So I have posted this on AO3, but I decided to post it here as well. This story is finished, and I have a sequel in the works. But basic premises for this AU:

Dean is turned into a Dog by a cursed bite. And now he's gotta live with all that comes with that.

Chapter 1: Bitten

"Gah, a little softer would'ja, Sammy?" Dean hissed as Sam pushed on the wound as he wrapped it. "Geeze."

"I can't believe you were actually bit. By a dog ." Sam couldn't keep the smile off his face. "I mean, what kind of luck is that?"

"Luck Sammy?" Dean shook his head with a wince. "When does luck have anything to do with it?"

Sam raised his eyes, but it still stunk of amusement. Dean glared. It was halfhearted at best. When had Sam been this amused? When in the past month or so had Sam been anything but mister grumpy-gills?

Dean didn't know, but the fact that it took him getting bit for Sam to laugh like he'd heard the funniest joke pissed him off. More than just a little.

"And you said there was no reason to dislike them." Dean said petulantly.

"Dogs Dean?"

"Yeah, Dogs, dammit."

Sam stopped, dropping his hand. Shaking his head he scoffed.

"Only you would get bit by a dog and blame it on me." Still his voice was amused. Until it turned a touch concern. "This is pretty deep, Dean. Did you bait it or something?"

"Me?" Dean asked as he leaned back and grabbed a beer with his good hand. "Why would I bait a dog? I wouldn't want one near me let alone bait the damn thing."

Dean winced as Sam tugged a little harder on a deep part. He looked contrite.

"Sorry."

"Stitches?" Dean asked, pulling a face as he watched Sam dab.

"No," Sam looked at him only briefly before he was laser focused on the wound. "We'll just have to let it heal on it's own. Some of the bite mark is deep, but it shouldn't need any stitches."

"Perfect." Dean said as he flopped back further.

Just. perfect. A perfect end to a perfect day to the end of a perfect week.

It started with the vampires tearing Daniel Elkins apart. It was a case and they knew they had to check it out. Somewhere in the middle was when Sam and Dean were greeted by their father. Apparently Elkins had been a mentor to him and before he had died... left a note behind for him. John had taken one look and spat curse after curse. He'd explained the Colt, about how it could kill anything, and that he was so close , damnit, so close. It ended with John leaving them to hunt down the vamps, leaving town before either of his boys could get ahold of him. No matter how much they hissed and bitched and called.

Well, he did leave a note, as well. But what good was: 'Stay safe. Stay together. Don't trust anyone.' ?

No good, that's what. So they hunted.

The hunt had been easy. A salt and burn. Easiest they'd had in a long, long time. No ghosts. No witches. No fucking demons. Nothing spooky just a ghost that wanted to stay with her family for a little while longer. She didn't seem to understand that killing every date her husband had years after she'd died wouldn't go over so well for anyone involved. Especially her. The item in question had been a candle from their wedding day and had taken surprisingly little to burn it down to nothing.

It was afterwards when Dean was standing alone in an alley, Sam bringing the car around, that the German Shepherd appeared.

Dean didn't necessarily like dogs, he respected them, sure, but that was beside the point - even he could see the dog was beautiful. Bright blue eyes, a touch on the darker side of the breeds usual coloring, and wagging its tail friendly enough. It had no collar.

"Aye boy," Dean warned with his hands out as the dog lumbered toward. It was to hold off not to welcome further. "Whoa, whoa. Let's not be getting any closer, alright?"

Ears perked the dog slowed until he stood a few feet away. As if it understood.

In hindsight, that was the first clue.

"Uh." Dean mumbled to himself looking around. "Shoo. Go on."

The dog barked at him, wagged its tail even harder as it stood to its paws. Another bark. Dean backed up a little. "Hey now. Let's not get crazy."

Only that didn't stop the dog. It walked closer, tail still wagging excitedly like a child.

