Interfectangelissamito paced the perimeter of the torture room, the scent of sulfur and rotting souls filling his nose. While he didn't mind either, he did miss fresh air and the hot spark of life in a prey animal. Feeling that power leak from the neck of dying prey was a great pleasure, but he rarely indulged. Instead he was trapped into following this fool who would call himself the king of hell. Interfectangelissamito remembered the real king--the Shining One--from when he'd been on earth and then first locked into a cage built by his brothers. Interfectangelissamito's own father had fought for the Shining One, and had sired cubs strong enough to defend the right of his people to walk the earth, even against the wishes of the angels who had turned against the Shining One.

Interfectangelissamito often wondered if his sire realized the price that would be paid. Not only were his cubs--including Interfectangelissamito--unable to hold off the host of heaven, but the hounds born of that era were too strong. They were magical creatures, but in taking the form of a beast, they were unable to breed with demons or even each other. They were hellhounds, locked into a form too terrible for mates. And yet they could not breed with animals without their cubs losing all intelligence and becoming truly dumb beasts. Interfectangelissamito had watched those he sired turned into mindless fodder for the demons as they battled each other, and he had vowed to forgo children until he could do better by them.

He would sometimes see some of his siring running through hell--soulless predators controlled only by the strength of their demon masters and trained the way one might any animal. If he had the capacity, he would weep. The agiel, as his people had once been called before giving up their form in order to gain the advantages of claw and tooth, had wanted freedom. They wished for the right to choose their own prey and walk upon the earth. Angels had perversely defended the weak and fought to maintain the world as a pristine garden in which there was no birth, no growth, no pain, but yet no joy. They were the true abominations.

And his people had hunted them. His own name meant Great Feared Killer of Angels. After his sire had fallen to Michael, Interfectangelissamito had become the leader of his siblings--a great army of hell hounds bent on driving angels back to their own worthless realm.

They had failed.

Now, there were only four of them left, four hellhounds who still had the sentience of their father. Most demons, including the fool he followed, had long since forgotten when hellhounds were known as agiel and respected for their hunting acumen and intelligence. These days the Fool King kept Interfectangelissamito only as a sort of trophy. At least the Shining One had respected the great hounds.

"Don't make that face. This is for your own good, you know," the Fool King told the other.

"Bite Me."

Interfectangelissamito decided to call him Angry One. There were many Angry Ones in hell, but this one smelled of a rare sort of fury. This one felt the wrongs done to others. In that way, he reminded Interfectangelissamito of Cain--Teacher of the Knights of Anger.

"That's the way to keep your spirits up. You're going to need it," the Fool King said. Perimeter fully secured, Interfectangelissamito turned to watch the drama. The Fool King leaned over the Angry One, running a finger down his bound and naked body. Without alteration body would not last long in hell. Even now it began to smell of rot. Interfectangelissamito sneezed.

"What was that?" the Angry One demanded.

"That? That's my surprise." The Fool King sounded very proud of himself.

Interfectangelissamito decided that it was time to make his appearance. He shook, and his invisibility fell from him like drops of rain. From the Angry One's reaction, he was impressed. He should be. Interfectangelissamito was two hundred pounds of claw and fang and black fur that curled slightly. He was the embodiment of strength and his wide chest and heavily muscled form proved it.

"Oh fuck," the Angry One breathed, terror in his scent.

"Exactly my point," The Fool King said. He turned to a spell maker who had just come into the chamber. "About time. Get on with it."

"This is a difficult procedure," the new one said in a simpering voice. He was afraid of failure. Interfectangelissamito suspected that his sire had chosen poorly when he had made demons his allies. Failure was proof that one had tried to reach more. Only angels sought a world without failure for it would be a world with only safe paths. Of course the Fool King did tend to dispatch to Purgatory those who did fail, even if their failure was admirable, so the fear was not unjustified. The simpering was.

The Angry One smelt of terror now, but it was a sharp and biting fear that would lead him to lash out and kill were he not strapped down to a rack. That was a healthy reaction. "Procedure? What procedure are you talking about?" he demanded.

Ignoring him, the spell maker stood off to the side preparing his potions and incantations. Interfectangelissamito watched closely. After all, this spell would affect him as much as it would the Angry One, although from the way the Fool King had spoken of it, Interfectangelissamito suspected that no one had thought through the consequences of what they had planned.

"Oh no," the Angry One said. "No. Just no."

"This isn't an after school special. 'Just say no,' doesn't apply. Besides, you'll like being a bitch. I suspect you've been projecting all these years, calling Moose and everyone else within earshot a bitch."

"Fuck. This is too much, even for you Crowley."

"No it's not. I'm enjoying this," the Fool King said quite honestly.

The spell caster touched him with a strap, and the Angry One went wild, bucking and flailing in his bonds. Muscle stretched and ligaments strained, but he could no more escape than Interfectangelissamito could stand on his back legs and shake off the basic form his father had chosen for him. Flesh had to yield to reality.

"You're just making this harder on yourself."

"Fuck you!" the Angry One screamed.

Interfectangelissamito disliked this. If the spell worked and the Angry One was to be his bitch, then he should be respected as the bearer of young. No one disrespected a bitch--the female who guarded you when you slept and took your knot and carried your pups should be honored and protected. Of course Interfectangelissamito would never tell a bitch that she was to be protected because bitches were fierce creatures, quick to rip apart any who would threaten their young. Sometimes bitches would even turn on those who sired their pups. They were beautiful and dangerous.

Interfectangelissamito doubted that the Angry One could make such a transition, but the spell maker had strapped leather around his body. Each strap had symbols and markings to show where long needles must be inserted in order to make the Angry One change.

"I could get Moose down here," the Fool King suggested.

The Angry One stilled immediately. "Leave him the fuck alone."

"Look at you, all puffed up with manly anger. Good for you."

"Seriously, I will cut your fucking head off if you even..." The Angry One glanced down at Interfectangelissamito.

"If I strap him down and let a hell hound fuck him?" The Fool King asked. The Angry One felt a wave of horror so sharp that Interfectangelissamito felt like sneezing again just to get the smell of it out of his nose. "I got you a present." The Fool King held up a piece of rubber that looked like a ridiculous cartoon of a dog's nose and muzzle. "It comes with its own gag, so open up and let's get you all ready for your big debut. I bet you never did have prom or any of those other human rituals, did you? Well, Crowley is here to make it all better."

Angry One was cold now. The hatred permeated the air around him. "You're dead."

Interfectangelissamito didn't care about this human, but if the Angry One became his bitch, he would have to punish the others for treating him this way. Despite the Angry One's attempts to fight, the Fool King soon had the contraption around his head. It marred the line of his face and made his screams sound like muffled echoes of themselves.

When the spell caster began to drive long needles into the Angry One's body, the screaming drove Interfectangelissamito from the room. The torture of souls never bothered him, but to have the others suggest that the Angry One was his and then to hurt him made Interfectangelissamito's soul ache. The humans might argue that monsters didn't have souls, but if that were the case, he would not be feeling such discomfort with the torture of the Angry One. Besides, if there was no soul, what was condemned to Purgatory at the time of a creature's death?

