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phantismaTitle: The Art of War
Characters: Sam/Dean, Aristotle & Remmy (the dogs)
Rating: PG-13 (long established wincest relationship)
Words: 2085
Disclaimer: Not mine - just playing.
Summary: Written by my friend M, Takes place very shortly after Losing Sam, Arc 3 ends. However, this ABSOLUTELY can be read as a standalone; it is just a little giggle.
Written for Amara to cheer her as she adjusts back into the working world *sends hugs*
Thanks to the spectacular![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pyroblaze18 for taking a break from The Bard to beta and for sharing her cookies with Remmy.
The Art of War
Sam had fought way too many battles in his time. His whole childhood had been a horror of torture and mental conflict. He was lucky to have survived with any sanity in tact.
As an adult, he had skirmished with all manner of evil - demons, witches, werewolves, teenagers. But he had sincerely believed, after Bellius had shredded his mind and body, that his days of strategizing, plotting, arming himself and defeating his enemy were behind him.
The work done with Ally and Inda had made him whole, physically and mentally. He floated on a wondrous psychic lightness and was unfailingly impressed by an array of tiny things, lady bugs, sun rays through the trees, a perfectly spun spider web.
He found everything in his life profoundly satisfying.
Little did he guess, just a month after returning home, he would find himself in the middle of a true pitched battle that required all his smarts and fortitude fighting against ……
a five month old puppy.
Later, it dawned on Sam that the Remmy v. Sam had started long before Sam had any concept it was ‘ON’.
Oh and it was so ‘ON’. Sam sat on the kitchen chair staring at his favorite running shoes, top of the line Brooks with the scrunchy shock absorber feature. Brooks stopped production on that particular model the year before. Now, his beloved shoes reeked of puppy pee.
No doubt about it, Remmy v. Sam had fomented since the very first day he arrived home, when Dean had unceremoniously kicked Remmy out of the bedroom. Truly, Sam had to be forgiven for not paying a lick of attention to the pup. Dean was beautiful and naked and Sam was much too occupied with all the glorious sex. So, Remmy had been overlooked. His puppyness clearly had not been properly lauded and adored.
Sam figured the whole mess kicked into high gear about two weeks later. He and Dean had deposited Bellius, the fallen angel that had torn Sam to shreds, with Inda and Ally. They had taken their sweet time getting home. There was quite a wealth of forest surrounding the compound. Sam and Dean needed the time to get their fill of the whole nature experience, multiple times and in various positions, with a few toys and restraints tossed in for good measure.
The dogs had been left with John, who fed them and walked them once a day, but most certainly didn’t believe in fawning over them.
For Aristotle, that was fine. She knew Sam would be home because Sam had told her he would be. Ari was faithful and trusting. She waited lovingly and patiently.
For Remmy, it was not fine at all. Sam had spirited his Boy, his Dean, away. Sure, Dean had reassured Remmy, told him all the right things about being a good boy, how they’d be back soon and how much he was loved. But, ‘soon’ was quite a difficult concept for a little puppy who really only loved one thing in the whole world, Dean Winchester.
The very first morning, after getting home from the nature vacation, Sam couldn’t find his green sweat shirt, the one with the gray hood. He had peeled it off and tossed it on the chair before crawling into bed. It was most true that Dean had proceeded to blow his ‘mind’ once he got comfortable in the bed. But, Sam was fairly certain that Dean’s particular skill at a certain sexual act hadn’t caused any alteration to his memory of undressing.
Still, there was no disputing that the sweat shirt wasn’t where he left it.
Later that same day, Ari had dropped the Frisbee at Sam’s feet. Sam and Ari had not played Frisbee in ages and usually Ari wasn’t all that interested any more. Sam was thrilled she wanted to play. So, he locked Remmy in his crate and took Ari to the park. Remmy was too little to be off leash at the park and, frankly, Ari was his dog and deserved a bit of one on one time.
In retrospect, this probably hadn’t helped Sam to develop a healthy relationship with the pup.
In Sam’s defense, he let Remmy out of the crate as soon as they got home and followed him outside. Sam picked up Remmy’s outside ball, tossed it and shouted encouragement, “Go get it Remmy, come on.”
Sam was pleased that Remmy bounded after the ball, giving a heroic puppy leap and snagging the yellow ball in his mouth. Remmy strutted over to Sam, who reached down to grab it out of his mouth. Sam lowered his hand. Remmy released the ball and promptly and extremely efficiently sank his sharp little puppy teeth into the fleshy part of Sam’s palm.