When it lashed out, Dean almost didn't understand. Nothing about the dog had been even slightly threatening. In fact the dog had been playful without the quick movements, slow to a fault, and slow to come at him. It was quick, almost professionally done. One bite, deep, a single shake and then the dog was absolutely gone. Dean left bleeding from his right hand, staring at nothing. Not even really moving except to throw himself against the alley wall.

All he could say was "Son of a bitch," but the dog was gone.

"You think it's infected?" Sam asked, worried. Dean had yet to really move from the couch for the last day, since the attack.

"Who knows?" Dean said, his words slurred. "It was just a dog."

Right? It was just a dog... A mangy, stupid, dog.

God.

Right?

What if this was how he went? Battling demons, facing up against his father, going after werewolves, pagan gods, and he would be undone by a dog.

"Stupid dog." Dean growled, a weak pathetic thing. "I hate dogs, Sammy."

"I know, Dean." Sam told him, patting him on his shoulder.

There was no more amusement in his voice.

Dean coughed violently. The first of many. It made Sammy stare at him like he was bitten by something radioactive, two parts worry and one part real-horrible-bone-deep worry . The kind that had them both doing stupid things for each other.

"Seriously, seriously hate dogs."

Another violent cough that led to a fit and Sam was standing up straighter.

"I'm calling Bobby."

Day two wasn't much better than the first.

Bobby was talking on the other end of the line and Sam was listening intently. Dean stared at the ceiling. After Sam had explained the situation Bobby had gone off to look for what he could. He said he had never heard of anything like what Dean had explained. It didn't explain werewolf, or skinwalker, or hell, a lot of other things that went nibble in the night.

And it was a dog to boot. A plain old German Shepherd.

Bobby had never heard of that.

Never.

Then again, he'd never had to ask.

"So you've got nothing?" Sam said, which was followed by Dean coughing. The fits were getting shorter now, since they'd gotten longer during the night. His fever had not broken yet, but they weren't exactly hopeful. This was something they'd never seen before.

"What if it's rabies?" Dean wondered aloud.

Sam spun to him, phone still held to his face.

"Uh, one of the first things we considered, bro," Sam called over to him, before telling Bobby what Dean had asked.

Well. Dead end after dead end.

With a sigh, Dean settled into the couch.

He was going to die. And it was because of a dog. Great.

He had been right. The world hated him.

When Sam hung up with Bobby, rubbing at his eyes, Dean watched as Sam paused. Rubbed his face, stared at his phone in deep contemplation. Then, he clicked through his phone. Came upon a contact. Took another second, a deeper breath, and pressed another key.

Putting the phone to his ear, Dean watched Sam wait out the beeps, the click, the signaling of a voicemail.

And he watched him speak.

"Dad. Dean's been bit. We don't know by what. He's in a bad way. We... We could really use your help on this one, Dad. I know you said it was dangerous for us to be together, to be found anywhere in the same vicinity... but we need you, Dad."

And then Sam looked over at him, met his eyes and said:

"Dean needs you."

Dean felt his heart contract. He both wanted to hug the life out of Sam and punch his father in the nose.

He couldn't even muster up the usual, "No chick-flick moments, Sam," because right now, he could use a chick-flick moment. Especially a happy-ever-after.

Day three was the worst. Coughing fits lasting longer and longer. The fever raging hot and thick inside Dean's mind. Blankets on and off multiple times an hour. Burning one second, colder than an ice pack the next. Sam tried his hardest to keep up with the mood swings, got him water when he was parched, soup when he was cold and hungry. And when Dean would fall asleep for a few hours at time, Sam researched,

And then, like that, it was over.

Day four came and with it - the end. Or the beginning... depending on how anyone was looking at the situation.

Dean awoke bright and early, his sense of time skewed to hell and back, but he awoke without a cough, or a sneeze, and he felt better. Better than he had for a long long time. With a deep languish breath of air in his lungs, Dean bolted upwards.