Making himself grow larger and longer of limb, Interfectangelissamito began loping through the lower realms where reality was formed by the fears of humans and demons. He ran as he thought about having pups not corrupt with the thoughts of beast. However, it would also require that he participate in the torture of his future bitch. He had few illusions about how that would end.

If the conversion didn't work, he had little to fear from a human, even one that smelled of anger and angels and Cain as this one did. However, if he did become a bitch, he would be far more dangerous. Interfectangelissamito might be trading his own life for the lives of the one litter he could plant. A thousand years ago he never would have considered such a trade. Now, he had to.

If he seeded one good litter, he could give his offspring a better form, one that allowed them to breed with others without ripping them apart. He could give them a new purpose. He would not ally his pups with demons, for one. They were as hidebound and pathetic as angels, although it had taken Interfectangelissamito far too long to realize it.

He heard the distant call of the Fool King, and Interfectangelissamito resisted at first. He was not a leashed beast. He did not suffer a hand on his collar as his children did.

However, in the end, he turned his steps back toward the torture chamber where they held the Angry One. He would take this chance, and if the Angry One became his bitch, he would have to figure out a way to apologize later.

"There you are," the Fool King snapped as Interfectangelissamito came into the room. "Stupid hound. Well, Dean, your prince has arrived to take you to the ball. Are you ready for him?"

The form draped over the rack smelled of pain and exhaustion. The metal supports had been moved so that he was bent over at the waist, his legs held wide. From every angle, needles stuck out of his body, each with a tiny slip of paper with a spell symbol. Some still glowed, and now Interfectangelissamito could smell the faint traces of bitch. The strength was buried under layers of pain and fear and raw, brutal hate, but it was there. The Angry One smelled of possibilities of blood and birth and judgment.

He could feel his cock harden as he stepped into the room.

"Look at that. The beast knows what you are, Dean. A bitch. A bitch who needs taking."

Interfectangelissamito had no such thought. The Angry One might have the first traces of heat smell, but he would never knot the other if it weren't for the spell. Interfectangelissamito knew enough of spells to know that seed was the strongest ingredient of any transformation. Without seed, the Angry One was unlikely to fully transform, and then his suffering would serve no end.

Well, it would have amused the Fool King, but Interfectangelissamito did not care much about that.

So Interfectangelissamito made his hard cock emerge from its sheath with thoughts of his bitch strong and tall, defending their pups, and possibly eviscerating him. After all, bitches did have their own logic, and Interfectangelissamito knew he was in danger of being seen as an enemy to this one.

He reared up and put his front paws on the rack as he sent thoughts of comfort and strength to the Angry One. There was a moment of absolute stillness and then the Angry One clearly received the message because he sent back thoughts of disgust and rot and decay.

Interfectangelissamito accepted the condemnation of the would-be bitch. He could feel that way if he wished, and Interfectangelissamito would not dispute his right. However, Interfectangelissamito continued to push forward his own thoughts. Strength, warmth, ferocity. The Angry One would survive. He would grow strong and eat the heart of his enemy.

There was a gagging sob when the Angry One received that image, and Interfectangelissamito pushed the head of his cock into the slicked hole that was waiting for him. The Angry One screamed into the gag, but Interfectangelissamito only waited while muscles adjusted. He could help his bitch some, and he shifted bulk away from his cock until it was only twelve or thirteen inches long. A human could handle that.

Of course, that didn't account for his knot which was still bigger than a man's fist, but the spell was made to force the Angry One's body to accommodate him. It would have to make alterations to allow the mating, too.

"What a pretty bitch," the Fool King said. He reached out to touch the Angry One's shoulder, and Interfectangelissamito growled and snapped his teeth. Below him, he could feel the Angry One's amusement as the Fool King jerked back.

"I guess he doesn't share his bitches."

Interfectangelissamito confirmed that by sinking in another inch. The Angry One groaned, and it took millennia of control to avoid driving his cock in the rest of the way. Interfectangelissamito had a delicate dance here--participating in the spell without destroying any chance he had to placate the bitch. He pushed out more thoughts of protection and hopes for a future with a powerful human bitch at his side.

The second he sent thoughts of protection, the Angry One reacted as most bitches did--with a sound refusal. Unless they were heavy with pups to the point of near immobility, bitches were so very touchy about the subject. Instead Interfectangelissamito took an image from his bitch's mind and sent out a promise--of them hunting together. The bitch could walk upright and Interfectangelissamito would stalk the prey at his side. They could both walk away from hell and the service of demons.

Again there was a moment of utter stillness, and then Interfectangelissamito could feel the shifting of the magic as it sank into the Angry One, as if the magic had been held off until that moment.

Interfectangelissamito sank into his bitch's body all the way up to the knot, finding little resistance as flesh began to yield. He held himself there, feeling the breeding heat and lust start to take root in the Angry One. It was like the smallest seed first pushing through damp earth toward the sun, but Interfectangelissamito could smell it.

He pulled out and then pushed in again, small motions to nurse the small need growing in his bitch. He would make her happy, and then she would forgive him. He would forgive him. Gender was going to be confusing because Interfectangelissamito could smell the heavy male musk and the sharp female tang. Both grew stronger as Interfectangelissamito moved a little more, pulling halfway out before pushing back in.

Soon Interfectangelissamito could smell the heady scent of female slick every time he pulled back, but he could also catch whiffs of male seed leaking from his bitch's cock. Both grew more and more intense as his bitch pushed back toward him.

Taking that as an invitation, Interfectangelissamito pressed his knot up against his bitch's opening. The Angry One screamed, but there was also a raw need under the pain. The magic wound around them, tying the Angry One to a need for pups, and only the knot would ever fill him with what he needed.

Interfectangelissamito pressed harder, forcing the large knot into the Angry One's ready body. The second it breached the muscle, Interfectangelissamito could feel his knot engorge and pull tight until their bodies were locked together.

The magic user tried to come closer, and Interfectangelissamito snapped at the man. The smell of fresh blood blossomed in the air, and Interfectangelissamito proudly sent out an image of him defending his claim, teeth slashing at the enemies of his bitch.

The Angry One pushed back another image, one of a cat bringing home a dead mouse, and the human scolding it angrily.

Interfectangelissamito countered with an image of dragging home a shapeshifter and offering its dead body.

The Angry One sent an image of having to get on hands and knees to scrub the floor clean of blood.

Interfectangelissamito added to that image the thought of Interfectangelissamito and his huge cock coming up behind him and thrusting into him until they both spilled their seed--Interfectangelissamito spilling into his bitch and his bitch onto the floor.

After that, the Angry One was quiet, but he did come halfway through the knotting, a thick spurt of seed shooting out onto the ground. The Fool King took pleasure in verbally harassing the Angry One, but Interfectangelissamito's bitch was so tired that he could not even hear the insults, much less respond. He hung on the rack, trapped by straps and needles and the knot in his ass and he seemed to sink into a place where none of it touched him.

Interfectangelissamito wanted his bitch's attention and he pulled at the knot. While the Angry One gave a pained whine underlaid with a deeper note of want-more-full, he didn't fully wake, not even when the coupling ended and Interfectangelissamito pulled his knot free.

Dean lay on the stone floor and ached. He ached most of the time now. Raising a tightly bound hand, he rubbed at the mask on his face without being able to remove it. As indignities went, it couldn't really match Crowley's other torture. Yes, it kept him from eating, but time functioned differently in hell, and so far other pains bothered him far more than hunger.