“Ouch!” Sam looked down at Remmy, sitting quietly at his feet. “Bad dog. No biting,” Sam admonished.
Remmy looked non-pulsed by Sam’s mean daddy voice.
Remmy reacted quite differently as soon as he sensed Dean approaching home after work. Remmy routinely went berserk when the Impala was a block or two from the house. Sam heard him fly down the stairs, yapping all the way.
“Daddy’s home, huh?” Sam said. Remmy blithely ignored him and raced to the back door, scratching desperately to get out. Sam leaned over and opened the door. Remmy flew through it and headed to the garage.
Sam waited to hear their nightly reunion ritual, Remmy barking his joy and Dean’s puppy love voice telling Remmy a hundred different ways how wonderful and adorable he was, followed by a rousing game of chase. Instead, Dean greeted Remmy but continued on to the house. Sam looked up to see what was wrong. One look at Dean’s face told him that nothing was wrong, per se. Sam shut off the stove and turned and headed to the bedroom. Dean wanted one thing and didn’t want to wait one more minute to get it.
Remmy was locked out of the bedroom, again.
The next morning, Sam found his Brooks soaked in pee.
At that moment, Sam knew that he was engaged in a fearsome battle with a puppy and he had to find some way to resolve the conflict without needing peace talks at Camp David.
Over the next couple of weeks, Sam went out of his way to lavish attention on Remmy. Each morning, he walked both dogs. When they got home, Ari drank from her bowl then curled up in the sun room. Sam grabbed Remmy’s ball to play fetch. Remmy chased after the ball and the game would go well for a few minutes. But, at some point, Remmy would sink his teeth into Sam and stalk off with a decided air of, “Nice try, sucker.”
Sam clothes continued to disappear. After the third hoodie went missing, Sam hung his clothes in the closet, well out of Remmy’s reach. So, the clothes weren’t stolen that night but Sam found the kitchen a torn up mess.
Who knew a puppy could pry open a cabinet door and pull out and chew every single item?
Sam wondered for a moment of bits of Tupperware would kill a puppy. He guiltily banished the thought a second later when he pictured Dean’s face if anything AT ALL happened to Remmy.
Sam scratched his head and looked at Ari. “What do I do, girl?” Ari yawned. “Big help, thanks Ari.” Sam poured a cup of coffee and headed off to find the puppy.
Remmy was curled up in bed, head on Dean’s pillow. Sam was fairly sure that Remmy opened one eye to look at him before feigning sleep.
Sam plopped down on the bed and petted Remmy. “Listen boy, we got to find a way to co-exist.” Sam opened his mind and sent reassurance and love to Remmy.
Remmy seemed to relax, seemed to enjoy the warmth of the love Sam was sending him. Then, he flipped his body, sunk his teeth into Sam’s forearm and ran off.
So, Sam tried everything he could think of to seduce Remmy.
• Extra walks – check.
• Extra games of catch – check.
• Teaching Remmy to play Frisbee – check.
• Brushing his coat – check.
• Cooking chicken – check.
• Cooking beef – check.
• Special chew toys – check.
• A huge collection of bones – check.
• Visiting Dean at lunch – check.
Nothing helped, at all.
Oh, Remmy played with him and enjoyed the attention. Yet, Sam routinely found his clothes and shoes chewed up or worse and his kitchen tossed.
And, most distressing, Remmy snapped at him whenever given a good opening. That dog was a master of the guerilla attack.
Sam summoned his patience, truly believed Remmy would relent, soon,
well - eventually,
well – maybe by the time Remmy was four or five.
An enemy transforms to a partner when another worse enemy is identified.
Sun Tzu said that or Confucius or Napoleon - whatever – it’s true.
Actually, Sam never quite allowed himself to view Remmy as his enemy. First of all, Remmy was a thirty pound ball of soft brown fur and who could be upset with that? Of course, the bite marks littering his arms and hands made it much easier to conjure up ill feelings towards Remmy’s adorable, psychotic self.
In truth, even though he was plenty annoyed and frequently angry, Sam fully understood and even sympathized with Remmy’s point of view. Sam had no desire to be second in line for Dean’s love and attention. Why should Remmy be happy with it?
The fact remained – Remmy was second and Remmy was fully aware of the fact. And Remmy was hell bent on waging his puppy war until that changed.
Then a worse, common enemy emerged that changed everything.
Dean started having nightmares.
