Chow Mein and Graveyards - 2

For a moment, Oscar’s own heart drowned out other sound. The giant lungs drew in a surprise gasp nearby, but he heard nothing of it. The click of claws on the hardwood and the barely-restrained woofs out of an excited canine chest drowned away in Oscar's sudden alarm.

There was a dog. The house had a dog.

Oscar had seen very few dogs outside of TV. The motel didn’t usually allow them. Only a few cases seemed allowed in, and he never knew the rules for that. Some people had actually tried to sneak their dogs in, but they were kicked out after someone heard it.

TV gave him all the wisdom he thought he needed. Dogs were big and powerful, some even more so than humans. They had strong noses for rooting out new things, and they liked to chew. Oscar thought about how small he was to such sharp, unavoidable teeth, and a shudder wracked his whole body. Despite his closed eyes, frightened tears made their way past his eyelids.

A light but unavoidable pressure settled against him from one side. Oscar shuddered again just as a powerful voice rumbled around him from the other side. Everything was restrained motion, but so far no giant fangs snapped close to him.

“--Okay, Rumsfeld? Gotta stay calm,” words reached Oscar’s mind. That was Dean, talking gently.

“Rumsfeld” let out a high pitched sound. A whine. Then, there was a retreating series of those claw-click footsteps, punctuated by a huge, resigned sigh.

A moment later, someone joined Oscar in the pocket. He uncurled and scooted back in surprise to make room, but he didn't take up enough space to bother Sam. The concern in those expressive eyes was easy to see even through the haze of tears.

Oscar let out a quiet, squeaky groan of embarrassment and brushed at his eyes. Above him, the pocket was propped open and an even larger pair of concerned eyes was looking in at him.

Sam's hands, stronger than Oscar's and much bigger, found his shoulders. Oscar looked at him in embarrassed shock, but Sam didn't seem to care.

"Oscar, I'm sorry," he said. Something in Sam's voice was always so sincere. Oscar believed him. " I should have mentioned Rumsfeld. But you don't have to worry. He's kinda like Dean--"

"Hey!" Dean cut in above. His indignant voice remained quiet for the two in his pocket, but Oscar could picture the scowl on his face even as Sam held the focus.

"He can look scary, but he's really more of a puppy once you get to know him," Sam went on as if the interruption never came. Dean barely grumbled at the comparison after that, but everything swayed as he shifted his feet.

"I'm gonna guess you brought someone more than Sam," a new voice chimed in instead. He was gruff, but not in the same way as Dean. There was some resignation in the voice, as if he wasn't surprised in the least by the sight of Dean staring down into his pocket.

"Uh," Dean answered. Oscar could practically feel the questioning look overhead.

Sam paid him no mind. He kept his eyes on Oscar. "Do you want to come up now? I promise Bobby won’t mind if you don’t."

Oscar took a deep breath, and let it out in a huff. While he trusted the brothers' judgment about this friend of theirs, he didn't have time to weigh his options. He squirmed his way out of Sam's steadying grasp and sighed. The flustered tears still adorned his cheek, and Sam's face nearly fell.

"I guess," Oscar told him before he could finish his assumption. By now, Oscar's cheeks were pink from embarrassment and lingering nerves.

Sam smiled and his dimples showed. "We can hang out in the pocket at first in case you need to take a minute after introductions."

With that compromise in place, the pair used the thick fabric around them to climb upwards. Sam was on his feet faster, and he could see out with no trouble. The perks of standing three quarters of an inch taller than Oscar.

Before Oscar could warn him not to, Sam took hold of the collar of his shirt and hauled him upwards. As easily as a mouse picks up her pup, Sam hoisted Oscar up to the edge of the pocket, where he clung to avoid tumbling back in.

He put his arms over the edge of the pocket to hold himself there, but very nearly ducked back out of sight. Even the heartbeat of a familiar giant behind him couldn’t erase his nerves. In front was a new human.

Oscar met his gaze and guessed he must be Bobby. He was shorter than Dean, and scruffier. The cap on his head was worn out and faded by time, and his clothes had a similar quality to them. Hard work was no foreign concept to the man staring at him now. That gruff look thankfully disappeared quickly, to be replaced by a softer one.