The heavy door slid open with the screeching of heavy iron against rock. Dean pushed himself up so that he could sit back against the wall. He wasn't surprised when Crowley walked in.

"You look so happy to see me," Crowley said with a huge smile. Dean suspected that the mask had some silly smile painted on it, but he didn't exactly have a mirror down here. "You'll be happy to know that your brother has stopped looking for you. I can't decide if Moose is relieved he doesn't have someone dragging him off on some quest or just confused." Crowley shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter. You aren't going to go running to him, are you?"

Dean wasn't. He'd walked into Crowley’s trap hoping for information and a deal, but at this point he had done the best he could for his brother and Kevin Tran by drawing the danger away. Besides, Dean wasn't sure how Sammy would handle knowing that his brother rolled over for a hell hound. Of course Fluffy seemed to have a lot more sentience than Dean had been led to believe, but he was still a big damn dog with a big dog cock. And wasn't that the perfect metaphor for his life?

"So, are you with pups yet? If you're preggers, it would explain why your stud is in such a bad mood lately. I had to wait until he was out just to come see my favorite Winchester... or my second favorite Winchester, anyway. Maybe third. Your father was quite hell-raiser."

Dean sighed through his nose.

"You were more fun when you could talk back." Crowley walked in the room and started to pace a half-circle. Dean tensed up, but he couldn't do anything to protect himself. "Cute nipples."

Dean fought an urge to cover his chest. Yes, he'd grown four new nipples, but that was the least of the physical changes. Dean could feel the heat that gripped him whenever Fluffy hadn't taken him recently. The very fact that he needed a dog's cock trumped a couple of extra tits. Of course, he was never again going to be taking off his shirt at the pool, but he wasn't sure he was going to survive long enough for that to be an issue.

He wondered what would happen to his soul if his body died here. He suspected that it would be easy enough for Crowley to keep him forever. Crowley started to say something else, but he was interrupted by a low growling that made the hair on Dean's spine stand up. Fluffy was home.

Dean was greeted by the traditional complaint about the name. He got a mental admonition in the form of an image of Fluffy huge and threatening with blood dripping off his teeth. Dean sent back an image of Fluffy as a puppy with big eyes and curly black hair that got all fuzzy in places. Fluffy sent back a sense of resignation not attached to any image.

"There you are. I’m starting to think you’re getting obsessed with your new toy.” Crowley took one step toward Fluffy, and the hound grew larger, his teeth showing as he growled.

“I swear, you’re asking to get turned into a throw rug,” Crowley threatened. Dean blinked as Fluffy sent an image of Crowley as a newly dead soul in hell, begging for mercy as he hung from the rack. Clearly Fluffy didn’t feel too intimidated.

“Love, your puppy is starting to get on my nerves. Maybe I should get you another stud to fill that hole.”

Dean jerked back so fast he clunked his own head against the wall, but in his defense, he had been unprepared for the utter outrage flowing out of Fluffy. Dean was buried in images of Fluffy ripping through all the demons of hell and every hell hound in creation. Fury. Protection. His, his, his. The images assaulted Dean in a way that none of Fluffy’s other thoughts ever had. By the time he had pushed aside Fluffy’s thoughts well enough to focus on reality, he could see Crowley dangling from Fluffy’s jaws, blood leaking as Fluffy’s teeth slowly sank into the skin of Crowley’s neck.

Dean sent out an image of Fluffy killing Crowley followed quickly by their realization that the doors to hell wouldn’t open without him. Dean slowly faded away, leaving Fluffy alone again. Fluffy whined and sent back an image of him ripping through the main gates and out into the world. Dean figured it was more likely that they’d both die in the effort, not that he wouldn’t be willing to try.

At that thought, Fluffy opened his jaws, and Crowley fell to the ground.

“What the bloody fuck is wrong with this hell hound?” Crowley yelled. He snapped his fingers and a muzzle appeared around Fluffy’s head. Fluffy gave a muffled roar and blasted out an image of chewing on Crowley’s bones. However, Dean was the only one getting the message.

Pushing himself up, Dean walked to Fluffy’s side and rested a fist on his back before looking Crowley in the eye and tapping his other bound fist against the gag in his mouth.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “What? You think you know what’s wrong with the beast?”

Dean tapped his gag again, and Crowley rolled his eyes. “Right, fine. One word I don’t like, and I’m putting it back on, Fido.” He snapped his fingers, and Dean took a deep breath through is mouth as the mask and gag vanished. “Right then, you’d better talk, or I’m going to neuter your mutt and throw you to the rest of the pack.”

Dean was hit by another wave of hate-kill-protect-eviscerate from Fluffy. Fluffy had a very definite sense of how the world worked. Dean was his bitch, his “Right” which was the name he had settled on after he’d finally stopped calling Dean “Angry One.” Apparently Fluffy thought that being Right made Dean powerful and dangerous and beautiful, and the idea of his Right being fucked by others was turning Fluffy into a ball of feral, bloodthirsty hellhound.

“Dude, knock it off,” Dean said. Crowley’s face twisted with cold fury and he raised his hand to snap his fingers and probably tear Dean’s spine out or something. “Not you, the dog,” Dean said. “The dog is sending images.”

Crowley let his arm drop. “Oh. Didn’t expect that. So does that mean you know why he’s been ripping around hell like a bad-tempered storm?”

Fluffy sent so many images that Dean couldn’t sort them at first, and most of them had to do with ripping Crowley limb from limb. “He’s not a fan of yours right now. I can’t say I blame him.”

Crowley shrugged and gave Dean a long and lewd look. “It’s a good look on you, being a bitch. You take the knot well. It makes me feel all warm watching how well my matchmaking skills are working, and I do watch.”

“I never doubted it,” Dean said. He had a feeling that Crowley had every rape on DVD. Fluffy sent a protest that only the first few times were rape. Dean quickly sent back a general feeling of not-dealing-with-that-now. Liking having a dog dick shoved up his ass was not on the agenda for today. However, something nearly as embarrassing was. “Dog doesn’t like that I’m too weak.”

Unsurprisingly, Crowley looked suspicious. “Really? So what? I should give you an angel sword and let you have some fun?”

Dean really did not want to say this next bit. “Dog wants me to eat and drink more. He can’t get his seed to take and it’s frustrating him.” Dean barely got the words out, but Fluffy sent comforting images of warmth-family-strong.

“Really? The hell hound wants his pups in you? I knew the spell could theoretically change you enough for that, but I didn’t expect it to work this well or this quickly.”

Clenching his teeth, Dean refused to answer. Crowley’s glee was too much shit on top of the shit sundae, and Dean couldn’t deal. Fluffy just intensified the feeling of warmth-family-strong until Dean shot back an image of stabbing him with an angel blade. Then Fluffy got the message and settled down with a whine.

“Seriously, that’s it? So, I feed and water you up like a good little bitch, let him shove you full of cock until you get preggers with a bunch of little hell hounds and then he’ll be in a good mood again?”

There were so many things Dean wanted to say, but he didn’t want the gag to come back, so he settled for, “Pretty much.”

