallen asleep somewhere weird and Jack had given him a pile of extra pillows and blankets or something. That made a lot more sense. The only problem - he still couldn’t see a damn thing.
Dean started to move tentatively, only to sink in further. His arm got stuck in something, he tried to get his feet underneath him and only succeeded in tangling himself further in something he was pretty sure were bedsheets. A lot of them. Very frustrating ones. He was sure he looked ridiculous, flailing around, much like a kid someone had thrown a blanket over and if he was wrong and he really was being kept somewhere, he surely would’ve had every vamp in a five mile radius on high alert. The great Dean Winchester, making a fool of himself because of some damn bedsheets. If he got his lights knocked out now, he wouldn’t even blame them.
Dean cursed under his breath, still fighting against the sheets when finally, something gave and cool air rushed in.
His eyes adjusted almost immediately and even though the light was still switched off, shapes emerged out of the darkness. It felt eerie, reminded him suddenly and viscerally of being a vampire, the heightened senses, night vision, superior sense of hearing and… weren’t those heartbeats? Heartbeats that he absolutely, definitely shouldn’t ever be able to hear as a regular joe?
But no, no, that wasn’t possible. It had to be an overactive imagination since he hadn’t left the bunker at all. This was the laundry room; high stone ceilings, packed with washing machines – Dean was proud of having them fixed up in a period where hunting had been slower. It had been a pain but the accomplishment of seeing them all whirring to life, despite being old enough to have been used by housewives exclusively had been all worth it. Now, their sight – huge hunkering white beasts - was comforting to Dean.
In here, it always kinda smelled of laundry detergent and the air was heavier and warmer than anywhere else in the bunker – that’s why it had gotten to be Miracle’s second favorite sleeping place. And now, underneath all the fresh laundry, he could make out the intermingling scents of Sam, himself and, above all, Cas. Ever since they had bought the dryer and had heaved it down all the stairs and through the long hallways, Cas liked to stop by before bed to get a new shirt. He claimed the warmth helped him sleep. Dean didn’t want to think about that further but he couldn’t stop himself from imagining Cas, scared, unsettled by human tiredness, curled up on his bed in a room too big, empty and cold for him. Cas should get more than just a warm shirt, Cas should feel comfortable and sometimes, Dean just wanted to wrap him in a blanket. Was that weird? He would have to ask Sam but then, Sam would give him that look again and thinking about it, Dean didn’t really want to know the answer because he knew, he knew what Sam would say. But wasn’t Cas different? He was such a strange little guy – surely, everyone had to be thinking that way. Sammy was just seeing things that weren’t there.
Somewhere, a door slammed and Dean was violently ripped from his thoughts. It must’ve been way past midnight, before even Sam had gotten up to go on a run, in those ungodly hours when Dean would have lain awake and been unable to not think about everything wrong with him- But maybe it was Jack. He sometimes skipped a night of sleep when he wasn’t in the mood. Still, Dean wanted to be careful. In case his sense was right and there really was something strange going on.
Dean tried to get up from his nest of bedsheets but instead of rising to his full height, he stopped at about knee level. And that was when he realized that his body felt strange because it wasn’t his at all.
Dean chanced a look down and found short, furry front legs, in a very familiar wet-wheat shade. Which- that hadn’t ever happened before. Huh. And he hadn’t even done anything, not that he could remember.
Rationally, Dean knew he should feel some kind of way about this – unsettled, freaked out, reminded of Chuck or Gabriel - but he just… didn’t? It was weird, certainly, but as he tentatively lifted one paw after the other, tried to take a step forward, he found it didn’t feel weird at all. It was as if he fit perfectly in this new, small body. Now, as he was focusing on it, he knew that the thing that had been different, right after waking up – it was the usual annoying undercurrent of pain that had just up and vanished. His whole body felt strong, energized, like the nap had totally invigorated him in a way no sleep had, probably ever, like he had slept for more than six hours or something. No headache, no old bruises or banged up knees, just… nothing.
Baffled, he turned in a circle, immediately caught sight of his tail and when he came to a stop, there was a new, giddy feeling filling him – it had him excited, like one of those little annoying yappy dogs jumping around. He kinda wanted to chase his tail, just to see why all these dogs liked to do it but stopped short – he really had to get a grip. Because this, this definitely wasn’t normal, which meant that all other kinds of things could have gone wrong. Just because something had managed to shapeshift him didn’t mean he should just go ahead and let them do whatever to harm his family.
Dean climbed out of the laundry pile, setting his paws on the cold hard cement floor – and wasn’t that an uncomfortable feeling? - the chill went up through his whole body. He was kinda tempted to just turn around and curl back up in the warm soft bedsheets, take a few more minutes. But time was of the essence, so instead, he took a few more steps, making sure he had this whole walking thing totally under control. Then, he turned to the door, which was huge now, kinda intimidating actually, and nosed it open.
The light nearly blinded him but after blinking a few times, he was able to see. The bunker hallway seemed endless. To where he was standing, maybe 20 inches off the ground, the ceiling seemed lifetimes away. The doors, impenetrable, the walls, massive. Just thinking about having to walk all the way to the entrance seemed to be a herculean task. Even though right now, Dean felt capable of doing it, energized as he was.
Right. First thing on the agenda: find out what the fuck had turned him, preferably with the help of Sammy. And how he could reverse it. And look out for anything unusual, maybe even dangerous.
So he made his way through the bunker, little claws clicking on the ground and head stretched as high as he could. The hallways seemed foreign from this angle and he couldn’t help feeling like he was slowly getting more and more lost. Who knew the bunker turned into a maze once you were a few feet shorter? They should’ve installed some sort of color coding on the floors – little arrows pointing to the kitchen, the library, infirmary, garage… then again, that was probably stupid. In case someone got in, they’d be a lot more likely to abduct Sam if there was a red arrow pointing right at his door.
It wasn’t relevant anyway, since apparently, Dean had subconsciously memorized the whole place and found his way without even thinking about it, past one row of doors, up the stairs, another row – and right past his own room. He was about to just carry on, when he picked up on a noise that wasn’t right.
Breathing.
Dean stopped in his tracks, one paw still held aloft, mildly weirded out. What? On his whole trek over here, he had barely heard more than mice rummaging around in the walls and the three heartbeats, a calming undercurrent. But yeah, there was someone or something in his room and it for sure wasn’t him. Wasn’t Miracle, either. That in there sounded more human than that.
He was kinda tempted to just barge in, shoot first and ask questions later – how dare they just stuff him in this little vulnerable dog body and start taking his room for themselves, whoever they were? Which, yeah, maybe not his smartest idea, he knew but this was just fucking weird. And if there was the potential that his family got hurt from some monster disguising as him, he had to gauge the danger before going and telling Sam about it. Dean knew he wasn’t perfect by any means – the opposite, really, he was excessively violent and impulsive, too, but he had been working on it. On turning shoot first and ask questions later into ask first and then maybe do a little shooting. So he was gonna do just that. Slip in quietly, observe what was going on, get out and get the guns. Failsafe plan. Easy. Dean was pretty confident of himself.
He crept into the room as quietly as his claws on the concrete allowed.
Nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Well, actually, he had been kinda expecting it but still. From his spot on the floor, a few inches away from the wooden desk, he could perfectly well peek up onto the bed. There, a still human figure calmly slept on its side, facing Dean. A human figure, which looked a hell of a lot like himself. So someone had to have not only thrown him into a dog body but also claimed his. What a mess. And he didn’t even look all that different; still dressed in jeans, a shirt and one of Dean’s favorite flannels, the red and black one – he was pretty sure that’s what he had on the evening before, right before this big black hole in his memories. He for sure couldn’t remember going to bed without changing. Or taking off his shoes. This Dean looked like he did a few years ago, still on the road and only catching a few hours of sleep between all the world-saving, without his nice soft nightgowns.
Only, he was older, wrinkly and… he was drooling on the pillow – was that really what he looked like sleeping? It was damn weird. Out-of-body experience kinda weird, the kind he only experienced when he was dead or almost dead. And Dean didn’t think he was? Pretty sure.
But all his idle musings were shut down at once as fake-Dean’s eyes opened smoothly, as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all. It surprised Dean enough to flinch back, tail tucked between his legs, which totally absolutely only happened because he was in this dog body and wouldn’t at all have been his reaction as a human.
That was when it really got batshit crazy.
A brilliant smile spread on fake-Dean’s lips, one Dean didn’t think he himself was even capable of. And it was still lying down, just as Dean had found it. It looked inhuman.
“Hey Dean!”
Whatever this thing was, it was damn chipper. And it didn’t even look disingenuous, like demons did mocking him. This was – weirdly affectionate and happy to see him.
Dean took another step back, fully prepared to take off down the hallway in a dead sprint. Maybe, if he was fast enough and the monster stupid, he’d be able to lose it in the maze and could circle back around to Sam’s room to alert him.
The thing wearing Dean’s face swung his legs off the side of the bed and, seeing Dean tense and start to growl – which, honestly, such a weird reaction to have for him, he had gotten used to this way too quickly – it stopped. Put its elbows on its knees to lean down to Dean’s level, probably to talk to him. Or mock him.
A beautiful, once in a lifetime opportunity presented itself – who could say they got the satisfaction of ripping out their own throat with their teeth? Having this to gloat would only be second to killing Hitler. Dean got kinda excited about the prospect of seeing himself bleed out on the cold bunker floor – the bastard deserved it for everything he did – but then again, who knew if that would even leave a scratch on the creature? If it was a shapeshifter, Dean could just forget it. And on that note – was Dean a skinwalker now? Was that it? But how had they gotten into the bunker – unnoticed? And there was not a single world where Dean wouldn’t wake up from someone breaking into his room – let alone being bitten by a dog. And Miracle would’ve alerted them for sure. Thinking of Miracle, where was he?
The monster answered his question with perfect precision.
“Hey, hey, don’t worry! It’s just me! Miracle!”