Sam was jerked awake by Dean’s shivering. Sam flipped over to face him, assuming Dean was uncovered and cold. Dean had a terrible habit of kicking off all the blankets and then, of course, blaming Sam.
Sam found Dean burrowed under a pile of covers but shivering and tossing his head from side to side.
“Dean. Dean.” Sam shook Dean’s arm gently. “You’re okay. It’s a dream. Wake up.”
Dean’s eyes flew open, panicked, clearly unaware of where he was.
Sam put a hand on his forehead and comforted him mentally. Dean quieted and shut his eyes, possibly completely unaware of waking.
Sam saw that Remmy had leaped onto the edge of the bed.
“He’s okay Remmy,” Sam assured him. Remmy turned his little round brown head and Sam saw the worry there. Remmy sure seemed to grasp that his Dad was not okay.
The next night was worse. Dean screamed in his sleep and started flailing. Sam went to grab him and Dean threw himself out of the bed and fell awkwardly onto the floor.
Sam spent fifteen minutes talking Dean out of whatever place he was stuck and another five minutes to talk him into getting back into bed. Once Dean was tucked back in, Sam turned and Remmy was on full alert on the edge of the bed, again with concern, maybe fear, in his eyes.
“He’s okay boy, really. Something is haunting him and we’ll figure it out.”
Remmy walked across the bed and licked Sam’s hand then turned to jump off the bed and into his doggie-bed. Sam grabbed him around the middle and laid him down next to Dean. Dean pulled the pup into him. They all fell asleep, an intersection of long limbs with a ball of fur in between.
After that night, Dean was still Remmy’s Boy, no doubt on that. But, Sam knew he had passed the Remmy test when he opened the closet door and saw a pile of his missing clothes. They smelled like old puppy pee and were all chewed to shreds. But, they had been returned.
Remmy looked up at Sam and cocked his head.
Sam leaned on the door frame and looked down at the pup. “Okay Remmy, here’s the deal.” Remmy focused on Sam intently, taking in every word. “You get to sleep with us and help me get Dean through these nightmares. Deal?”
Remmy wagged his tail.
And like that, peace broke out throughout the Winchester household. Sam and Remmy became comrades in the common battle to love and care for Dean.
And it helped, a lot, in maintaining the truce that Sam always remembered to open the bedroom door to let Remmy back in before they fell asleep each night.
Characters: Sam/Dean, Aristotle & Remmy (the dogs)
Rating: PG-13 (long established wincest relationship)
Words: 2085
Disclaimer: Not mine - just playing.
Summary: Written by my friend M, Takes place very shortly after Losing Sam, Arc 3 ends. However, this ABSOLUTELY can be read as a standalone; it is just a little giggle.
Written for Amara to cheer her as she adjusts back into the working world *sends hugs*
Thanks to the spectacular
pyroblaze18 for taking a break from The Bard to beta and for sharing her cookies with Remmy.The Art of War
Sam had fought way too many battles in his time. His whole childhood had been a horror of torture and mental conflict. He was lucky to have survived with any sanity in tact.
As an adult, he had skirmished with all manner of evil - demons, witches, werewolves, teenagers. But he had sincerely believed, after Bellius had shredded his mind and body, that his days of strategizing, plotting, arming himself and defeating his enemy were behind him.
The work done with Ally and Inda had made him whole, physically and mentally. He floated on a wondrous psychic lightness and was unfailingly impressed by an array of tiny things, lady bugs, sun rays through the trees, a perfectly spun spider web.
He found everything in his life profoundly satisfying.
Little did he guess, just a month after returning home, he would find himself in the middle of a true pitched battle that required all his smarts and fortitude fighting against ……
a five month old puppy.
Later, it dawned on Sam that the Remmy v. Sam had started long before Sam had any concept it was ‘ON’.
Oh and it was so ‘ON’. Sam sat on the kitchen chair staring at his favorite running shoes, top of the line Brooks with the scrunchy shock absorber feature. Brooks stopped production on that particular model the year before. Now, his beloved shoes reeked of puppy pee.
No doubt about it, Remmy v. Sam had fomented since the very first day he arrived home, when Dean had unceremoniously kicked Remmy out of the bedroom. Truly, Sam had to be forgiven for not paying a lick of attention to the pup. Dean was beautiful and naked and Sam was much too occupied with all the glorious sex. So, Remmy had been overlooked. His puppyness clearly had not been properly lauded and adored.