Crowley brushed off his suit. “Easy,” he said. He clapped his hands and a table appeared with food and jugs of water. There was even a large pillow in the middle of the room. It took Dean a half second to realize it was a dog bed. “Right then, you two have fun, and make it good for the cameras. Cum shots play particularly well with the audience,” he said with a smirk.

Dean almost let out the insult that was tickling the inside of his teeth, but he bit it back. “The dog’s muzzle?” Dean asked.

Crowley stopped near the open door. Fluffy seemed perfect capable of moving through objects in hell, including walls and doors, but Crowley needed to open them, just like Dean would if he planned to ever escape. “Make sure he plays nice or I’ll have to take his favorite toy away,” Crowley warned before he snapped his fingers to take it away. Dean was almost sure that Fluffy understood every word without any help, but he nodded anyway.

After the door closed behind Crowley, Fluffy pressed against Dean’s side, herding him toward the table. If Dean didn’t eat, he’d get steadily weaker. The spell to change him had put more strain on the body than he wanted to admit, but every muscle felt weak, and he often felt like his insides were sliding around. He was pretty sure that women would have mentioned that if it were normal, so it was either a hell hound thing or something was wrong with his new parts. Fluffy sent an image of healing skin.

“You hope,” Dean said.

Fluffy projected the idea of Dean eating and growing strong.

Dean took the mental image and manipulated it to show his belly growing. He wasn’t really comfortable with the idea, but as bad as he sometimes begged for something to fill his hole and as much as Fluffy wanted pups, he suspected it wouldn’t take long for one of them to weaken and start another round of unprotected sex. Dean froze as Fluffy showed Dean’s stomach distending more and more until Dean sank to the floor, his hands around his grotesque belly.

“Oh fuck no.”

Fluffy added himself standing guard, bringing back food.

“I don’t care if you give me fucking massages every day.”

Fluffy added the image of cute little puppies, their warm bellies pressed up against Dean.

“Sometimes cute just isn’t enough.”

Dean closed his eyes as Fluffy rather coldly pointed out that Dean could have that future or he could die and leave his soul to Crowley.

“And people say I’m the bitch in this relationship,” Dean complained, but he did go to the table and start gnawing on a piece of deep-dish pizza, hating the fact that he couldn’t use his hands. Half way through the fried chicken, Dean felt the tongue slid up his naked thigh. “Doggie want some chicken?” Dean asked half-heartedly.

Fluffy gave him a weary look and stuck his nose between Dean’s butt cheeks.

“You don’t want to start this again. I just ate. I could get sick.”

When Fluffy licked across the hole, Dean could feel the heat start to gather. Need—raw, brutal need—washed through him until he leaned against the edge of the table. “God, yes,” he whispered. Shit. Crowley had that on film. It was bad enough he had Dean writhing like a bitch in heat, but Dean didn’t have to add to the sound track. Fluffy licked again, and Dean groaned.

Bed—now, came the image from Fluffy. Dean took a step in that direction, and then stumbled. With his fingers tightly bound together, he couldn’t grab Fluffy to catch himself, but the beast moved so fast that Dean ended up falling on him instead of on the floor. Fluffy gave a huff of approval. He wanted Dean to need him.

“Trust me, not a problem,” Dean said as he felt the fluid start to leak from his hole. He was nearly the mindless pleading portion of the night if Fluffy didn’t hurry.

And that brought a mental promise to fuck him hard and fast.

“Like you do it any other way.”

The image this time was of a tongue slowly licking him, Fluffy’s body holding him down for hours as he smelled and tasted every bit of Dean. The spell that had changed Dean was terrifyingly effective because the lust made the leaking fluid start to run down his thighs, one lazy drop at a time. “Fine. You can do other ways, but not now.” Dean almost begged for a fast fucking, but the thought of Crowley watching stopped him. He wouldn’t give the bastard the pleasure. Now if they were alone… Dean would completely beg.

Fluffy licked one rounded ass cheek and silently promised that they would be. Eventually they would both get out of hell. Fluffy could leave any time. He was the largest hell hound Dean had ever heard of, and old enough to remember Lucifer when he’d been an angel. Hell wouldn’t hold him, but still, Dean could feel the frustration because Fluffy felt trapped as long as Dean was in this warded room. He wouldn’t leave.

Dean lay down on his stomach and spread his legs out. Fluffy gave him a good sniffing, and Dean pressed his forehead to the pillow and prayed that the damn dog didn’t make him beg. Because he would. He was wet with need, and he would totally beg for it.

Fluffy quickly moved to cover him, pressing Dean into the pillow and holding him immobile. The first nudge at Dean’s hole made Dean arch his back and try to open up more in invitation. Fluffy slid in quickly, and Dean moaned as his muscles stretched. It felt so good. His own cock started to harden, and now as Fluffy slid in and out, Dean could feel flares of something like tiny orgasms start in his hole. It felt so good, so full, but Dean wanted more.

He pushed his toes against the stone and tried to push up. Fluffy got his teeth around Dean’s neck and held him. It wasn’t a threatening move, just a warning to stay still. Sometimes Dean even got the feeling that Fluffy was concerned about Dean being dangerous, which would be amusing if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Even with the entire arsenal from the trunk of the Impala, Dean doubted he’d be a threat to someone as old and powerful as Fluffy.

Dean received a familiar image of Fluffy standing over a dead angel with the scorch marks of the wings spread wide. He was pretty sure that Fluffy was trying to say that his name was Angel-killer, but Fluffy worked better.

Dean got a small growl as an answer, but Dean just sent the strongest mental image he could of Fluffy finally getting his damn knot inside Dean’s wet hole.

Fluffy growled lower and pressed his knot up against the base of Dean’s hole. Dean tried to breathe slowly and relax as the flesh pressed into him, stretching him wide. It hurt. There was no other way to describe it. But the pain didn’t stop him from wanting more. It did, however, make him go very still as Fluffy pushed all the way inside.

Only after thick of it passed the ring of muscle did Dean tighten. Immediately Fluffy started to grow thicker. Dean tried to tighten his hole again, but already the huge knot was pressing against the muscle. Dean came, his cum soaking into the pillow below him as he groaned, and Fluffy gave one more hard shove into Dean’s body, and then Dean could feel it. He could feel the warm seed flood him. Fluffy’s seed always brought a warmth and a power to Dean. Fluffy had sent images of power transferring, of the seed strengthening Dean and his future pups. Either Fluffy understood the magic that had been used to change Dean or Dean was having some pretty vivid hallucinations about what his dog was thinking.

Not-Dog, came the strong response.

And yet Fluffy’s knot was now pressing against Dean’s ass, spreading him so wide that Dean was shocked he didn’t rip. Without the spell he would have. With the alterations, there was nothing that could make him feel as good as Fluffy’s knot.

Dean had come, so he relaxed and let the pleasure in his hole fill him with a different sort of orgasm, one that built more slowly and then swallowed him whole instead of the normal tidal wave of male orgasm followed by sleep. Fluffy made tiny movements, and each time, Dean’s ass was tugged along.

Fluffy started licking the back of Dean’s neck and then along the sides. He liked doing that, and as unhygienic as it seemed to Dean, there wasn’t much else to do when they were tied together.