Wasn’t that just a fucking doozy. This stupid-ass monster chose Miracle as a cover strategy? Dean’s dog? Literally anything else was more probable than Dean’s dog having inhabited his body. Which – now that he was thinking about it, his legs did kinda look like Miracle’s, the same shade and same curls… maybe it wasn’t as far-fetched as his knee-jerk reaction to the concept had been.
“You can talk to me. Just focus on getting a thought over to me, like you would as a human. You should be able to pick it up easily, it’s like walking.” maybe-Miracle encouraged.
Dean stared. “What the hell?”
Miracle’s smile faltered. “I thought you’d be happy.” And damn him, he actually looked kinda sad doing it and hadn’t Dean been so busy accepting the fact that Miracle – he’d felt bad.
“What? Why? And how – how did this even happen?”
See, subconsciously, Dean was aware that animals had sentient thought. He had been able to talk to The Colonel after all. But somehow, during all the time he had had Miracle, he hadn’t once thought about how he wasn’t just some cute animal who wasn’t able to talk back at Dean and was happy to just spend time with him.
“Um…” Miracle scratched his – Dean’s – stubble. This was definitely fucking with Dean’s head. “Right. I guess I have to explain a few things. Well… you see, I’m not an ordinary dog.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Dean mumbled despite himself.
Miracle had always been, well, a miracle. Wicked smart and able to pick up on commands very quickly and just there for Dean without question, without asking for anything in return. And he needed Dean, didn’t once leave him, not like everyone else and Dean was fully convinced that no other dog could even come close to him.
Miracle continued, fingers loosely intertwined between his knees.
“You would probably call me a supernatural being. I look just like one of your typical dogs but I have some powers. Like… immortality. And time-traveling. And body-swapping, obviously.”
Yeah. Obviously. Really, Dean should’ve expected it, how does he even get the idea that for once, something in his life is just damn ordinary? But Miracle was already rambling on- “And I just… I knew you felt really miserable, even after Cas came back and I wanted to help you out. So I thought… how about you have my life for a bit and I have yours? Then you can relax, take some time off and I see to it that your life doesn’t goes on normally.”
This was too much all at once. “Whoa, whoa, wait a second. You’re a monster?”
“Well, supernatural being.”
“Same difference.”
At that, Miracle bristled, crossing his arms and actually pouting, all with Dean’s face and body and that – unreal was what it was.
“You don’t call Cas a monster just because he’s neither human nor animal. I have to say, I liked you better when you thought I was a normal dog.”
Dean avoided his eyes because now he was giving him puppy-dog-eyes which Dean had always been weak for – that’s what it did to a person to grow up with Sam. And how was he even able to do that with Dean’s body? Had to be some kind of superpower only dogs and Sammy had. Now he actually felt bad and he didn’t even mean it, it was just that when he was taken-aback, his brain went back to factory settings. And, needless to say, not many people liked Dean’s factory settings. That was, nobody.
“Yeah, sorry. This is just… so crazy.” He breathed in, considering, “Is that why you were the last one left? After God snapped everyone else Thanos-style, I mean. I always thought that whole spiel was to give me hope just to rip it away but I guess…”
“That had been my theory, yes. He must’ve forgotten about my species because we’re so few. Then he saw me with you and corrected his mistake.”
“So… what exactly are you then?”
“I’m one of the subspecies of the Central American Cadejo. Humans think we’re symbols of luck and protection because we like choose humans to stay with as pets.”
“And you chose… me?” Dean asked, incredulous.
Miracle being a supernatural being was crazy enough, but him having been with Dean voluntarily all this time… whoever would want to do that?
“I think you should give yourself more credit, Dean. You’ve been a great companion to me. And I like giving you comfort.” Miracle smiled at him with open affection. Dean did not know how to deal with that.
“Uhm, okay…”
Sensing his discomfort, Miracle leaned back, changing the topic.
“So, do you want my help?”
Dean instantly caught his footing again. Right. Body-swap. Dog for a few days. Vacation from all the world-saving and guilt and stuff.
“Would’ve been nice if you asked me before I woke up thinking I had been kidnapped.” Dean grumbled only half-heartedly.
“That isn’t really possible since we can’t normally talk. I had to ask this way.”
“Yeah, right. I mean, I’d do it but, dude, I doubt Sam or Cas won’t notice.”
“Maybe after a while. But Dean, think of the time before that. You’ll get a day, at least. Maybe more than that. And if they start to suspect anything, we’ll just change back. Or explain.”
Dean didn’t really have to consider it. He thought back to the excitement shooting through him as he realized how light he felt – no aches and pains, no responsibility, just freedom, for once. He could really use a break, Miracle was right. Just for a second. Just to catch his breath so he could come back more composed.
Still, Dean hesitated. Miracle was looking at him all hopeful dog, thinking he’d get a piece of bacon. But there was still one problem-
“Well, I don’t wanna be insensitive or anything – but you kinda don’t talk like I would usually, you know? I think it’d be more like five minutes.”
Miracle narrowed his eyes, then, suddenly, his whole demeanor changed. His posture relaxed and a dazzling smile came over his face.
“I mean, I kinda know you pretty well, Dean. You can trust me to do a good job, imitating people is what I’m really good at. Once you’ve spent a long time watching someone, it comes really easy to you. Don’t worry.”
Dean stared. This was damn unreal. Seeing himself talking like himself and knowing Miracle was the one steering the ship…
“Wow, now it’ll be really awkward to cuddle with you dude.”
Miracle furrowed his brows. “Why? Is it one of your ridiculous notions of propriety and performative masculinity that you cannot allow a thinking being to see you vulnerable?”
Somehow, Miracle had done a full 180 without Dean noticing.
“You’re really starting to sound like Cas now.”
“Well, Cas and I both find you humans very confusing sometimes. You know, I love you of course but it can be exhausting, listening to you spout regurgitated phrases from your father.”
Dean gaped up at Miracle. How the hell did he go from talking normally to full-on angel speech? It was creepy how well Miracle had that whole copying-people shtick down.
“I have to say, I pictured you a lot more hyperactive and a lot less smart-assery.” he remarked.
“See? You talk yourself down all the time but you just showed off a very impressive knowledge of the English language, making up that word. Why aren’t you proud of yourself for once? I am.”
“Dude. I’m not a kid.” Dean protested.
“Why do you keep calling me dude? I’m a dog, Dean. And you don’t have to be a child to be told how impressive your skills are. Everyone deserves to know that if it’s truthful.”
Miracle said it as if it was a helpful fact.
“Uh, thanks, I guess?”
For the second time in a short span of time, Miracle had done something completely unexpected.
“So what do you say now? Do you want me to turn us back?”
“No, no, it’s alright, I guess… it can’t hurt. I’m in.”
Miracle started beaming again, reminding Dean a bit of Jack and Dean bet his right hand that if he were in a dog body, he would’ve wagged his tail too. But despite everything, Dean felt Miracle’s enthusiasm catching on. This was bound to be a great few days.
After Miracle gave Dean some pointers about what would be expected of dog-him for the next day, Dean decided to catch some sleep before he’d have to get up at 6 for the first thing on his new routine - joining Sam on his morning jog.
As it turned out, sleeping as a dog was damn easy. The heartbeats of Sam, Cas and Jack, which he could hear even through the bunker walls, soothed him enough to catapult him right to dreamland.
His sleep was deep, blessedly uneventful and left him feeling thoroughly rested when the footsteps of Sam on the way to the kitchen woke him.
He stretched and jumped down from the bed to trot outside. Miracle-as-Dean could still sleep, the bastard. Of course, this was a hateful thought on principle because had Dean been in his own body, he’d have lain awake since 4 anyway, being denied sleep in order to obsess over what a failure he was, or over how quickly everyone he loved could die, depending on his mood. On especially productive days, he got both done in one night. So he couldn’t truthfully be upset; he had gotten the longer end of the stick, after all, what with the peace of mind this dog-body afforded him.
He found Sam drinking a glass of water in the kitchen, already outfitted in his running gear.
“Oh, hey Miracle!”
He smiled at him and set his glass down, all the while looking at him in a way Sam had never looked at Dean – like he was something small and happy, something unproblematic but also unessential. And despite himself, Dean found that his tail started wagging.
Sam was kinda terrifyingly huge like this but somehow, Dean found he wasn’t at all scared of him, because, come on – this was still Sammy. The huge sap bent down to rub Dean-as-Miracle behind the ears and Dean would never admit it but it was kinda nice. Calming. Sam’s hand was huge and gentle and it made him feel safe like he hadn’t in years, like there wasn’t anything in the world that could hurt him as long as Sam was near and, as the older brother, it was a damn confusing feeling.
“Excited for our run today? Yeah, I bet you are!” Sam gushed and, had Dean been a human, he’d have let his eyebrows raise to high heavens because what was that? Baby talk, seriously? A different guy would’ve maybe felt bad for deceiving Sam like this, making him think he was talking to Miracle when it was in fact Dean, but Dean didn’t. Sammy wouldn’t mind, probably. As long as Dean didn’t tease him about it later.
Thankfully, the upside of being so far out into the woods was that Dean wasn’t required to wear a leash, which would’ve soured Dean’s good mood instantly – there weren’t many things more humiliating than being led around and physically restrained.
This early, the air was fresh and damp, with that morning glow still in the sky. Dean sniffed the ground while Sam stretched and holy hell but there were a lot of confusing smells here. The forest was full of earthy and spicy undertones, there was tree, asphalt, squirrel, fox, oh, oh, berries! Maybe he should show Sam so he could put them in his absurdly healthy breakfast porridge. He’d probably light up like a kid on Christmas and Dean could make it seem like a coincidence, that they’ve just stumbled across it- The idea vanished again because there was the sharp scent of danger, too, big predators like coyotes, bobcats and bears. Better not stray too far from the track then.
A mouse scampered out of its ground hole directly in front of his nose – how stupid did it have to be? – and the inexplainable urge to give chase grew in him. But the talking dog potion had prepared him enough to not give in.
