650 words of insanity for prillalar, for putting up with my emo whining the last few weeks and because she's awesome :).
All your zombies
It figured that when Dean finally got a dog, it turned out to be a zombie.
"We have to kill it," Sam said.
"Look at him, Sam." The dog barked up at them happily. He waited for Dean to come over and rub his head. A chunk of his ear fell onto the rug when he scratched it.
But it was a dog and he'd never had a dog, and it wasn't a crazy zombie, either; he was friendly and licked their hands and even rolled over on command.
Sam stared. "You're kidding me, right?"
The dog grinned up at them and panted. "I think we should call him Ringo," Dean said.
Ringo didn't eat, never made a mess on the rug except for the occasional body part, and they weren't bloody or anything, just a little decomposed. Dean got used to cleaning up after him. He got used to the smell, too, which he called earthy and Sam called disgusting. Sam just didn't know about dogs.
They got a line on the phooka they were in town for and didn't get back until the following night. Ringo started barking and running around like mad when they walked in the door. Dean was afraid he might lose a leg, so he got him to roll over on the living room rug, rubbed his stomach while Sam banged things around in the kitchen.
Ringo licked his face, and it was only a little gross. Because Ringo knew about loyalty, he knew about having one's back and how to give a proper hello. And yeah, maybe Sam knew about those things, too, but Sam wasn't a zombie dog.
"I'm serious, Dean," Sam said, coming up behind them. "It could only be a matter of time before he hurts someone."
Ringo did do some crazy shit when they let him out, ran in circles and jumped in the air after imaginary birds, scattering bits of flesh and hair in his wake.
Still. "It's a dog, Sam. You can't just kill a dog like it's a, a -- "
"Creature of the undead?"
"Exactly," Dean said.
"What are you going to do with him when we leave? Have him ride around in the backseat with us?"
Dean thought about what zombie flesh might do to the upholstery. He looked at Ringo. "Man," he said.
"Look, Dean," Sam said, and he had his patient face on, the one that said Dean was being a fucking moron. Like Dean couldn't see right through that shit. "We can do it humanely. I'll find something to put him to sleep first before we, you know."
"Stab him with a silver fork?"
"Well," Sam said. "Yeah."
Ringo looked at them with bright happy eyes and his tongue out, panting. A piece of it fell to the floor.
As it turned out, they didn't have to do it the humane way. Dean got home from the kabob take-out and Sam was waiting for him with a surprisingly sympathetic expression. He pointed to the sheet-wrapped remains of Ringo, who had chased after one of his imaginary birds into the street. Apparently even zombies could be killed that way if they ended up in enough pieces.
"I'm sure it was quick," Sam said, and Dean just nodded. "I thought we could bury him."
"Yeah?" Dean said.
"Yeah," Sam said.
They dug Ringo's grave in the lot behind the 7-11, and if Dean's throat was a little tight, it was because he'd never had a dog before and he had no idea how much it sucked to lose one. Especially not one as cool as a zombie dog.
"Best dog ever," he said, as they drove out the next morning with the sun bright on the windshield.
"One of a kind," Sam said, but he was looking at Dean.
Rest in peace, Ringo.