When Dean idly wondered why he did it, Fluffy sent back an image. Bitches were dangerous and beautiful and sometimes you had to grab them by the neck if you wanted to avoid having them turn around and gut you. So Fluffy wanted Dean’s neck to be tough enough to withstand the back-of-the-neck bite Fluffy might use to immobilize his bitch.

Every time Fluffy thought of having a bitch, of driving his knot into a hole, Dean could feel the wave of admiration, of fear and awe. Bitches were wondrous and powerful creatures, and Fluffy felt pride at keeping his bitch happy. And Fluffy understood he was a Winchester, a killer of demons and creatures, and that only made Fluffy more proud. He sent images of Dean with a knife, teaching their pups.

Dean groaned. This was not the family he’d always wanted—not that he’d given much thought to family outside of Sam and their dad. He hadn’t had room in his life for more, and now he definitely wasn’t having human kids, assuming he even could. Fluffy didn’t seem to have the same furious response to the idea of Dean having sex with a woman, but Dean doubted that he’d find a woman who wanted him, six tits and all. At least dog tits were nice and flat. If Crowley had given him some sort of six pack boobs, Dean definitely would have killed him.

Metal screeched over stone, and Dean sighed. Of course Crowley would choose now to come and talk to him.

“You look like you’re having fun down there.” Dean would have flipped him off except his hands were wrapped up like little balls. “So, what are the odds you’re getting pregnant with his pups, do you think?” Crowley started pacing in a circle around them.

In response, Fluffy started a low growling that vibrated against Dean’s back and hole. He shivered at the feeling. Even Crowley couldn’t take away the pure pleasure that skittered across his skin. Fluffy twitched, his knot pulling at Dean’s ring, and those shivers became full out waves of pleasure that made him shudder and writhe. Of course with every movement, the knot pulled tighter, and more intense waves crashed over him. Over and over he sank under the sensuality, before fighting back to some coherence for the briefest of times only to sink again. The orgasms rolled through him, and Fluffy licked his neck approvingly.

Dean ended up panting and worn, Fluffy’s weight still pinning him down and his ass still spread wide by that knot. Fluffy had some serious endurance.

“You’re good at being a bitch, aren’t you?” Crowley asked.

“What do you want? How would I know if this is the time I’m getting pregnant?” Dean might not know, but Fluffy had his opinion. He sent the image of two small pups tucked up next to Dean’s spine. Dean wondered if that meant no more heat and no more knotting. He was vaguely disappointed. However, Fluffy sent back the image of him knotting Dean over and over, his seed strengthening his bitch and his pups.

“The hell hound talks to you.”

“He sends images. Is this something we have to discuss right now?”

“What? You have somewhere to go?” Crowley asked. Out of nowhere a chair appeared and he straddled it and leaned against the back. Dean had to wonder what he had in his head to worry so much about Naomi that he would come and ask Crowley for help. Of course, if Castiel hadn’t vanished, Dean could have gone to him, but that was angels for you.

Fluffy added his agreement. Nothing good came of angels. Fluffy then added a new image—demons coming from Lucifer’s plantings, and demons as the children of angels, just as pathetic and annoying as their progenitors. Dean agreed with that too.

“No, I suppose not,” Dean finally admitted. He shifted his leg and Fluffy closed his teeth around Dean’s neck, warning him to curb his bitch’s strength until they were both strong enough to fight.

“Dean Winchester, a fuck toy for a hell hound. Wouldn’t your father be proud?”

Fluffy tightened his jaw, and Dean kept his lips pressed tightly together. Fluffy was right; this was not the time to fight.

Crowley waited for a time before moving on. “That hell hound currently buried in your ass is old. How much of what he’s thinking do you get?”

Dean tried to shrug, but Fluffy’s weight made that impossible. “A lot of pornographic images of how much he plans to knot me over and over, and a few images of me so pregnant I can’t even stand up.” It was an honest answer, although it left out most of the truth. Fluffy talked a lot—about escaping hell with Dean, about killing Crowley. Dean wasn’t sure, but he was almost positive that Fluffy’s name for Crowley was King Idiot. It fit.

“So, he does think you’re going to have pups?”

“Are you taking the word of a dog?”

Crowley looked at Dean. “You never have been all that bright. That dog that’s turned you into his bitch is a demonic power. You’re going to mother me an army of hell hounds. You know, I may even buy you a nice dog collar and doggy bowl,” Crowley said with a smirk. Dean really would have said something, only Fluffy tightened his hold until one tooth broke skin and a thin line of blood ran warm across Dean’s neck. Immediately Fluffy let go and lapped up the blood, apologies staining his thoughts.

“Well, I can see you’re well in hand. I’ll leave my good little breeding bitch in the very able hands of her stud. Maybe I’ll track down Moose and tell him I heard you’d moved to Alaska to work on the pipeline. I mean, I doubt he’d go running up there, but he is so very fun to screw with. Be a good little bitch and I’ll bring you home a nice bone.”

Crowley stood and snapped his fingers. The chair vanished. So did the walls and floor. In the place of the empty torture chamber was a standard dog grooming facility. The beds—including the one Dean was currently pinned in—were in oversized cages around a central area with a dog bath and two grooming stands with a place to tie a dog’s leash. “You’ll probably be more comfortable here,” he said, and with one last smirk, the musak started to drift out of the walls.

“Fuck no. That’s torture, Crowley! You can’t do this to me!”

“I own you, love. I can do anything I want. Be a good bitch, and I’ll teach you a trick or two, like how to make your king and master happy enough to let you out of there,” Crowley said, and then the door to the cage fell shut. Shit. The bars might not stop Fluffy, but it meant that Dean couldn’t even stand up.

Fluffy sent reassurances. He would bring food. He would defend the home.

Dean narrowed his eyes, and before he could even get together a thought, Fluffy sent a weary sort of resignation. All bitches were the same—they wouldn’t let a stud properly defend them without wanting to get out there with a weapon themselves.

Dean tried to twist around, to demand that Fluffy explain what that meant, but turning pulled the knot and Fluffy’s cock hardened, pulling their bodies together more closely. The waves of pleasure hit Dean again, and he flopped down as the carnal pleasure—the rich depth of pleasure—swallowed him whole and left him twitching and wriggling.

Sam moved carefully along the wall, pausing when cold stone dripping with condensation turned into painted white cinderblock. Hell could look like anything, but Sam wasn’t sure why someone would make it look like cinderblock. But Castiel said that Dean was in this part of hell, and Sam was determined to find him... and then kill him. The idiot was always running off sacrificing himself and taking all the big risks, as if his life was so much less important. It was just like with the demon trials. He'd been so determined to do them himself, and now... now the whole trials were a lost cause.

Idiot.

No wonder Sam sometimes needed a little space. It was hard living up to the great and mighty Dean Winchester who never hesitated. When Sam wanted to have a life and go to college, Dean kept fighting the monsters. When Sam wanted a normal relationship, even if it was with the demon Ruby, Dean denied himself any sort of companionship. Dean had sex, hell, he had a lot of sex, but he never let it compromise his judgment, and he expected Sam to be just as devoted to the cause. The cause above all. Yeah, Sam knew that he could be selfish, but wasn’t that normal? Didn’t everyone get selfish? But no, not Dean.

No, Dean had to be the one to martyr himself over and over.