Oscar had heard a lot about Bobby. He knew about little folk like Sam and Oscar and could be trusted.

And yet Oscar couldn’t bring himself to speak.

A whine from below broke the silence instead and Oscar nearly dropped out of sight. A dog lay on the floor several feet away, his head resting on his paws and his ears drooping. Oscar watched him closely, but aside from whining and staring forlornly up at the pocket, he made no move to lunge for them.

“That’s Rumsfeld,” Sam supplied. “He really is friendly. Just wants to know you’re okay.”

Bobby spoke next. “He wouldn’t even let me or Dean near ya if you asked him for a guard,” he explained. Then, He nodded at Oscar. “Name’s Bobby Singer. I heard you’ve kept these boys outta trouble for me a few times.”

Oscar took a shaky breath and nodded. “Y-yeah,” he squeaked out, glancing sideways at Sam once. His friends were at ease with both Bobby and the dog so near, and Oscar made an effort to relax. He turned his head to discreetly wipe at his eyes in case any tears lingered there.

At least no one was teasing him for being so scared.

“I-I um. Sam an’ Dean--” he paused when Bobby leaned closer. His voice was too quiet to hear, but the other human still tried to give him space. “Sam and Dean said I’d be able to find a place to live here?”

Bobby nodded. “There’s room for ya,” he quipped, and a smile appeared in his eyes. “Ain’t no five star, but I make do.”

Oscar almost smiled himself. “Well the Knight’s Inn wasn’t five stars either,” he admitted.

Dean, quiet so far during the shy introduction, finally interjected. “No more scraping by for you, Oz. An honorary hunter deserves the easy life.”

Oscar’s shoulders bunched up and heat bloomed in his cheeks yet again. “I’m not really an honorary hunter,” he protested. “I just helped a couple times.”

“Saved our asses, more like,” Sam chimed in with a grin. He elbowed Oscar in the side and very nearly upset his grip on the edge of the pocket. “Witches, a demon, and the red cap all might have gotten the better of us without your help.”

Oscar huffed. “Don’t look at me, you’re the ones who jump into danger so I gotta do somethin’ about it.”

That drew a laugh from Bobby. “Sounds like these two, all right,” he remarked. Then, he stood back with his arms crossed. “I'd be happy to have you here, Oscar. Between the two of us we've kept a full time job saving these two idjits from the fire.”

Oscar's cheeks had already bloomed with warmth, and it didn’t seem ready to subside. He pursed his lips sheepishly. The praise from all sides felt good, but he was as unprepared for it as always.

With the mood much calmer than before, Rumsfeld finally picked his head up from where he rested it on his paws. Even from up in Dean’s pocket, Oscar could see the dog’s damp nose twitching like mad. Despite himself, he shuddered. Rumsfeld whined.

Sam waved an arm at the dog. “I think he feels sorry for scaring you,” he pointed out. “He just wants to make sure you feel safe.”

“O-oh,” Oscar stammered out, peeking over the side of the pocket.

“If you asked him, he’d chase me an’ Dean right off the property,” Bobby grumbled. What had seemed like a joke before now became a begrudging truth, from the look in his eyes.

Oscar’s eyes widened and he peered down at the dog critically. Rumsfeld’s tongue hung out of his mouth in a goofy grin that didn’t match Oscar’s fearsome assumptions about animals that large. “I-I wouldn’t do that!” he insisted, tilting his head back to make sure Dean heard.

Dean smirked. “I appreciate it, Oz,” he said, nudging at the pocket. “Should we let him give us your first tour of the house?”

“You can come see my room, check if you want one too,” Sam suggested gamely.

Oscar was dazed. He glanced at Rumsfeld again, then at Bobby. Finally, he nodded. “Alright. Um. Yeah. Your room,” he stumbled over his answer, but no one seemed to care.

A phone rang elsewhere in the house. Bobby glanced over Dean’s shoulder and sighed, a world-weary sound. “Probably Garth again,” he muttered. “Go and get settled in. This might take me awhile.”

Oscar hesitated, then waved at Bobby as he left. Then the group broke for their destinations. Rumsfeld all but leapt to his feet, head angled back so he could watch Dean’s pocket. Warm, chocolate-colored eyes focused on Oscar, and he took a shaky breath.