Sam figured the whole mess kicked into high gear about two weeks later. He and Dean had deposited Bellius, the fallen angel that had torn Sam to shreds, with Inda and Ally. They had taken their sweet time getting home. There was quite a wealth of forest surrounding the compound. Sam and Dean needed the time to get their fill of the whole nature experience, multiple times and in various positions, with a few toys and restraints tossed in for good measure.
The dogs had been left with John, who fed them and walked them once a day, but most certainly didn’t believe in fawning over them.
For Aristotle, that was fine. She knew Sam would be home because Sam had told her he would be. Ari was faithful and trusting. She waited lovingly and patiently.
For Remmy, it was not fine at all. Sam had spirited his Boy, his Dean, away. Sure, Dean had reassured Remmy, told him all the right things about being a good boy, how they’d be back soon and how much he was loved. But, ‘soon’ was quite a difficult concept for a little puppy who really only loved one thing in the whole world, Dean Winchester.
The very first morning, after getting home from the nature vacation, Sam couldn’t find his green sweat shirt, the one with the gray hood. He had peeled it off and tossed it on the chair before crawling into bed. It was most true that Dean had proceeded to blow his ‘mind’ once he got comfortable in the bed. But, Sam was fairly certain that Dean’s particular skill at a certain sexual act hadn’t caused any alteration to his memory of undressing.
Still, there was no disputing that the sweat shirt wasn’t where he left it.
Later that same day, Ari had dropped the Frisbee at Sam’s feet. Sam and Ari had not played Frisbee in ages and usually Ari wasn’t all that interested any more. Sam was thrilled she wanted to play. So, he locked Remmy in his crate and took Ari to the park. Remmy was too little to be off leash at the park and, frankly, Ari was his dog and deserved a bit of one on one time.
In retrospect, this probably hadn’t helped Sam to develop a healthy relationship with the pup.
In Sam’s defense, he let Remmy out of the crate as soon as they got home and followed him outside. Sam picked up Remmy’s outside ball, tossed it and shouted encouragement, “Go get it Remmy, come on.”
Sam was pleased that Remmy bounded after the ball, giving a heroic puppy leap and snagging the yellow ball in his mouth. Remmy strutted over to Sam, who reached down to grab it out of his mouth. Sam lowered his hand. Remmy released the ball and promptly and extremely efficiently sank his sharp little puppy teeth into the fleshy part of Sam’s palm.
“Ouch!” Sam looked down at Remmy, sitting quietly at his feet. “Bad dog. No biting,” Sam admonished.
Remmy looked non-pulsed by Sam’s mean daddy voice.
Remmy reacted quite differently as soon as he sensed Dean approaching home after work. Remmy routinely went berserk when the Impala was a block or two from the house. Sam heard him fly down the stairs, yapping all the way.
“Daddy’s home, huh?” Sam said. Remmy blithely ignored him and raced to the back door, scratching desperately to get out. Sam leaned over and opened the door. Remmy flew through it and headed to the garage.
Sam waited to hear their nightly reunion ritual, Remmy barking his joy and Dean’s puppy love voice telling Remmy a hundred different ways how wonderful and adorable he was, followed by a rousing game of chase. Instead, Dean greeted Remmy but continued on to the house. Sam looked up to see what was wrong. One look at Dean’s face told him that nothing was wrong, per se. Sam shut off the stove and turned and headed to the bedroom. Dean wanted one thing and didn’t want to wait one more minute to get it.
Remmy was locked out of the bedroom, again.
The next morning, Sam found his Brooks soaked in pee.
At that moment, Sam knew that he was engaged in a fearsome battle with a puppy and he had to find some way to resolve the conflict without needing peace talks at Camp David.
Over the next couple of weeks, Sam went out of his way to lavish attention on Remmy. Each morning, he walked both dogs. When they got home, Ari drank from her bowl then curled up in the sun room. Sam grabbed Remmy’s ball to play fetch. Remmy chased after the ball and the game would go well for a few minutes. But, at some point, Remmy would sink his teeth into Sam and stalk off with a decided air of, “Nice try, sucker.”
Sam clothes continued to disappear. After the third hoodie went missing, Sam hung his clothes in the closet, well out of Remmy’s reach. So, the clothes weren’t stolen that night but Sam found the kitchen a torn up mess.
Who knew a puppy could pry open a cabinet door and pull out and chew every single item?
Sam wondered for a moment of bits of Tupperware would kill a puppy. He guiltily banished the thought a second later when he pictured Dean’s face if anything AT ALL happened to Remmy.