So this time Sam was getting him out of hell and then either pounding it into the idiot’s head that Dean’s life was just as valuable as anyone else’s or he was going to walk away for good. And he meant it this time. Yeah, he’d told himself that before only to get pulled back by the guilt, but if Dean wanted to save the world by himself, that was his choice. Sam didn’t need to have a front fucking seat to his own brother’s self-destructive streak. Moron.

Sam stopped at a very normal-looking door labeled “Crowley’s Bitch Breeding and Grooming Service” in black letters on an opaque glass insert, like for a business. This was officially the strangest bit of hell Sam had ever seen, and it totally made a strange sort of sense Dean would be in the middle of the weird.

Gripping his knife, Sam pushed the door open only to find himself standing in the middle of a dog grooming parlor.

“Sammy?”

Sam spun around and spotted Dean in one of the lower cages. “Dean?” Sam hurried over while still keeping an eye on the room.

“Sam, what are you doing here?”

“Getting your sorry ass out. What kind of moron goes to the king of hell for help?”

“Oh, right. Like you’ve never tried pretty much that exact same trick,” Dean complained.

“I never got locked in…” Sam stopped. He really wasn’t going to bring up cages, because as far as that went, Dean’s was nicer than Sam’s had been. Instead he finished with, “You should have told me where you were going.”

Dean gave a rough laugh. “Bitchface number three. You’re pissed. I get it. Now get me the hell out of his cage.”

Sam expected Dean to be traumatized or near death. He expected to find Dean hanging from chains with strips of skin missing. He'd braced himself for fire and the smell of burning flesh. He'd pretty much prepared himself for anything, but this... this felt like rescuing Dean from one more would-be kidnapper. The cage wasn't warded or locked or anything. Sam unlatched it as easy as any dog pen. Dean crawled out and stood up. The second Sam spotted the leather bags binding Dean’s hands he understood why Dean couldn’t get out.

“Did you bring clothes?” Dean asked. He held his hands out, and Sam slipped the knife under the leather mitt restraints, slicing them off.

And the whole time, Sam was staring at his brother while trying to be subtle about it. Dean had tits. Six of them. Okay, so they were nipples, and not full tits, but six was not a normal number. “Dean?”

Dean glanced down at his own body. “Yeah, yeah. It’s Crowley’s idea of humor. Clothes, Sam?”

“I didn’t expect you to be naked.” The rest of Dean looked fairly average. Maybe he looked a little smaller in the manhood region, but that was probably Sam’s imagination. He certainly still looked normal… except for the six nipples thing.

“Great,” Dean snapped at him. Sam was about to point out that Dean was being a dick about the whole rescue, but suddenly Dean perked up. “Really?” he said, which didn’t actually make any sense at all.

"Really what?" Sam asked, but Dean went over to the other corner behind a cash register counter and stood up with a pile of clothes. His clothes.

Sam narrowed his eyes. What the hell?

“You are the best,” Dean said.

“I didn’t bring those,” Sam answered. Dean shook out the jeans and something heavy thunked onto the counter. Dean picked it up to show Sam a bright and polished angel blade.

"Oh man. Best present ever!” Dean said happily. Sam swore he heard a huffing sound, but he turned in a full circle and didn’t see anyone.

“I didn’t bring that,” Sam said.

“I know.” Dean was dressing as fast as he could. Even his jacket was in the pile. Sam had to admit that it was a little easier looking at Dean now that he didn’t have to see extra nipples.

"Yeah, well think that again and I'll shove this blade right up your ass," Dean said.

"What?!" Sam took a quick step back. He'd lost his soul for a while, and he was starting to think that was as good of an explanation as any for why Dean was acting more crazy than usual.

Dean looked over at him and frowned. "Dude, I'm not talking to you."

"I'm the only other person in the room."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Dean said, and it looked like he was talking to the corner of room--the empty corner. Clearly Crowley had done more than just give Dean a few extra nipples--although really... how was that hell-level of torture? That was the sort of thing Dean would do to someone, which put it in the category of things amusing to a thirteen year old boy. "Right, let's get this show on the road." Dean headed for the door, and before Sam could catch up, he'd turned left.

"Dean, wait!" Sam ran after him, and pulled him to a stop. "That leads farther into hell." As if to prove Sam's point, a dark and ominous rumble came from that general direction. This was hell, and demonic sounds echoed so that you couldn't tell if the thing making the noise was ten feet or ten miles away. But whatever it was, Sam didn't want to meet it. He pulled Dean toward the exit. "This way."

Dean--in a classic asshole Dean move--dug his heels in. "We're not going that way, Sammy. Crowley knows you got in. He's got a whole buttload of demons waiting for us."

"So what? We wander around hell and hope we find another exit?"

"No, we go out another exit that I know about."

"You know about?" Sammy looked at Dean. Yeah, he'd always suspected that Dean was lying through his teeth about not remembering hell, but it seemed a little suspicious that he would know about Crowley's trap and about some alternative exit. Sam was starting to think this might not be the real Dean at all.

"Yeah, that's right. I just might know something, surprise, surprise," Dean snapped.

And yet that was so very much like Dean, able to annoy Sam in under three seconds. Another low rumble carried with it the sharp edge of death. Sam really didn't want to go that direction.

“Sam, trust me. If we want to get out alive, we’re going this way,” Dean said, and then before Sam could even ask for an explanation, he was moving deeper into hell. Sam cursed softly and looked back toward the exit. He could go, but he’d done all this to get Dean and if he lost Dean now, he didn’t know if he would get him back. Castiel had been unreliable lately. So with no other choice, Sam chased after Dean, and he tried to avoid the resentment of doing that… again.

"Do you want to give me a clue about where we're going?" Sam asked when he caught up with Dean at an intersection. One of the branches looked like old weathered stone like you might find in ruins. The other was rough rock.

"There's another exit,” Dean said, his attention elsewhere.

"Yeah, you said that. Do you want to be more specific?"

Dean grinned. "What's the matter? Don't you trust me, Sammy?" And before Sam could even object, Dean was running down the corridor with weathered stone. Brothers. You couldn't live with them, and you couldn't live with yourself after you shot them in the ass for being a giant buttface. Again, Sam was left to trail behind.

When Sam caught up again, they’d reached section with the sort of heavy iron doors Sam had expected to find. “Seriously, you are acting weirder than normal,” he hissed at Dean. Ever since Dean had killed the hellhound and started the trial, he’d been weird, but Sam had hoped that would end when Dean had to renounce the trial to save Kevin.

“You remember how one of the trials was that I had to save a good soul from hell?”

“You mean the trials you aren’t doing anymore?” Sam asked.

“Bobby’s down here,” Dean said.

Sam felt his stomach dropped like someone had just kicked him. “But he was a ghost. They just fade off.”

Dean snorted. “Does Bobby seem like the sort to fade away?”

Sam had to admit that wasn’t likely. “But how would he get down here?”

“Crowley,” Dean said darkly. A deep growl echoed down the stone hall, and Sam spun around looking for the source.

“Shit. Did that sound like hell hound to you?” he asked. The idea of an invisible monster hunting them through hell was terrifying.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, which was the most un-Deanlike thing he could have said.

“Don’t worry about it?” Sam demanded.