“Okay, let’s go Miracle, let’s run.” Sam encouraged, clapping his hands to get his attention. Dean immediately swiveled and went to Sam’s waiting hands, where he got a neck scratch as a reward for listening.
Dean was aware that it should be weird. But now, as a literal dog, there was nothing strange about it. It was simple and uncomplicated affection and if Dean had to be honest, it was the most casual touch he had gotten in quite a while.
While he had somehow dreaded the run before, he found that running came easy to him as they started out on a forest trail. His body stretched, pain-free and strong despite his small size and as the pace settled into his muscles, he felt like he could run forever. Breath flowing in and out, paws hitting soft earth, jumping over roots, the simple sensations of the air, the ground, his own body so in tune with himself. Sammy’s sure steps beside him, like it was supposed to be.
Dean hadn’t felt as comfortable as now in a long while. The exertion pushed all unwanted thoughts out, like only fighting normally did. The only difference was that now, he didn’t have to feel guilty about wanting to hurt someone and didn’t have to fear the judgement of Sam or Cas. It was as if he had been made for exactly this.
They made a stop at a nearby lake and Dean carelessly lapped up some water while Sam washed his hands and cooled down his arms.
There was an eagle circling above in the brilliant cold blue sky – it vaguely reminded Dean of something, something that made him feel warm and content. As he watched, it folded its wings close to its body and plunged down in a reckless nosedive. Dean poked Sam’s legs and Sam immediately stopped moving, spotting the eagle up above. Together, they watched it spread its wings just over the surface, dipping its claws under for just a second and emerging victoriously with a fish. It wiggled in its grasp but couldn’t pull free and Dean suddenly felt breathless, wanted to turn to Sam and ask, did you see that? did you see what I saw? like a little child to its mother but he couldn’t look away. And he didn’t need to anyway, he knew Sam did. Sam, who whispered “Wow, look at that” and “Can’t believe that just happened” and “We gotta tell the others when we get back, Dean won’t believe us”, like Miracle could actually attest to it out loud. But it was nice to be included, to be thought of, to think that Miracle wasn’t just Dean’s family but Sam’s now, as well.
The eagle vanished in the trees with a powerful flap of its wings. Now, the lake lay still and undisturbed before them, almost serene. Dean looked up at Sam and Sam grinned back in childlike wonder and joy and, Dean thought, this made all of it worth it. All the crap they went through was irrelevant, all the years being tortured in hell, all of it. If it meant that Sam was alive and happy, Dean would do it a thousand times over.
They spent the way back in companiable silence and the spell of amazed peace only passed after they entered the bunker.
Cas, Jack and Miracle-as-Dean greeted them in the kitchen, in the middle of eating breakfast. Miracle turned on his bench as Dean traipsed in after Sam, smiling genuinely.
“And? How was the run?” he asked Sam, still looking at Dean.
Instead of answering, Dean happily bounded over to him and let himself be pet, which was quickly becoming one of Dean’s favorite things about being a dog.
“Miracle seems happy.” Cas remarked, smiling over his coffee cup.
Sam followed slower, an amused smile on his face.
“Yeah, I dunno, he’s going crazy today. Something’s gotten into him.” Then, straightening up and putting mock-seriousness in his tone; “Dean. Have you fed him bacon again?”
Dean would be indignant if he wasn’t so happy. And if he hadn’t done that on more than one occasion.
“No no no, I promise. Maybe he’s just having a good day.”
Miracle grinned knowingly down at Dean. Dean scowled back half-heartedly. It was hard to pretend to be upset when he still felt so damn light. Being pet was kinda like a drug, actually.
“Oh, that reminds me! You won’t believe what Miracle and I saw at the lake today…” Sam launched into recounting their encounter with the eagle excitedly, settling next to Miracle-as-Dean at the table and luckily not noticing how there were neither bacon nor eggs on the table, since Miracle was clearly incapable of cooking.
Jack was completely transfixed by the tale and Miracle-as-Dean did the weird overly focused staring thing that only dogs or Cas ever did when they paid something special attention. Only Cas seemed to remember the existence of Dean, forgotten at Miracle’s feet and, taking pity on him, he offered a treat under the table. Unthinkingly, caught in dog instincts, Dean wriggled through Miracle’s legs and trotted over to where Cas was sitting. After taking the treat, which tasted strange but alright, Cas’s hands were free. Free to gently slide into Miracle-but-now-Dean’s fur and run down his head, scratch over his neck.
Dean almost jerked back bodily, shocked, even though he really should’ve expected it, even though this wasn’t at all different from Sam or Miracle petting him – right? But Dean noticed that Cas’s hands were slightly too cold, like the inhuman being he had been, reminding him starkly of Cas saying he liked to sleep with a warm shirt and -this was weird, wasn’t it? This was definitely weird. This – Cas scratching his head and ears and neck – this was weird. This wasn’t what people did with their friends. This was wrong. It was too much, too close, too damn intimate and the shudder that passed through him had to be because of Cas’s cold hands and what was up with that anyway? Dean should probably give him some fuzzy socks or something. Yeah, Cas would like that. But no, no, that wasn’t the point because he shouldn’t be allowing this, he shouldn’t know that Cas’s hands were cold at all because this was wrong. Because he felt- and his chest was tight, like he was about to cry, like he felt when…
And suddenly, Dean was reminded of what Cas had said to him before dying, before stupidly sacrificing himself once again and it shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t have anything to do with this but now Dean was somehow starkly aware of the fact that Cas didn’t know, didn’t know that it wasn’t Miracle at all but Dean and that was all wrong, too. He… he wanted to never leave. Wanted to run away. He couldn’t fucking think. Not with Cas now smiling down at him, running his hand down Dean’s back, over his head, scratching under his chin. He was a dog, goddamnit, a dog who shouldn’t notice how soft Cas’s smile was or how adorably Cas’s hair was sticking up, the almost tentative way he was petting him, like Dean was something breakable, valuable. And of course Dean rationally knew that this was how Cas treated animals he thought were cute, it was difficult not to… not to, when Cas was looking at him, unguarded, unhurt, like Dean had never done anything wrong, like he didn’t mess it up again and again. It almost reminded him of… and there was this thought again, tormenting him, not letting go, even though Dean wanted to forget it, the image of Cas smiling through tears before confessing something so very confusing to Dean.
“Hey, Miracle! Breakfast.” Sam called.
Dean took the opportunity and fled, with his tail between his legs, like a damn coward.
Dean was semi-calmly swallowing down mouthfuls of dog food – it wasn’t as disgusting as he had expected, way better than some of the crap he’d had to eat as a kid – when Miracle started behaving weird. Which Dean noticed too late because he wasn’t really listening to the chatter at the table, too busy silently cursing his too-fast heartrate that just didn’t want to calm the hell down. But absently, he caught on to bits and pieces.
“And then Cas offered to take his bags because they clearly were much too heavy for him, even if he didn’t want to admit it and he just caught them before they slipped out of his hands.”, Jack.
“That’s very nice of you dude. Isn’t it crazy how Cas can always sense these kind of things? It’s like a superpower, I swear.”, Miracle.
Dean didn’t make much of it as first. Until the next scrap of conversation that Dean registered roughly ten food pieces later.
“No no no, as far as angels go, Cas is totally an anomaly, right guys? Like, the way he always looks out for animals, this fascination, no, admiration for the whole world? That’s pretty fucking special. You’re irreplaceable Cas.”
How’s that for a calm breakfast conversation? Dean took up another mouthful of dog food and paused mid-chew as the words really sunk in. What the hell? He looked back at the table just in time to see – himself! Leaning forward and putting on a brilliant grin. “You know what Cas? Maybe you should do that. For all of our sakes.”
Dean almost lost his halfway digested breakfast. Now, he wasn’t a prude but – a dog! As Dean! Flirting- no, surely not, he had no context, maybe they had been talking about something totally innocuous, no reason to worry – but it sounded damn suggestive. And Cas had tilted his head, too, searching Miracle’s expression that Dean recognized on himself to be – close to leering? Well, Dean was glad that he had never dated himself because that looked really, really unattractive. But now Cas’s gaze was intensifying in the way it sometimes did when he was focusing on something completely and Dean knew how it felt to be on the other end of that, how it pierced you down to your soul and made you lose all your hard-learned vocabulary – and it didn’t seem like…
Dean reflexively swallowed his food. It scratched uncomfortably going down because he hadn’t chewed it properly but he was kinda preoccupied with the thought of what Cas had confessed to him and what it might mean beyond the surface level implications, about – how Cas maybe wouldn’t mind Dean flirting with him because – and actually, Dean wasn’t going there at all.
“Hey Sam, I read that book you recommended me!” Jack broke the tension and after another second, Cas refocused on their kinda-but-not-really son.
With a troubled mind, Dean turned back to his food. He managed to choke down half the contents of the bowl when his attention was pulled back to the table. Because Miracle-as-Dean got up from the bench and wandered over to lean against the counter not at all casually.
And that – that was when the metaphorical second plane hit the building.
Dean stopped eating in sheer anxiety.
“So, Cas…”
No. Absolutely not. With horror, Dean watched on as all attention landed on Miracle. Sam raised his brows expectantly and Cas just regarded him with a confused head-tilt. Jack looked like nothing was going wrong, which it was, horrendously.
Dean hadn’t ever thought about how much Miracle could screw with his life, what with how much inside-knowledge he had gained on Dean’s darkest moments. As a dog. As a dog Dean had thought could never hassle him about it.
But Miracle seemed hell-bent on proving that he really could. With a dazzling grin – how? How could a dog even perfect that? – he turned to Cas again.
“Whaddaya say to a drive out tomorrow? Just us two, maybe out to the fields. I know this great spot with a lot of wild flowers and there’s this old oak, probably been right there for hundreds of years. It’s pretty secluded. You know” Miracle waggled his eyebrows, “very romantic.”
Dean wanted to tear him limb from limb. He could go through with it, he idly pondered, as long as Miracle was still wearing Dean’s face and not his little dog body. Would save him from having to experience this ever again. Or dealing with it.
