His Angel Watching Over Him (Supernatural AU)

Twenty Four

Dean had had to deal with a lot of mourners, but he'd never, ever had to deal with a mourning dog. Cecil was a three foot greyhound with tan fur, muddy eyes, and a rediculous attachment to his owner's dead body. 

Cecil belonged to a vampire.

"C'mon boy, step away from the corpse." John cooed, hands on his knees.

Dean sighed and straightened up from his own crouching position "I don't think it's gonna work." He admitted, "This thing's comitted, and vicious."

"Here puppy, puppy, puppy. C'mon ya mangy-"

"Dad." Dean interrupted, "We gotta just, shoot it, or something." 

John looked up at his son, surprised, Dean wasn't big on the whole killing animals thing, and it would usually be John's idea. He shrgged, "Sure, if you wanna." He nodded, "I'll go grab the gun."

Dean nodded, and John jogged back to the car, as soon as the man was out of sight, Castiel appeared.

"You cannot kill it." He protested. Dean jumped slightly at his angel's appearance, but covered it with a shrug. 

"Why not? It won't go away." 

Castiel squinted at Dean, his expression a mixture of annoyance and confusion, before he bent down, focused that expression on the dog, and barked. 

Dean watched in amazement as Cas and the dog had some kind of conversation, half barking, half growling. Cas, evidently, won, as the dog ran off, whimpering, tail between it's legs. 

Dean could hear his dad coming back, and he pulled his angel in for a quick kiss before the man got there, and Cas flew away.

"What happened?" John asked, when he noticed the dog's absence. 

"I growled at it a little, it ran off." Dean shrugged.

John shook his head, "Weird." He muttered.

"Me or the dog?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised, smirking.

John barked a laugh, a small smile on his lips, "You." He answered, "Now get that thing into the canal and let's be goin'."

Dean groaned, but helped his father lift the body and dump it into the canal, weighed down with rocks in its pockets and cement blocks tied around it's ankles. They poured gasoline over the wet blood and set it on fire, in the hopes that that would get rid of the evidence. And then they were off. 

"Fancy goin' out for a drink, son?" 

Dean almost winced, almost. "No, thanks, Dad." He replied, slightly too quickly. He glanced over to see John frown, looking almost hurt. It wasn't that Dean wouldn't love to have some quality time together, it was that John was a violent drunk, and Dean was usually the reciever of his violence. "But, uh, I think there's a match on tonight." He offered.

"Football?"

"Tennis."

John scoffed, "We ain't watchin' that pansy crap. That ain't no man's sport."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes, nothing was a man's sport, to his dad, 'cept football. "Alright, then I think I'm gonna just catch some shut eye." 

"Ya sure?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna get your own room?"

"Yup."

And that was the end of that. John turned the radio up to full, and 'Enter Sandman' filled the car. All that could be heard for the rest of the journey was the sound of classic rock, and two men singing along, out of tune but uncaring.