“We need to get Bobby,” Dean said, and then he was moving again. When this was over, Sam was hauling Dean to a priest for a quick exorcism, because this was weird behavior, even for Dean. Dean headed right for one door, pulling the heavy bolt. Sam hurried after him, stopping at the sight of Bobby looking dirty and ragged.

“Bobby!” Dean said, joy in his face.

Bobby turned around and glared at him. “Get the hell out of here, you black-eyed son of a bitch.”

Dean froze for a second, and Sam moved into the doorway.

Bobby looked over at him. “Oh, so it’s two for one day today? You can both go to hell then.” He laughed at his own joke. “Or go to another part of hell.”

“Bobby, it’s us,” Sam said gently.

“Yeah, and I’m Elvis. Move your asses out!” Bobby shot back.

Dean snorted. “Well this is a fine welcome. We come all the way to hell and get bitched out for our trouble.”

“Tori Spelling,” Sam blurted out. Both Dean and Bobby looked at him like he was the strange one. “You’re a fan,” Sam told Bobby. “You only told us that. When you were really drunk. And what about your free pedicure at the Mall of America? You made Dean swear to never tell another living soul how it changed your life.”

The anger left Bobby’s face and he looked from one to the other. “Dean? Sam? I’ve seen at least 200 of you today, just endless Sams and Deans, all with the same black eyes, but you’re real, aren’t you?”

“I hope so. If not, some demon is wearing my underwear,” Dean said.

“Wait. What in tarnation are you doing here?” Bobby’s face was suddenly filled with horror. “Please don’t tell me it’s what I think it is.”

“No!” Sam quickly reassured him. “No, we’re both good. We’re here to get you. Well, actually I was here to get Dean who was an idiot and got captured by Crowley, but then Dean said you were here.”

Bobby looked at Dean, a hint of suspicion back. “And how’d you know?”

“Fluffy,” Dean said, and that was the strangest thing Dean had ever said. Considering some of the stupid shit that had fallen out of Dean’s mouth, that was a high bar to reach.

“Fluffy?” Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged. “Long story, probably not best told while in hell.”

“So where’s the exit?” Bobby asked.

“Dean seems to know,” Sam said. He still didn’t like having to blindly follow Dean, but at least he had led them to Bobby, so maybe he did have some inside information. Maybe it was unfair, but Sam wondered if Dean had fallen for the same trap he had—if some demon was feeding him information. It hadn’t ended well with Ruby and it would end equally badly if Dean tried playing that game.

“What are we waiting for?” Bobby said.

Dean slapped him on the arm. “Now? Nothing. This way.” He turned and headed down the hallway, seeming sure of his path.

“Is it just me or is there something different about Dean?” Bobby asked Sam softly.

“There’s something,” Sam agreed as he handed Bobby a demon-knife. He just didn’t think they had a lot of choices right now. Besides, demons tended to play the long game, so if this was a demon version of Dean or demon-influenced anyway, he wouldn’t screw them over right away. So Sam followed. Bobby came up the rear. They hit a branch, and Dean headed to the right. Sam stopped when he heard Bobby behind him.

“What the hell?”

When Sam looked back, there was another Dean and Sam dressed exactly like them in the left-hand passage. Bobby was looking from one set of brothers to the other, clearly confused.

Dean spoke up. “Bobby, come on.”

“Bobby, they’re messing with you,” Sam warned, but the other Sam was quick to add, “Don’t listen to him! He’s not real.”

“Bobby, get away from him!” Sam warned.

The demon Sam took a step closer to Bobby. “We got to go now!” he said.

“Yeah!” Demon Dean added. Bobby held his knife up, clearly unsure who to defend himself agains. But then there was a low growl.

“Be my guest,” Dean said in one of those strange non-sequiturs he’d been using lately, and suddenly demon Dean slammed back into the wall, invisible teeth ripping out his throat as he gave a gargling scream. Bobby took a step forward as if to save Dean, but then black smoke poured from the demon’s mouth. The demon Sam turned and ran, but he didn’t get more than two feet before something drove him to the ground and then literally tore his spine out. Sam turned his back on the blood and gore for a half second before tightening his hand around his blade and facing the danger.

Bobby was backing toward them, his own knife held out. But Dean… that idiot strode past Bobby and walked right up to demon Sam’s body and petted something invisible. Petted it. Like petting. As if it were a pet. Yeah, Sam’s brain was stuck.

“Boy, is that a hell hound?” Bobby demanded.

Dean turned and grinned at them. That was his presents on Christmas morning grin, which Sam didn’t get to see all that often. “This is 'the' hell hound. The first born hound of the monster who decided that having hell hounds as kids was a good idea." Dean looked down. "Your father was as big of a dick as mine."

"Dean!" Sam hissed.

"What?" When Dean gave him that mildly curious look, Sam felt a pretty strong desire to strangle the man to death.

"You're petting to a hell hound."

"Yep. Fluffy's the one who's leading us to another exit.

"Fluffy?" A deep growl followed Sam's question. Bobby cursed softly and questioned Dean’s sanity. That seemed fair.

"It's probably best that you don't call him Fluffy. He doesn't actually like the name.

Sam couldn't even come up a response to that--not right away. "Okay," he finally said.

Bobby recovered first. “So, does he have a name?”

"I'm pretty sure his actual name is Bad-Ass Angel Killer."

Dean had lost his mind. That was the only explanation for any of this. Either that or this wasn’t Dean and they were all lost in hell. That was actually a pretty plausible explanation. The real Dean was still hanging from chains somewhere.

“You can call him Black,” Dean offered.

“Black?” Bobby’s voice had that dead tone that usually meant someone was about to get an ass whupping.

“So, the exit’s this way,” Dean said. He hurried past both of them to head down the corridor, and suddenly Sam didn’t know where the hell hound was. He looked at Bobby.

Bobby shrugged. “It’s him or hell.”

“And is he the better choice?”

A growl answered him, and Sam glanced over to demon Sam’s body, which was lying in two very gory parts.

“Right now, yep,” Bobby said. He turned and followed Dean. As much as Sam didn’t want to be stuck blindly following someone who just might be a demon, Bobby was right. They didn’t have a lot of choices, so he followed.

Dean jumped into a wall, but instead of getting a concussion, he went through it. Sam and Bobby traded looks, and then followed. They found themselves in an eerily quiet woods with light that seemed to filter in from every direction at once.

“What the hell is this?” Bobby demanded.

Dean said in an annoyingly cheerful voice, “Purgatory.”

Bobby’s eyes got big. “Balls!”

Sam jerked away as something brushed past his hand, and Dean laughed. “Yeah, but if he stabs you, I’m going to tell you it’s your own fault.” Dean looked over. “Fluffy’s just having some fun screwing with you.”

“Fluffy?” Sam’s question was answered with a low growl that made all the hairs on his arm stand up. He remembered what Dean had said before. “You mean Black?” The growl stopped.

“Boy, what have you gotten yourself into?” Bobby demanded.”

“The exit is this way,” Dean said as he started walking. “The escape hatch is built for humans who get trapped here, so Fluffy will have to go back around through hell and meet us topside.”

Bobby closed the distance between them and grabbed Dean’s arm. “Boy, you stop and explain what stupid thing you’ve gone and done right now.”