Cas went completely still, eyes wide and cheeks red. He looked as if someone had propositioned him for sex and not a picnic out. Dean refused to think about why that was or why Dean kind of liked the thought of being able to make Cas blush. Because it was a stupid thought.
Sam’s mouth had fallen open in shock. Now, he regarded Dean worriedly and between all the embarrassment and shame and terror, Dean also felt a bit smug because of course Sammy would notice that something was off with Miracle-as-Dean.
“Dean… is everything okay?” he asked slowly.
Miracle looked over innocently, still smiling, oblivious to the fact he was a sentence away from blowing his cover.
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Just… wanted to make sure.” Sam mumbled, still examining Miracle-as-Dean suspiciously, looking like he very much wanted to get up and check Miracle’s temperature.
Jack’s eyebrows were furrowed. He looked between Cas and Miracle, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, confused and curious at the same time. And Cas… Cas still hadn’t moved. Dean was unable to think of something to fix this – should he just jump the gun, ruin their plan and reveal that it wasn’t him but Miracle doing all that? Run away so he’d never have to face Cas again? Just go ahead and kill himself to spare them all the awkwardness?
Sam was standing up.
“Dean, can I talk to you in the library for a minute?” he asked slowly, like he was talking to a small child.
“Sure.”
And well, Dean wasn’t missing that for anything. Especially if it meant not having to see Cas’s reaction. So he abandoned the rest of his breakfast and ran after Miracle.
In the library, Sam turned around and gave Miracle an incredulous look.
“What was that?”
Miracle bristled and Dean had to admit he was kinda impressed with how well he had his Dean expressions down as he responded: “What? Can’t a guy ask Cas out?”
“Ask Cas-? Yes, they can, but not you! Dean, you’re the last person I’d expect to just…”
“So you’re saying I’m a coward.” Miracle challenged.
“Well, yeah, kinda?”
At Miracle’s offended scoff, he tried to backpedal quickly, “I thought you weren’t ready.”
And- what? Dean wasn’t ready? For what? Sam couldn’t mean that the way Dean’s overactive imagination interpreted it, that wasn’t possible, he didn’t feel that way for Cas – or shouldn’t, anyway. Didn’t matter because usually Dean just didn’t think about it, much less have a whole ass chick-flick moment about it and now Miracle…
“Well, you thought wrong.” Miracle asserted himself.
Sam was getting exasperated, Dean could tell. That was his fed-up-with-Dean’s-bullshit face. He looked around quickly, licked his lips, stuffed some of his overgrown hair behind his ears. Dean knew he was working up to a tirade of massive proportions. And if Miracle had wanted to give Dean a holiday of those, he had failed spectacularly.
“I’m sorry, but Dean, you’re the most repressed, emotionally unavailable person I know! I mean, Cas confessed his love to you and you still didn’t… I mean, point is, this doesn’t sound like you!”
Didn’t sound like him because it wasn’t! And even though Dean would’ve normally had some sarcastic quip ready about how uplifting it was to be so openly insulted by his younger brother, now he couldn’t think of anything else than- who had told Sam? Because Dean certainly hadn’t. He hadn’t even told Miracle and after Cas had come back, he’d shoved it down, away, so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. It made it… real. Sam talking about it like it was a well-known fact made it impossible to ignore. And, well, maybe it scared Dean. A lot.
“Maybe I’ve grown!” Miracle replied, self-assured.
Sam gave him his patented I-don’t-believe-your-bullshit-Dean look. Miracle, not as versed in Sam-speak as Dean was, interpreted it differently.
“Look, after Cas told me, I had a lot of time to think about it. And, well… turns out I kinda feel the same? So I figured I’d talk to him on the drive over, see how it goes.”
Dean was too taken aback to think. Feel the same? Feel the same? He, Dean Winchester, feel the same? But Cas was… and he… Miracle was wrong. He had to be. There was no way. Cas loved him, loved him not like friends did, which was absurd on its own because who would love someone like Dean? -but Dean didn’t. He couldn’t respond because he didn’t. Because Dean had been taught that…
There was something in his mind that refused to cooperate and the more he poked and prodded at it, the more it made his head ache, so he didn’t.
“Well, duh. ‘Course you feel the same.” Sam said, weirdly expressionless and it was a good thing that Dean wasn’t thinking about it because this easy admission would’ve fried his brain for sure. And it let him appreciate the way that Sam didn’t believe a word out of Miracle’s mouth. While it was reassuring to know that Sam didn’t let himself be fooled by an impersonator, it also spelled bad news for Dean’s dog-cation. Dog vacation.
Before Miracle could make things even worse for himself, Jack stuck his head through the doorway. He looked straight at Dean.
“Hi. Wanna play ball?”
Well, Dean didn’t need to listen to this anyway.
Jack asked Miracle if he could take the Impala. Dean would’ve liked to say ‘Maybe when you’re older’ but Miracle obviously had different ideas, so that was how Dean found himself on the passenger seat with the window rolled down, letting go of all confusing thoughts and memories as he held his head out into the wind and relished in the assault of smells and refreshingly cool air. Tree, human, garbage, wood, someone cooking pasta, a teen smoking. She reminded Dean of Claire, eyelids heavily smudged with dark eyeshadow and reluctantly quirking up a corner of her lips at the sight of Dean-as-a-dog letting his ears fly in the breeze. Dean hadn’t seen Claire in a while. They should invite her around sometime. She could go on a hunt with them, that would surely get her to come. It would do Jack some good. And Cas would be happy. And Dean wanted to see if she was okay, bicker with her a bit. Maybe discreetly stake out if there was anything bothering her that she needed to get off her chest.
Then the teen was gone and the smell of approaching rain hit Dean’s nostrils and he relaxed again, letting the wind wash his mind clear.
When he sat back down and shook his fur out to flip one wayward ear, Jack beamed at him. Dean couldn’t help how joy rose in him at the sight of Jack happy and whole, like he should feel.
“I’d like to do that too, someday!” he shouted over the sound of the wind rushing by and Dean’s heart squeezed painfully because Jack should get to do that, do that as much and as often as he wanted. He should because Jack was four and a four-year-old should be allowed to do all the fun, innocent things a child did. He had been robbed of a childhood and Dean had done that, he was aware, he was responsible. He had treated Jack like Dean’s father had treated Dean – like he was responsible for every tragedy, even though he’d been just a kid, too young for any of it.
And that just proved - maybe Dean wasn’t too different from John after all. It was one of the most terrifying things to Dean, being like his dad, it took the spot right after losing everyone he loved. Because he remembered being a child, working so hard to please his father who wouldn’t ever be satisfied and as much as he still respected his father, he saw what it did to Sam and to himself, in the end. He had sworn himself that he’d never become that kind of father. No, he had believed he’d be better, nicer, gentler. A father a child could look up to without fear of disappointing him. And now? Now he saw Jack look at him with the same kind of hero-worship, desperate for his approval and pride. That, in the end, had driven it all the way home and confirmed his deepest, darkest fears. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Dean was an awful father.
And Dean hadn’t even realized what he was doing. Of course now, it didn’t make sense how he could’ve ever seen anything bad in Jack but- he remembered, was the thing. As much as he hated himself for it, he remembered the gaping emptiness, mindless panic, the knowledge that some ancient, all-powerful being had lied and killed Cas. And it hadn’t been Jack’s fault. But to Dean, it had been. And, well, grief had done that. Grief that twisted and transformed him into something unlike himself, just like what it had done to his father. Dean had really believed that Jack was evil because the grief had swept him away and- Dean hadn’t even fought it. Dean had disappointed Sam, disappointed Cas, disappointed himself. He could never make up for it.
Jack let him out at the dog park. Dean breathed in the warming spring air, still cool enough to have that clear quality. All the new, strange smells ripped him out of his dark thoughts, forcibly shoved him into the canine part of his brain that got excited at all the animals, the wind, the freedom. Dean welcomed it, relaxing into it and letting it flood his whole body. Jack was happy now. Dean had time to work on it later.
He let his gaze run over the park. Grass as far as the eye could see, sun streaking over trees and dogs, flitting in and out of sight over the hills, their scent light, happy and playful.
Dean wanted to run with them, the urge so unexpected and strong that he barely resisted. He felt like running was the only way to feel free, total exhilaration, no human thoughts, just movement and companionship. It was like he felt with the mark, only that now, he didn’t want to kill. Dean regarded it with light wonder.
Jack, who had locked the car properly – Dean was proud -, now grinned down at him, brimming with excitement, as if he was the one getting to go play.
“Come on, I can show you my friends!”
Dean couldn’t even question that. Of course Jack would have friends at a dog park. The kid was awkward and inhuman and that gave him the kind of charm that pulled people in – everywhere he went, there was someone simultaneously weirded out and mesmerized. Jack was too nice not to want to get to know him.
What he hadn’t expected – but should’ve, probably – was that those friends weren’t even human.
“This is Shelby. She’d like to let everyone know how fast she is but you can talk to her yourself about that. Then there’s Rocky, Luna and Daisy.”
Daisy was busy zooming around with another dog but Shelby, Rocky and Luna obediently gathered in front of Jack, who bent down to give Luna a few pats on the head. Luna gazed at him adoringly, her small body wiggling with the force of her wagging tail. The other two eyed Dean curiously.
Dean had been in some fucking weird situations in his lifetime. But this easily entered the top fifteen.
“What’s up with you? Why’re you so weird?” Shelby asked, a black-and-white dog around his size. Next to her, Rocky, a way larger German Shepherd, agreed with a huff. Dean wasn’t foolish – he knew he did not want to get onto this guy’s bad side. And not only because his scent made Dean instinctively want to tuck his tail. He was like the equivalent of an army guy. Only, you know, more intimidating. Dean could probably take on an army guy. Probably several. But not this huge fella with his weirdly long sharp teeth and piercing dark eyes – Dean had to suppress a shudder.