Sam scratched his head and looked at Ari. “What do I do, girl?” Ari yawned. “Big help, thanks Ari.” Sam poured a cup of coffee and headed off to find the puppy.
Remmy was curled up in bed, head on Dean’s pillow. Sam was fairly sure that Remmy opened one eye to look at him before feigning sleep.
Sam plopped down on the bed and petted Remmy. “Listen boy, we got to find a way to co-exist.” Sam opened his mind and sent reassurance and love to Remmy.
Remmy seemed to relax, seemed to enjoy the warmth of the love Sam was sending him. Then, he flipped his body, sunk his teeth into Sam’s forearm and ran off.
So, Sam tried everything he could think of to seduce Remmy.
• Extra walks – check.
• Extra games of catch – check.
• Teaching Remmy to play Frisbee – check.
• Brushing his coat – check.
• Cooking chicken – check.
• Cooking beef – check.
• Special chew toys – check.
• A huge collection of bones – check.
• Visiting Dean at lunch – check.
Nothing helped, at all.
Oh, Remmy played with him and enjoyed the attention. Yet, Sam routinely found his clothes and shoes chewed up or worse and his kitchen tossed.
And, most distressing, Remmy snapped at him whenever given a good opening. That dog was a master of the guerilla attack.
Sam summoned his patience, truly believed Remmy would relent, soon,
well - eventually,
well – maybe by the time Remmy was four or five.
An enemy transforms to a partner when another worse enemy is identified.
Sun Tzu said that or Confucius or Napoleon - whatever – it’s true.
Actually, Sam never quite allowed himself to view Remmy as his enemy. First of all, Remmy was a thirty pound ball of soft brown fur and who could be upset with that? Of course, the bite marks littering his arms and hands made it much easier to conjure up ill feelings towards Remmy’s adorable, psychotic self.
In truth, even though he was plenty annoyed and frequently angry, Sam fully understood and even sympathized with Remmy’s point of view. Sam had no desire to be second in line for Dean’s love and attention. Why should Remmy be happy with it?
The fact remained – Remmy was second and Remmy was fully aware of the fact. And Remmy was hell bent on waging his puppy war until that changed.
Then a worse, common enemy emerged that changed everything.
Dean started having nightmares.
Sam was jerked awake by Dean’s shivering. Sam flipped over to face him, assuming Dean was uncovered and cold. Dean had a terrible habit of kicking off all the blankets and then, of course, blaming Sam.
Sam found Dean burrowed under a pile of covers but shivering and tossing his head from side to side.
“Dean. Dean.” Sam shook Dean’s arm gently. “You’re okay. It’s a dream. Wake up.”
Dean’s eyes flew open, panicked, clearly unaware of where he was.
Sam put a hand on his forehead and comforted him mentally. Dean quieted and shut his eyes, possibly completely unaware of waking.
Sam saw that Remmy had leaped onto the edge of the bed.
“He’s okay Remmy,” Sam assured him. Remmy turned his little round brown head and Sam saw the worry there. Remmy sure seemed to grasp that his Dad was not okay.
The next night was worse. Dean screamed in his sleep and started flailing. Sam went to grab him and Dean threw himself out of the bed and fell awkwardly onto the floor.
Sam spent fifteen minutes talking Dean out of whatever place he was stuck and another five minutes to talk him into getting back into bed. Once Dean was tucked back in, Sam turned and Remmy was on full alert on the edge of the bed, again with concern, maybe fear, in his eyes.
“He’s okay boy, really. Something is haunting him and we’ll figure it out.”
Remmy walked across the bed and licked Sam’s hand then turned to jump off the bed and into his doggie-bed. Sam grabbed him around the middle and laid him down next to Dean. Dean pulled the pup into him. They all fell asleep, an intersection of long limbs with a ball of fur in between.
After that night, Dean was still Remmy’s Boy, no doubt on that. But, Sam knew he had passed the Remmy test when he opened the closet door and saw a pile of his missing clothes. They smelled like old puppy pee and were all chewed to shreds. But, they had been returned.
Remmy looked up at Sam and cocked his head.
Sam leaned on the door frame and looked down at the pup. “Okay Remmy, here’s the deal.” Remmy focused on Sam intently, taking in every word. “You get to sleep with us and help me get Dean through these nightmares. Deal?”
Remmy wagged his tail.
And like that, peace broke out throughout the Winchester household. Sam and Remmy became comrades in the common battle to love and care for Dean.
And it helped, a lot, in maintaining the truce that Sam always remembered to open the bedroom door to let Remmy back in before they fell asleep each night.