There was another low growl, and Sam looked around for some hint about where the hell hound might be, but he couldn’t see anything. Dean just calmly looked into Bobby’s eyes. “I didn’t do anything. Crowley did. He thought he could humiliate me by linking me to a hell hound, but he forgot that only the younger generations are actually beasts. The oldest of the hounds are sentient creatures whose father gave them that form to fight against the angels. It turns out that Fluffy hates angels. He thinks they’re self-righteous, sanctimonious asses. But he also hates demons and their weakness. So right now, he’s the best ally humanity can have. All he wants is freedom.”

“To do what?” Bobby asked.

Dean smiled. “As much as he can get away with before I threaten him. The binding spell goes both ways, which apparently Crowley didn’t know. Are you ready to go or do you want to hang out until some Leviathans show up?”

Sam watched Bobby, willing to follow his lead. Eventually Bobby gave in with an ill-grace that meant the conversation was not over. “Well then let’s get the hell out of here and figure out how to save you two from your own stupidity.”

“Hey!” Sam protested. He hadn’t done anything. Much. Okay, he’d tried to take over the demon trial from Dean and he’d talked Dean into renouncing the trials, but he still thought he’d been right on both counts.

Bobby just snorted. Clearly if Dean had done something idiotic, Bobby considered him idiot-adjacent.

They walked for a long time before Dean pointed to an outcropping of rock. “It’s up there.” He brought his hand down and rested it on something that stood about shoulder-height. Sam swallowed as he thought about how big that hell hound had to be.

“Seems funny nothing has attacked us,” Sam pointed out.

Dean turned around and gave him one of those “are you a moron” expressions. “Would you attack a two hundred pound invisible hell hound?”

And that was definitely a no. Sam didn’t say anything, but when Dean started toward the rocks, he followed. When they came out of the trees and could see the rocks leading up into the sky, they could also see Death who stood in his suit leaning against a tree.

“I must say, it is quite wearying watching you redefine reality from moment to moment,” Death said.

Sam moved forward to stand in front of Bobby. With no body, Bobby would be particularly vulnerable. Dean must have thought the same thing because he moved to block Death. The almost amused look Death gave them made it clear that he didn’t think much of their attempts.

“I gave up the demon trials. I’m not trying to close hell anymore,” Dean said.

“Your attempt to close hell was part of the tapestry. Your alliance with Interfectangelissamito is not.”

“Interfectangelissamito?” Dean asked as if it weren’t perfectly clear that Death meant the hell hound. Sam quickly translated it. Impressive and feared killer of angels. Oh, that wasn’t disturbing, not at all.

Death gave Dean a weary look. “You are free to make of this world what you wish. That is the nature of free will; however, I came for Bobby.” Death was suddenly standing behind Bobby, and Sam whirled around to try and protect him.

“It ain't like I got a lot of rust. Might be handy if I was around to keep these idjits from going off the rails.”

Sam cringed, but he had to confess the truth. “We burned your bones, Bobby. There's nothing to tie your spirit to earth.”

“Balls,” Bobby said softly. “Yeah, well... You know, I always figured that'd be the end of it... You know, just a hunter's funeral. Zip. Nothing. And I was okay with that. Imagine my surprise.”

Death said primly. “Had you not escaped my reaper, you would have been safely escorted to another place.”

Sam tried to sound cheerful, even though it was killing him to think of losing Bobby again. Things hadn’t been right since Bobby had died, not with him and not in his relationship with Dean. It was like they were both such stubborn bastards that they couldn’t share the same space without someone strong enough to get between them. Bobby did that. He was family. But right now the best Sam could do was try and ease things for him. “I guess if there has to be an eternity, I'd pick heaven over hell.”

Bobby glared at him. “Yeah. 'Cause there's nothing screwy going on up there.”

Death interrupted before Sam could say anything else. “There is far more to the world than heaven or hell. Your small minds cannot contemplate how large the universe is. Think of heaven and hell as two waiting rooms until you are ready. Now, Mr. Singer, if you are done with this, you are needed elsewhere.” Death ignored Sam altogether and turned to Dean. Sam hated that. “Be aware that when you change the tapestry, you do not get to choose the new design.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask something, but then he and Dean were standing beside the Impala in an alley in Kansas City. “Whoa,” he said.

“Yeah. Big whoa,” Dean agreed, then he slapped his hand against an invisible back. Suddenly Sam could see something shimmering, and something was flying and flicking through the air until he could see bits and pieces and then finally an entire hell hound. It was huge, with a face that was somewhere between a dog and a monkey. It had huge fangs, but there was an intelligence in the large eyes that made Sam shiver. The body was equally undoglike with long limbs and paws ended in cruel, curved claws. And this monster was leaning against Dean’s leg like a family pet.

Sam’s hand twitched.

“If you don’t want to be invisible, you’re going to have to look more doglike,” Dean said. He frowned as he listened to something.

“He’d get used it,” Dean said, and Sam had the feeling he was the “he” in question.

“I’d get used to what?” Sam asked.

“Then he wouldn’t,” Dean said with a shrug.”

“I wouldn’t what?” Sam asked, louder this time. The hell hound looked over and gave him an amused look. Oh, this was not even funny. “Dean, we’re out of hell now, you can send your friend away.” Hopefully this would be like Benny—one of Dean’s quirks that stayed far, far away.

“Actually, I can’t,” Dean said. “When Crowley does a binding spell, he does it right.” The

“Then we get it undone,” Sam said.

The answering growl from Interfectangelissamito was twice as terrifying when Sam could see the long fangs bared threateningly and the claws dig into the cement hard enough to leave little dimples in the rock. Dean tugged on a floppy ear. “Seriously, dude. Chill. He’s my brother, which means that technically he’s your brother-in-law.”

“He’s what?” Sam yelped, and his brain stuttered to a complete and total halt as the hound started shifting. His nose pushed out and the lips grew long enough to hide the teeth. Claws retracted and the weight seemed to shift so that the dog was shorter and thicker, his proportions closer to a real dog, that is if a Newfoundland and an English Mastiff got together and had a threesome with a small horse.

Dean laughed. “I’ll tell you over pizza.” He rubbed his stomach. “God I’m starving.”

Interfectangelissamito head butted him.

“Yeah, yeah, nag, nag,” Dean said in an exasperated tone. The hound butted him again and Dean started toward the Impala. Sam still couldn’t process what Dean had said, but he watched mutely as Dean opened the driver’s side rear door to get the hound in. “Sam, you coming?” Dean asked.

“I’m his what?” Sam demanded.

“I already have one of you bitching at me, can the questions wait until later? I’m eating for three here, and all three of us are starving.”

That was it. Sam’s brain was broken.

“Sammy. Get in,” Dean ordered.

Sam had spent his whole life listening to that voice even when he pretended not to, so he headed for the car. “You owe me one hell of an explanation,” Sam said as he got in the car. He got in the car with the hell hound who was still watching him with an amused expression.

“Over pizza,” Dean promised as he started his car. “Oh baby, did you miss me?” he asked as he petted the wheel. Then he looked over his shoulder. “Nope, you don’t. But my first baby will always have a special place in my heart,” he told the dog and then he put the Impala into gear. “Oh, it’s good to be home.”