“Don’t mind me, I’m just passing through.” Dean tried to assuage the tension. It was a good thing that he had already talked to a bunch of dogs before. Otherwise, this could’ve gone a lot more awkwardly – Dean would’ve probably asked a whole lot more inappropriate questions. Which reminded him that The Colonel had also been a German Shepherd and he’d been a hell of a lot less scared of him. Strange.
“So? That doesn’t explain why you smell so weird. Or why you’re behaving like that.” Shelby tilted her head, as if to figure him out.
Dean floundered for a few seconds. Dogs, it turned out, were a lot more perceptive than humans. And apparently walking and talking lie detectors. So probably better if he went with the truth. Couldn’t hurt nothing now, could it?
“I’m usually a lot more human. Just taking a vacation, you know? Kinda… gave a dog my body and switched into his.”
Rocky’s tail lowered in astonishment. “You can do that? Oh, oh, I wanna be a pigeon! Those idiots always laugh at me from up there but if I could just reach ‘em, I could show ‘em…”
Well, Dean shouldn’t have worried about that Rocky. He had a faraway look in his eyes and honestly, he kinda looked like the complete dog stereotype. Dumb, easily excitable and too loyal – so nothing like what he had experienced of both Miracle and The Colonel before.
Shelby dismissed him easily, turning to Dean. “Don’t mind him. All that counts is that you’re a dog now. So we better get to it and show you the ropes. Wanna race me?”
That’s how Dean ended up sprinting through the park, fucking exhilarated, feeling completely unlike himself. Because he was. Because as long as he was focused on catching up to Shelby – she hadn’t been kidding, she was fucking fast – then there was no other thought in his head. Only the flashes of her fur among the green green grass, the split-second decisions of flinching back when she turned around, escaping her playfully snapping jaws and retaliating.
In the excitement, Dean lost her under the many other dogs but he didn’t care – as long as there was some Golden Retriever or Shepherd dog to chase, he was more than fine.
This was as addicting as fighting. It was, partly, only in dog-form and wow, Dean wouldn’t have thought that animal fighting could be just as fun – just without all the blood and the weapons and without the constant undercurrent of fear, of knowing that any second – that could be it.
It was great.
Afterwards, he played fetch with Jack – he would’ve never guessed how much fun it was to chase the ball and bring it back or, even better, catching it still in the air – and listened to him talk about the actual, human teenage friends he’d made at the supermarket and how high school seemed kinda fun and that he wanted to enroll if Cas let him. Dean wanted to tell him that Cas would absolutely agree, probably even be excited that Jack got a human experience first-hand. And that Dean would help look into forging a passable ID and Sam would totally help him with some homeschooling so he didn’t go in completely blind. But Jack was a smart kid – if anyone could catch up on 10 years of school in a month, it was Jack.
Not for the first time, Dean mourned that Jack never got to go into kindergarten and primary school because he would’ve probably loved that, too. But there was nothing to be done about that now. Just one more thing on the list of regrets.
Jack then asked Dean if he knew that male platypuses had venom glands on their hindlegs, which – no, no Dean did not.
As noon passed into afternoon, Jack claimed that he wanted to go ask Sam what to give Harper to her birthday so they better had to head back home and Dean got into the car contently panting, looking forward to a nice bowl of dog food at home. He hadn’t even had had the chance to finish his breakfast properly.
As the Impala pulled into the garage, a part of Dean’s good mood had subsided. The sight of the bunker walls reminded him of what mayhem Miracle had caused with Cas. Jack and Dean had been gone for a few hours – what had he come up with in the meantime? Dean didn’t even want to imagine…
As he hopped out of the car, Jack sent him off with a head pat and Dean was already almost at the corner to the hallway when Jack seemed to remember something.
“Hey, Dean, wait!” he called out.
Dean stopped – he hadn’t realized that Miracle had turned up already. But as he looked back over his shoulder, he met Jack’s eyes straight on.
“Can we go fishing again next week? I want to try cooking one myself this time.”
Dean stared at him. Jack stared back.
“Yes or no?”
Dean blinked. “Sure.”
Jack brightened up considerably, completely oblivious. “Great! Thank you Dean!”
This whole time?!
Dean found Miracle in the kitchen, going through the fridge. Alone, thank God. As long as he wasn’t with Cas, there was still the chance that they hadn’t spoken after and all of this mess was still somehow salvageable.
Dean announced himself by hopping down the steps, claws tickering on the ground. It had the desired effect because - Miracle turned to him with a mouth full of raw minced meat and a guilty-dog-look.
“Really?” Dean asked, unimpressed.
“Sorry.” Miracle mumbled through his mouthful, spitting some into the air. “I was hungry.”
“And you couldn’t have cooked that first?”
Miracle looked at the opened package like it held the answers to the universe and was still completely mysterious to him. “Oh. Didn’t occur to me.”
“Can you at least fix whatever that does to my body?” Dean asked, mock-righteous.
“Oh, yeah, you’re fine. Here, have some.”
Miracle carelessly scooped a handful out and threw it on the ground. It landed with a wet thwack.
Dean would’ve liked to claim he was a man with principles. But he was not. Really, really not. In his defense, he was hungry! So he regarded Miracle for a second more and then scrambled forward, making short work of it before Miracle decided to take it back.
“You know, you could do that for me sometimes, too, when we change back.” Miracle commented idly, wiping his hands on his jeans and closing the fridge door with his hip. Dean was kinda disgusted, but too busy with licking his chops for last traces of meat to berate Miracle. This was really really tasty. Way more than that brown dog pellet food. Maybe Miracle was right and he really should incorporate more creative food in his diet in the future, Dean pondered absently.
“Well, what’d you want from me anyway?” Miracle changed the topic, totally unbothered.
“Let’s just… go back to my room first before someone questions my sanity for holding a full conversation with a dog.”
Miracle furrowed his brows.
“Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry but that ship has sailed already.”
Dean hadn’t expected that his dog was such a little shit. But Miracle got Dean a few uncooked bacon strips that he threw him on the way over, so Dean wasn’t all that mad.
Back in his room, he jumped up onto his bed with a sigh of relief, turning in a circle before letting himself fall into the soft cushions. Miracle sat on the desk chair, draping an arm over the backrest.
“So.” Miracle started expectantly and well, that decided it then.
“Yeah, so, what the hell was that back there?” Dean complained.
“What? At breakfast?”
“Yeah, at breakfast, what else would I be talking about?”
Miracle shrugged. “The meat?”
“I don’t care about the meat, I care about you sabotaging my relationships.”
Miracle raised his-Dean’s eyebrows. “I think you do that enough already, Dean. You’re forgetting that I know you all very well by now. And literally nothing I do could destroy your relationship with anyone here in the bunker. If they’re willing to come back for you after you tell them they’re dirt to you, then they won’t run away because you express your feelings.”
“Express feelings I don’t have!” Dean burst out. He’d be offended at the first part of his statement but where Miracle was right, he was right, no use arguing about it.
Miracle sighed in a way that he definitely had to have copied from Sam, throwing his head back and letting his neck crack. “Sure. Let’s go with that. Now, tell me, why is it so bad if I ask Cas to go on a little trip with you? With some joke-flirting. Don’t you normally flirt with everything that moves?”
“Yeah, but… Cas is different!”
“Is he now?”
“Stop looking at me like that, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just… it’s unfair to do that to the guy, when he’s got these…” Dean stumbled over his words, awkward suddenly, unable to-
“Feelings for you?” Miracle finished for him, deadpan.
Dean would’ve liked to clear his throat but could only avert his eyes and stare at the wall so intently that his head started to hurt. “Exactly.”
“So you’re uncomfortable with that.” Miracle stated matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, I mean, no, of course not. Cas is my friend, I don’t care about that. I mean…”
He swallowed, feeling something heavy rise in his throat, something hot and uncomfortable. He didn’t want to talk about this, not now, not ever. Not when everything he said got turned around in his mouth, twisted into something it wasn’t at all, because Miracle was wrong. Miracle thought there was something when there decidedly wasn’t. It was as frustrating as talking to Sam.
“You’re not my therapy dog damnit, I don’t have to talk to you about this. Just… just stop messing with my life, okay?”
Miracle’s easy demeanor vanished, the one that seemed to allow him just verbally obliterate Dean. Instead, his face got softer and he turned the chair so he could lean forward to put his elbows on his knees, just like he had done as he’d wanted to put a freshly turned Dean at ease.
“Dean, what happened when you were under that table?”
And didn’t that sound wrong and demeaning? What was more, Miracle shouldn’t even have noticed that, damn perceptive bastard.
“Nothing.” Dean mumbled, trying to withstand the urge to look at him – at himself. There was a spot on the wall where someone had carved a few wonky lines into it, for whatever purpose. It was very interesting to Dean now.
Miracle didn’t say anything, just waited. Something built in Dean – built and built and built but his head hurt and there was something in the way, some big heavy wall, like the one that helped Sammy keep the hell-stuff out. He wanted to say something, deny deny deny but couldn’t, caught in himself, in Miracle’s loyal gaze.
“He looked at me like I was a dog.” Dean admitted, voice small, wavering.
“Is that some weird derogatory term for you humans again or…” Miracle joked, the patient and pitying look in his eyes unchanging.
“It means that he looked at me like I was worth something. Like he wanted to protect me and like he knew I’d never hurt him.” Dean gritted out.
Miracle smiled. “There. Wasn’t all that hard now, was it?”
It was. It was damn hard just to stay still and not flee from this whole conversation. But something kept him stay put, some dog-instinct or inner voice that sounded vaguely like Sam, telling him that he should talk about it instead of burying it further and further. And when he let himself admit to it, it also felt kinda relieving to get it out of his head and into the world.
“Now you listen to me” Miracle insisted, voice low and earnest, “Because I have something to say, something that I only figured out this morning. You know, when you and Sam were on that run and we ate breakfast?”
Dean didn’t want to. He wanted anything but to listen to this, whatever it was. He wanted to escape, to not think about this, so he wouldn’t ever have to deal with it, with what it did to him – chest tight, heart rate up, head hurting so much, threatening to explode.
But Miracle didn’t care. He just carried on.