If the dog was like Dean, as Sam said, Oscar didn’t need to fear him. Even at his grumpiest, Dean would never hurt Oscar or Sam.

Rumsfeld pranced on his front paws before bolting off to lead the way. Dean followed with his own relaxed gait, and his passengers were left clinging to the edge of his pocket to keep balance. Oscar offered Sam a nervous smile, but soon had to turn his gaze on their environment.

Much like the outside of the house, the inside was well-worn and lived in. Oscar glimpsed a room so cluttered with books that he couldn’t find where a human might sit before the doorway was out of sight.

Then, Dean reached a stairwell. Rumsfeld was already halfway up, and he loosed a quiet yelp of a bark to urge them onward. Oscar clutched tighter to the pocket’s edge as Dean followed after the dog.

Not without a gripe of his own. “I’m comin’! Calm down!”

Rumsfeld barked again.

They reached a small bedroom with a single bed, some bookshelves, and a curtained window. Oscar eyed the walls and floor until Dean took a seat at the bed and let his duffel bag fall to the floor.

Only seconds later, Oscar squeaked in alarm as Rumsfeld rested his head on Dean’s leg. There was another whine from the dog at Oscar’s reaction, but he ducked out of sight anyway.

“Rumsfeld, sit!”

Sam’s voice, so small compared to Dean or Bobby’s, rang out with confidence. Oscar looked up at him with awe, and then peeked over the edge of the pocket once more. There was no way a dog so big would follow a command from someone so small.

And yet, there he was, sitting back on his haunches with his front paws planted. He gave Dean and his little passengers some space, but watched almost eagerly for them to emerge. When Oscar poked his head out of the pocket again, that doggy grin reappeared and Rumsfeld huffed.

“He did what you said!” Oscar blurted. “H-he really does listen!”

Dean chuckled, his chest rumbling with the noise behind them. “Oz, the first time I came back here with Sam, this dog almost took me down by himself. He’s more loyal to people your size than he is to Bobby.”

“Wanna go say hi?” Sam offered with a hopeful smile. “That way he’ll finally know you’re okay.”

Oscar huffed quietly. It was becoming tougher and tougher to deny the dog’s friendly disposition. “O-okay, I guess I’ll … we can go see him.”

“One order of dog kisses coming right up,” Dean joked, while he reached into the pocket to scoop both Sam and Oscar out into the open. They landed in a heap on his palm.

“Jerk!” Sam groused, sitting up and helping Oscar do the same.

“Bitch,” Dean shot back on reflex.

Oscar surprised them both by chiming in, too. “Winchesters!” Then, turning pink in his cheeks, he added, “You always startle me!”

Dean sniggered. “Just keeping ya guessing, Oz. Now, meet Rumsfeld.” He moved his hand to show them to the patient Rottweiler, though he was clearly watching for signs of fear.

Oscar hugged his knees close as Rumsfeld leaned in. The snuffling sounds of his curious nose filled Oscar’s ears, and tiny gusts of air tousled his hair. Oscar forced himself to look past the snout and meet the concerned gaze.

He gasped when Rumsfeld gently nudged his arm with a cold nose. There was another soft whine, and then the tip of a pink tongue emerged to just barely graze the same arm.

Then, Rumsfeld backed off again.

Oscar stared with widened eyes while he absently brushed at his arm. All his fears from the moment he heard the dog’s approach came to mind, but didn’t fit. Rumsfeld, aside from being loud and excited, hadn’t met a single dreaded expectation.

“Come on,” Sam said, offering a hand. He helped Oscar uncurl from his fearful hunch and stand. Then, he beckoned for Rumsfeld to come closer again.

Rumsfeld did, and Sam rubbed his hands over the soft muzzle. Rumsfeld’s eyes half-closed as Sam’s tiny hands offered better scritches than any human ever could.

Thinking of the mice back home and how much they appreciated the same, Oscar inched forward to pat the dog’s snout, too. As soon as he did, Rumsfeld closed his eyes all the way and rumbled out a content sigh. Dean rubbed behind one of the floppy ears with his free hand, and Rumsfeld was in doggy heaven.

Oscar smiled faintly. His terror for the huge dog before him melted away slowly but surely, and he leaned against the big snout to scratch more.