“I came stumbling into that room, all messed up because I had no idea how you always manage to smooth out those creases from the pillow in your face, and, when I tell you Cas’s entire face just… melted, you know?”
Miracle did some weird circle motions in front of his own face, knitting his eyebrows together from the effort of remembering. “It went all soft and fond, like I’ve never seen it before in my whole life – I mean, he certainly never looks at me that way, I could’ve almost been jealous if I was, you know, actually human. And then he said his good morning, all smiley and, I mean wow.” Miracle took a big breath, searching for words. “You realize that that guy, that guy was once an all-powerful angel? Stone-faced, just following orders and stuff? Killing people without hesitation – he was feared everywhere, he still is! That’s the crazy thing, there’s so many people absolutely terrified of his very sight, even with only half his powers, and yet here he is sitting at your breakfast table, looking at you like you’re one very big reason to keep living. To keep seeing the beauty life has to offer.”
Dean couldn’t breathe, fully transfixed and his head hurt but he also didn’t think he could stop listening if he tried, caught in some confusing, all-encompassing feeling that let him ache, deep, deep in his chest.
“Now, I’m not saying you’re the sole reason for Cas to fall in love with humanity or the world or whatever, but, Dean, you sure were a pretty big one. Without you, there’s a considerable chance Cas would’ve never gotten free from heavens clutches, remember how they reined him in again and again? You helped him rebel against that when he didn’t have cause enough to do it just for himself. You’ve treated him unfairly often but, honestly, I still think Cas is better off with you than without you. And he thinks so, too. The only thing holding you back is yourself, thinking you aren’t enough or would only hurt Cas. But that’s bullshit. You can have it. Because that, out there, the way he’s looking at you? That’s someone that really truly loves you.”
Dean stared, mind whirring, thinking too much and not at all, thinking You can have it, thinking, What if I don’t want it? What if I’m afraid of it?
Miracle was right. But he was also wrong. Dean didn’t… he didn’t feel that way, no matter how much his heart felt like giving out when he thought about Cas looking at him like… it wasn’t that, couldn’t be love because there was this deep, uncomfortable feeling in him whenever he thought about Cas being in love with… and he just knew. You knew these things, right? So when Dean didn’t think he was in love, didn’t that mean he wasn’t? That was how it worked, right?
The thing was, Dean knew what being in love felt like. It was feeling the dread of getting up every day lessen when he looked at Lisa back during that time Sammy had been gone. It was the comfortable, easy feeling of kissing her or gathering her up in his arms and noticing her heart racing against his chest. The way her soft hair felt beneath his fingers, the way he thought her smile was pretty. Knowing that she wanted him and needed him and wouldn’t ever ask him to leave. That was love. Looking at Cas and feeling like he never wanted to look away again, that was the fear of losing him. Feeling the echo of his touch, the tingly remnants of his grace wash through his body, that was the awe of something beyond his understanding. Wanting to bundle Cas up in blankets and give him all the warm shirts he could ever want, keeping him close, that was the guilt of treating him wrong. And Cas was such a vulnerable little dude, anyone would feel that way about him. Anyone would want to do whatever it took to keep Cas happy and content and smiling because Cas smiling was as addictive as killing or being needed or getting good, safe pets.
Love wasn’t that. Love was supposed to be uncomplicated and easy.
“How do you know all of that?” Dean asked, voice raspy, like he’d been crying or as if he hadn’t spoken in too long.
“I’m a dog.” Miracle shrugged, “Dogs are perceptive. Also, I stole maybe half of that from Sam rambling.”
Shortly before dinnertime, Dean dared to extricate himself from Miracle’s side, who’d been curiously going through Dean’s stuff and then sat down to read a book he’d found – because apparently he knew how to do that, huh -, tattered and almost falling apart from frequent use over the years. Dean believed it had to be Slaughterhouse Five or Fight Club, some book with social commentary so scathing that it could cut you. Dean had enjoyed their cynical negative worldview even as a teenager and it probably wasn’t the worst way to learn something about the human world.
But with Miracle busy reading, it got too quiet and when it got too quiet, Dean had to think about what Miracle had said over and over again and in the end, it didn’t achieve anything but worsen his headache. So he got up from the bed and trotted out the door, in search of Sam or Jack. Maybe Sam had some news about a case or maybe he wanted to ramble about some book or serial killer he’d read about. Dean would be content to settle in and listen. Or maybe Jack had some more to say about his friends or platypuses.
After searching the kitchen, Sam’s and Jack’s rooms and the map room without any luck, he climbed the stairs to the library. Where he stopped short when he spotted Cas sitting in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine. But Cas had already seen him. No chance to escape now.
“Oh, hello Miracle. Are you searching for Dean? I believe Sam and him went out to go find a present for Harper with Jack.” Cas’s tone was light and fond – he gave no indication whatsoever that Miracle’s invitation had impacted him at all.
The thing was, Dean could’ve totally avoided this situation, had he just sniffed around the entrance for a bit or listened for Sam or Jack. But now it was too late to backtrack. So Dean ambled over to Cas, decidedly not thinking of anything Miracle had told him. Or about the way his tail started wagging the second Cas leant over to stroke Dean’s back, the magazine forgotten on his knees. Now Cas was smiling, too, and Dean suddenly failed to remember what he had originally been so apprehensive of. He looked... content. If a little tired and worried. Dean wanted to make it go away, which, yeah, the dog had probably altered his brain chemistry altogether. What a weird thought. What a weird thing, in general. Thankfully – or not so thankfully? Dean was confused – Cas stopped petting him as Dean sat down at his feet and instead leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
“You know what I miss most about not being a real angel anymore? Being able to talk to you. I cherished our conversations.”
When Dean didn’t take his eyes off Cas, who now stared off into nothingness, lost in thought, it was because he was trying to imitate the laser-like focus dogs and monsters had in common. And Cas, too, when he was trying to figure something out.
So focused on that, he almost missed what Cas had said. But hadn’t Miracle and Cas only met after Cas had come back? Which meant they only could’ve talked a few weeks before Cas went half-human to keep hidden from the empty.
Cas continued talking, vaguely in Dean’s direction.
“You always had some kind of insight into others no human could ever wish to achieve. I didn’t realize how nice it was to talk to someone who found humans as confusing as I did until I lost it. There’s something freeing about being understood.”
Cas breathed in, out, collapsing further into the cushions.
“Dean, for example.”
Dean got the acute feeling that he should not be listening to this. That he should just cut his losses and leave the bunker permanently, go live in a remote cabin in the woods with food deliveries every month. He could have a nice life there. If he was lucky, a bear would find him and maul him to death. Spare him the trouble. Then he would never have to think about this again. Or hear about how Cas found him completely incomprehensible and confounding. Anything was preferable to this.
Still, he stayed. Something in him compelled him to, some buried part that wanted to- Dean didn’t even know. It was a similar and also completely different thing than that which had convinced him to listen to Miracle.
“After I… sacrificed myself and… told him that I loved him, I expected to never get to see him again. I was okay with that because I had saved him. But then, I did anyway.”
Cas quieted, thoughtful, which gave Dean just enough time to think - How did he get into these situations? What cosmic entity had he pissed off to be constantly tortured? Billy? Lucifer? God? That he had room to choose probably didn’t help.
Cas picked back up, with a renewed vengeance: “Every time I came back, he was relieved to see me. I don’t want to presume anything, but I believe he was happy. But this time, he was so angry.”
Cas’s eyebrows pushed together and the next words came out through gritted teeth. “I showed up at the front door of the bunker and he almost closed the door in my face. And then, when I got in and Jack reassured them it was really me, he could barely stand to look at me. It was like… like when he hated me because of Mary. He avoids me and... it’s difficult not to think it’s something I’ve done.”
Dean was too stunned to think. He remembered doing that. Remembered doing it because it vividly reminded him of Lucifer, of the blooming hope that was immediately crushed as soon as he opened the door and realized it wasn’t Cas at all. That had stuck with Dean. And seeing him then, when he was so convinced it must’ve been a hallucination, a cruel ploy by some supernatural entity – Lucifer, even though he was dead, Chuck, even though he was gone.
He hadn’t thought it hurt Cas. Cas hadn’t changed anything about the way he acted around Dean and Dean… he had been angry, yes, because Cas had sacrificed himself, again, had left Dean, like he always did, because he never stayed, but also that wasn’t it. Not all of it, anyway. Sam could probably tell him what was but Dean didn’t want to know.
Cas’s hand twitched up to his face and he let it run down his face. As he opened his eyes again, the hurt there was gone, replaced with a serene calmness. It was impressive to watch. And also deeply hurtful because Cas- Cas was used to this. Being hurt by Dean and pushing it down, braving it, soldiering on because he had to. And Dean did it again and again, hurting Cas, without even realizing…
Cas’s voice was back to normal, wonderingly pondering.
“Of course, I know he was upset that he couldn’t save me, and I’m sure he thought it was all his fault but… he feels like that most times. Why was this one different? I can only assume it’s because I made him uncomfortable, telling him about how I feel. And I’ve been around humans for so long now, but sometimes… sometimes they just baffle me.”
Cas sighed wistfully.
“I wish I could get your opinion on this.”
Dean didn’t think that would lead to anything good, he really didn’t. But also, he kinda wanted to say something, to reply with- he didn’t even know. The urge strained against the confines of his little body, beating in time with his heart, rough, painful. His throat was tight. Dean wasn’t good with words but it was even worse when he was robbed of them.
“I’m only bringing this up now because- then, today, he asked me to go for a drive. That’s strange, no? It’s so… unlike him. I don’t understand why he changed his mind about me.”
Dean didn’t. In all the years, Dean had never truly thought of Cas as anything than a good friend. Because he was, no matter what he did wrong. It never mattered. Dean still loved him regardless, like he did all his friends. But Cas didn’t know that because Dean was stupid and never- never dared to tell his family how much they meant to him.
“I can’t let myself start to hope, I know that but that, too, proves to be increasingly difficult. You just grow tired of it all. The deaths, the distance, the anger… the distance most of all. I so rarely get to get close.”
Another sigh, Cas straightened up and glanced down at Dean. Dean thought about that, absently. Cas wanting to get close. What did that mean? Getting close. Close. Was it- talking. It had to be. And Dean’s chest hurt because he wanted that, too, to sit down in the chair next to Cas and talk to him, like they had done so many times before. Watch him brighten up, unburdened, just for a moment. Smiling softly, content to just- be. Dean wanted it with such a fierceness it surprised him.
Still, he wasn’t sure that was the entire truth. Getting close.
Cas continued on, oblivious to Dean’s inner turmoil.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware, I’m lucky. I get to be here at all, who can say that? I’m one of the Winchester’s most trusted allies, that’s what they tell me. But what if it’s not enough? I try to be content, I truly do, I tell myself that it’s enough that I’ve been honest. That when I accept my feelings and live with them, I don’t need more. But I do. I feel insatiable, greedy, trying to take more than I’m allowed. And I’m… scared of the power it has over me. How much it consumes me. At the same time, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Cas looked tortured. Sad. Open, like Dean had rarely ever seen him before and it wasn’t good. It made Dean want to fix it when he knew he couldn’t. Because… Dean couldn’t give Cas what he asked for. Even if he so desperately wanted to, because Cas deserved everything.
It was strange. Dean had known, in an abstract sense, of Cas’s affection. Subconsciously maybe years before the dungeon. And still, it was so shocking to hear him admit… to hear him sigh about it like some lovesick teenager. When Cas was anything but, when Cas was powerful, billions of years old, biblical. It was so surreal and it fried Dean’s brain like nothing else.
He wanted to know more. Wanted to forget Cas had ever said it. It confused Dean to no end, because there was a strange thrill, hearing Cas say – it consumed him. That it wasn’t enough. Dean couldn’t think about it without his head aching again, thoughts jumbling together, revelations and denials colliding.
Cas looked down at him and Dean knew Cas was about to say more, confess things that Dean wasn’t prepared to hear, didn’t want to hear, so he took the cowards way out. Turned his head to the door as if he had heard something – nothing, there was nothing, but Dean wouldn’t have been able to hear it regardless, not over the screaming in his head, telling him to get the hell out of there before…
Dean had stared down God and only been mildly afraid. But this, this scared him like nothing else. It was the Sammy-getting-chomped-by-a-vamp kinda fear, disorienting him, making him abandon all coherent thought.
Cas watched after him silently as Dean fled from the room.
For a few minutes, Dean paced the corridors, mind brimming with thoughts half-finished and half-forgotten again. Every time he thought back to what Miracle had said - Because that, out there, the way he’s looking at you? That’s someone that really truly loves you – a jolt of fear shot through him, mixing with- The memory of Cas looking at him, head tilted slightly, bright blue eyes soft, fond. Falling into Cas’s own words, I love you, I so rarely get to get close, I feel insatiable, it consumes me.
And Dean- Dean had to speed up, concentrating on the clack-clack-clack of his claws on the ground to distract himself.
He wanted to- he wanted- he didn’t know and that frustrated him more than anything else.
Before bedtime, Dean stopped by at the laundry room, where it had all begun. He went in, making a beeline for the laundry pile, freshly unloaded by Jack only minutes before, and burrowed in. The warmth suffused him immediately, sinking through his trembling muscles down to his bones. But it reminded him of Cas’s cold hands, Cas casually mentioning he had to take a warm shirt to be able to sleep, freezing in his too-big bed and it- it was too much.
Dean only held out for a bit over five minutes, then couldn’t stand the thoughts and feelings anymore and had to get up again.
Pacing the corridors. Listening for Cas to avoid running into him. Following random scent paths that told him that Sam and Jack had come back from their trip maybe an hour ago. He didn’t dare to enter the kitchen where the rest had gathered to eat dinner. Instead, he trotted past the open doorway, spying Miracle-as-Dean laughing at something Sam had said and Cas looking at him in a way Dean couldn’t describe. Didn’t want to think about. He went on faster to avoid catching anyone’s attention, even though he had a hunch that Jack had noticed him with his divine omniscience.
He climbed the stairs and squeezed out the door that had suspiciously been left open. As if someone had known that Dean wanted to get out. This only confirmed Dean’s suspicion that someone had been secretly spoiling Miracle. But now, it was nice, getting to get out of the stone prison they lived in and breathe real air, look up to the stars where he could pretend he was anywhere in the world. Where his thoughts finally, finally calmed down, quieting, just like they had done on his trip with Jack.
The air smelled like his childhood, like being free and on the road. He could almost believe he was standing out on a field, Sam sleeping in the Impala behind him, silence all around. Stars the only ones to talk to, weight of the world lifted for once because in those quiet night hours, there was nothing to do but look up and be alive. Because Sammy was there with him, getting his sleep so they could continue on fighting the next day.
Dean went a few steps further, to a nice grassy patch beside the bunker walls and sat down. The tail-end of winter made the wind cold, a breeze brushing past and agitating the forest. But Dean was warm in his new fur, curled up on the ground.
As long as he kept looking up, Dean could blessedly think of nothing. Slowly, his heartrate calmed down and the familiar smell and sight – stars blinking down, darkness enveloping a world too bright with canine night vision - let a trance overcome him.
Dean probably spent an hour like this, unmoving, seeking solace in the loneliness and the night sky. But then, clouds gathered and the smell of rain got threatening enough that he got up, stretching out his stiff limbs and yawning. A white cloud of perspiration rose up into the night air.
Dean snuck back into the bunker, shoving the heavy door shut with his shoulder. The metal was damn chilly. Then, looking back over the stone walls and floors, a horrible sense of dread overcame him when he thought about going back to the laundry room to sleep alone. Or going to his own room to find Miracle waiting and wanting to wrap him in another conversation when all he truly wanted was to relax and sleep. There was only one other place to go.
Dean slipped down the stairs and, carrying the cool night air with him all the way through the bunker, found Sam’s wooden door, tightly shut. Dean scratched at it like the dog he now was and only had to wait a few seconds before Sam came to open it, hair in disarray and squinting his eyes sleepily.
“Miracle? What’re you doing here?” he asked, confused. “Shouldn’t you be in Dean’s room?”
Dean disregarded his little brother fully and squeezed past his legs into the room, warm and awfully stuffed with books he had stolen from the library in the bunker or carried with him all his life. It looked familiar, nice, and the comforting smell of Sam was all-encompassing here. Dean jumped up to the foot of Sam’s bed, snuggling down into the warm bedsheets that almost felt like the freshly dried clothes to his chilled body.
Sam closed the door gently and came back around, putting a hand on his back, petting him slowly. “Jesus, you’re cold. What were you getting up to, Miracle, huh? Messing around outside again? Missing dinner, even?”
Sam’s pets stopped, which was a bit pitiful because Dean had gotten sleepy from that and Sam’s presence always felt a bit comforting to him. Had since he’d been a little kid, like nothing else. It was just… knowing Sammy was safe and sound let him forget his own troubles in favor of concentrating on the fact that if Sammy was doing good, then it didn’t matter.
Sam left his side, rifling around in his desk drawer. Dean watched him through half-open eyes, not really bothered about whatever he was finding in there. Then Sam turned around triumphantly, holding an honest to god beef jerky package and dude, Dean had the best little brother ever.
He jerked up, tail inadvertently wagging like crazy – he was hungry, had missed dinner and cut short breakfast and he had gotten a way too small lunch. Seriously, when he turned back human, he’d cook up the biggest family meal and eat until he couldn’t move.
Sam laughed, “I knew you’d be hungry” and threw a piece of jerky over to him. Dean caught it perfectly and immediately begged for another.
So, Dean got his dinner, after all. And, in his opinion, beef jerky was superior to kibble anyway, so it all turned out just great.
When Sam finally turned the light out and settled in bed, the alarm clock showed 2 am. Dean burrowed a bit under the blanket and didn’t have to wait long until the slow, calm breathing and the metronome of Sam’s heartbeat drove him to a most uneventful and restful sleep.
Dean returned to the waking world when Sam got up for his morning run. The sleep had wiped his mind clean of any disconcerting feelings and stuff, so, with a light heart, Dean joined him again, stretching his little legs and contently listening to Sam blabber about the article he’d read the day previously and how the trip with Jack went and how he’d found this one book in the bookstore that he wanted to read. It actually sounded really interesting to Dean. Something about the first world war, with the western front being quiet. He would have to steal it from Sam sometime in the future, when all this stuff with changing bodies had gone back to normal.
They returned to the bunker for breakfast, where Dean got his usual share of kibble and afterwards, he went outside with Jack and Cas to check on Cas’s garden. Which – in reality, he did little actual garden work, instead lying back in the grass, dozing and enjoying the sun. There were some perks to being an animal without opposable thumbs that didn’t need to help. The calm of the previous evening and night had sunk deep into his bones and not even Cas’s presence had the power to pull him out of it. They weren’t talking about him anyway, idly chattering about the plants they were pulling from the ground and what value life held or some shit that Dean always pretended not to care about but now couldn’t find the strength to focus on.
Miracle came to find him just before noon, disturbing his content haze to allegedly go for a walk.
They went for a mile into the forest and Miracle let him chase a squirrel or two before they both settled on the water’s edge. Miracle pulled off his shoes to feel the water, which was a stupid idea since it was so cold. Miracle didn’t seem to mind.
Being a dog was damn comfortable, even if just because no matter where he lay down, the ground didn’t poke him like it would’ve as a human.
“Enjoying yourself?” Miracle broke the silence.
“Immensely.” Dean replied, tracking a duck paddling around on the lake.
“That’s good, that’s good…”
Dean let the silence – and his peace of mind – linger for a minute longer, before he sighed very undoglike and turned his head to look at- well, himself.
“Okay, spit it out, man. What’s up?”
Miracle looked conflicted, fidgeting with his hands and disturbing the water by kicking his legs. “I think we should turn back.”
“Already?”
Miracle chanced a side-glance at him. “Well, we kinda need to. Look, I’d have given you another day or two, but this morning after your run, Sam not so casually asked me about something from your childhood, which I obviously didn’t know how to answer and…”
“You think he’s catching on.”
A sad headshake. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Then we’ll do it this evening.”
Alarmed, Miracle looked at him, every bit like the dog found out in the treat jar.
“We can’t. You’ve got your drive with Cas this afternoon!”
“And? That’s all yours, dude, you brought this upon yourself, you should do it.”
“But I can’t.” Miracle hissed, looking all of a sudden as distressed as Dean would’ve felt on that drive.
“Why not?”
“I’m not you. I mean, I can give you two a few nudges but I don’t wanna actually kiss him.”
Dean’s hackles raised instantly – not only in the metaphorical sense.
“Well, that’s alright, since I wouldn’t do that either.”
“I don’t know how you can still hold onto that delusion! We can all see it, Dean, only you don’t want to for some reason. Sam thinks so!”
Why were they even talking about this again? Dean had only just gotten to the point of forgetting about it. Now, Miracle wanted to stir up all these conflicting feelings and Dean wasn’t ready to jump head-first into that mess.
“Sam sticks his nose into business that isn’t his way too often. Doesn’t make him right about it.”
“Does it though?”
Dean glared at Miracle and Miracle glared right back.
“Come on, Dean, just try it. Drive with him, talk to him, see what happens. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think it’ll be and it’ll come naturally.”
“What? Kissing another dude?”
That just slipped out unbidden. Dean was on the verge of pondering that a bit more but was thankfully saved from it.
“Dean.” Miracle’s tone could’ve come straight from Sam. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Just think about how you felt about it yesterday. When we talked. Or when you listened to Cas, because I know you went to him afterwards and couldn’t even come to dinner. Just go on the drive, apologize for being so mean and distant. What you do after is up to you.”
Dean took a deep breath, concentrated on the fresh smell of water and approaching spring. Tried to ignore the oncoming headache.
“Alright. But nothing’ll happen. Because I don’t…”
“Of course, Dean.”
They sat in silence for a while. Dean felt conflicted about all of it – but he knew he had to face it sometime. And Cas didn’t deserve how mean Dean was to him all the time. He had seen how much it hurt him and even though Dean could be really selfish from time to time, he didn’t want to hurt his family. That was the last thing he’d ever want.
Dean half dreaded turning back and half looked forward to it. Sure, he’d have to deal with all the aches and pains of his body again, but he’d be able to eat real food, cook family dinners and actually talk to his family. Maybe go on a hunt. Not be treated as a dog all the time.
But also, looking up at Miracle peacefully looking off over the lake, another thought occurred to him.
“Any wisdoms to impart on me before we turn back? Like the secret behind why dogs chose to stay with humans?”
“I’m not really a dog, so I can’t speak for them but I can tell you why we Cadejos do it, if you want.”
“Sure.”
Miracle looked back out over the lake and it occurred to Dean that he had never known where Miracle had come from and this was quite literally the only chance he’d ever get to find out.
“I was created roughly one hundred years ago. Usually, when one Cadejo dies, two new ones appear out of their dead skin. When we’re small, we don’t have all our powers and are basically nothing more than a young ordinary dog. It was… somewhere in Mexico. I remember being found by a human child. It fed me in secret, in an alley behind its house. And when I grew into my powers and gained knowledge on the world and others like me – I chose to guard that child’s life. It fulfills me to be needed.”
Miracle tilted his head, doglike. “Much like you, I guess. Everyone needs meaning in their life. Some Cadejo’s is it to protect and others to harm.”
“But you never had a dog mother?”
“Not in the human sense, no. I learned of our ways through myself and through a shared understanding in all of us.”
Dean hummed in understanding. It was strange to know he shared a home with three supernatural beings who – in one way or another – had different customs and powers that didn’t match a human’s. With experiences he could never wholly understand.
“You said you have powers like time-travel or body-swapping?” Dean only barely waited for Miracle to nod. “Doesn’t that mean that you have more? Like, can’t you talk to us when you’re a dog, too?”
“Humans can’t understand us.”
Dean frowned incredulously. “But I can? Right now?”
“That’s because I have your body and your speech organs. With that, I can use human language. But my usual language is much more like a dog’s and dogs aren’t capable of human speech. I would very much like to, believe me. You’re nice to talk to.”
Dean kept quiet, suddenly feeling awkward and self-conscious. He stretched out on the grass and laid his head on his paws.
“But you could talk to me through that potion. Or Jack can translate. And you know I always understand what you say.” Miracle offered.
“Yeah, I guess. Won’t be the same. But maybe it’s for the better. One less person to berate me. Sam’s already doing it enough.”
“But you’d be off way worse without him.”
Dean scoffed. “Obviously. Doesn’t make it less annoying though, no matter if he’s right or not to do it.” Then, he leveled a glare at Miracle, “Don’t you dare tell him that, I’ll never get out of his lectures otherwise.”
Miracle smirked in a weirdly content, happy way.
“I’m very happy I chose you, Dean. Means I won’t have to watch another human I care for die.”
The quiet, casual confidence in his voice surprised Dean. But he also carried sadness. A great hulking heap of it, almost fully unconcealed as if Miracle had never tried to hide it away from anyone.
It reminded Dean of all the times he failed people.
“The kid?” he asked lowly.
Miracle nodded. “It died at 16. In childbirth. It had a hard life. The only thing I could do was give it company while dying. I think it knew I’d protect its child.”
“And you did?”
“Of course. The child grew old. It went over the border before it died. After, I took no other human. Just you.”
Dean wanted to comfort Miracle but didn’t know how. He wasn’t good with words. And he knew all too well that grief could be eased with nothing, no consolation strong enough. Everything just poor fucking substitutes. The whole world could burn and you weren’t worse for it. Dean knew because he had lived it, once, twice, a thousand times. Too much. It was a part of him now, the one broken that couldn’t be fixed no matter how many times he saw Sam whole- Cas whole- Jack whole- because there were still people he’d never see whole again.
“Miracle” he said and felt it lacking. Miracle turned to look at him with dark sad eyes. He looked nothing like Dean now.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Dean said.
Miracle smiled. The pain was old enough for Dean to know it was well-worn. “Thank you.” And he pulled Dean into his arms how Dean had done with Miracle a thousand times, engulfing him and hugging him thight-tight-a bit too tight.
A beat, two, then he loosened his hold. It was very warm and Dean felt very small.
“You know what? It’s nice to be a human. Change perspective a little bit. And, you know, actually talk to Sam and you. Maybe it was as much needed for me to get a break as it was for you.”
Miracle lifted Dean up and set him down beside him like Dean was a little rabbit or something. It felt a bit dehumanizing but Dean didn’t want to disturb the atmosphere with complaining, so he didn’t.
Then, Miracle sighed.
“It’s getting late. We should really turn back soon. But, before I won’t be able to talk to you at all, I want you to know – you shouldn’t rein yourself in so tightly all the time, Dean. That’s partly why you’re so stressed. Just let others share your burdens. It is very impressive how you can shoulder it all on your own, but you don’t have to. Your family wants to help you with it. Me, too.”
Dean could only nod dumbly, completely caught off guard. He wanted to say something – maybe about how much Miracle had helped him in those years when Cas had been gone – but he couldn’t get the words out. Instead, he only thanked him, kinda shaken up and also kinda sentimental.
They looked back out over the lake again.
Turning back wasn’t at all as Dean would have guessed it to be. One second, he was looking up at Miracle from his comfortable perch on the grass, the next, he was sitting on a cold, wet bit of sand with his feet dipped into ice cold water. Reflexively, he flinched back, hissing at the cold.
It had felt like a blink, a bit too long, but a blink nevertheless. There, black, then here. His skin was smarting from the cold and when he looked back at Miracle, the little guy blinked at him lazily as if nothing had happened at all.
Looking at those innocent dog eyes, Dean suddenly wasn’t all that sure it had in the first place.
But he had fingers again; Dean took a second to flex his hand, watching as they complied to his every move, a bit in awe, even though he had had them all his life, with the small reprieve of a day and a half. And now that he thought about it, his body felt quite good like this. Tall, strong, familiar…
Suddenly overcome with a thought, he looked back to Miracle. Miracle, who yawned and pointedly placed his head on his paws. Son of a bitch. Miracle had performed a miracle and healed him. All of it. The stiff neck, the scar he’d gotten from that nail injury a few months back, the ache in his lungs and knees. He felt as fresh as he had after Cas had healed him properly the last time, years ago, when he had still been juiced up fully, where every heal hadn’t seemed to cost him physical pain. Dean could still remember the faint cool prickling sensation all throughout his body and…
Dean watched Miracle blink into the sun as it came through the trees and hit his face, sleepily, as if all the weight he’d carried as Dean had gone and left a dog behind that didn’t have to do more than sleep and play all day. And then, he thought about all that Miracle had told him, with his endless dog wisdom that The Colonel had also had, the clarity about anything related to humans, all ego and pseudo psychology removed in favor for pure, unadulterated opinion. And maybe, he was right. Maybe, Dean was too much of a prude, policing every touch, carefully dissecting every missing dude and pal. Maybe, it was alright to be petted as a dog and to miss it as a human. If he felt especially sure of himself, he could maybe work up to hugging Sam and Jack more often. And even though the thought scared him, he didn’t shove it away.
He shouldn’t have been that harsh with Miracle meddling with his life. Maybe, with his superior knowledge, it would turn out to do some good.
Dean shifted over a bit, disregarding the cold seeping in from the ground and carding his hand through Miracle’s fur, feeling the warmth of this little, smart dog beside him. Miracle settled his head on Dean’s thigh and closed his eyes, fully at peace.
Yeah. Maybe Dean could indeed learn a thing or two from him.
Starting with apologizing to Cas on that drive. And maybe – maybe reevaluating why his mind always shut down as soon as the thoughts about Cas got too threatening.