It was like breathing for the first time. The air... tasted . Dean had long ago blocked out the smell of motel, but now it hit him in the face. Sweat, dust, sex, mold, and under that hidden like paint four layers under the wallpaper, blood and smoke. Like someone had cleaned it up but there was no hiding it. Blood was blood. Smoke was smoke.

Dean breathed in again, and more came with it.

He almost choked.

As if an after smell, or something, Dean was smacked in the face by Sam. Not literally. No. By his smell. Leather jacket, hair gel, soap and shampoo - clean Sam. Books, too. That underlayer, like the smoke and blood.

Dean's chest tightened.

What the hell? What the hell bit me?

This was not rabies this was... This is something else.

"Crap." He said, twisting over the couch into a sitting position. "Sam?"

Dean heard Sam. The shower going. The sound of soft humming. Water running down the walls, ricocheting off something, pitter-patter.

And then came the sensation of touch.

Dean jumped nearly out of his boxers.

As if sound and smell wasn't enough, touch was like fire exploding from his fingertips. And really, all over. The blanket had felt heavy, scratchy, suffocating. His boxers felt like they were cutting off the circulation into his entire lower half. The shirt like it was pressing on his lungs .

He jump up and pressed himself against the wall - cold, hard, like sand against his palm - panting. Each breath was a new kind of extreme. Different smells against his tongue and nose. Like a mix of everything but each part of the room smelled differently. Closer to the wall he got a draft from the vent, so the sex, sweat smell was limited, like everything else. And the smells of flowers, grass, and bark was like a tickle against his nose. Less bitter and more soft.

What the hell is happening to me?

Sam found him as he came out of the shower sitting on the floor, curled into a ball so he was touching as little as he could. "Dean?"

His brother flinched at his voice.

"Dean! You're up!"

"Quieter would'ya?" Dean's voice was a whisper but gravely like always.

Confused because he had been quiet, Sam cocked his head.

"Dean, what's going on? Are you alright?"

"Ugh." Dean growled, getting up to go to the far wall, away from Sam. "Still too loud."

Sam shook his head, trying to think on what that could mean. He was severely sleep deprived and it was starting to show itself in his slow thinking, his confusion and befuddlement.

Too loud? Was the sickness affecting his sensitivity to sound now?

That could definitely be a clue!

Sam took a step forward, Dean waved his arm in front of him in a stay-away kind of gesture. Worried, but always willing to listen for at least a few seconds, Sam took a few steps back.

"Dean, what is going on? Are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" Dean asked, face scrunched up. "No, God, Sammy. I'm not hurt, I just... I - "

Dean paused. To Sam that pause lasted a century.

Sam couldn't handle it. "Well. How's the fever? I see the cough has gone... Why are you on the ground? Are you -"

"God, what's with the twenty questions?" Dean groaned, hands over his ears but still feeling the words bounce in his eardrums. "I feel fine. I'm fine, Sam."

It was Sam's turn to pause.

"You feel fine ?" Sam asked, incredulous. "Dean, you haven't been able to get up on your own in days ."

Dean covered his ears as if Sam had shouted at him. "Yeah, Geeze, I get it Sam. Been down for the count. No need to yell."

"Dean, I'm not yelling."

"It sure sounds like it." Dean growled.

Sam felt concerned now.

"Dean, I'm not yelling. That bite must have done something to you."

"Done something to me?" Dean stared at Sam. "Of course it did something to me!"

Dean cut Sam off with a chuckle before he could say anything.

"I know."

"You... you know?" Sam asked, passing a hand through his hair. "What did it do? What is happening to you? Is this... "

Sam cautiously walked forward, before crouching towards Dean.

"Dean?"

"It's like nothing I've ever experienced." Dean paused, leaned more heavily against the well. "Sam... I can hear everything , smell it all, too. I thought I had gotten used to the smell of motel but this... this is too much."

Dean tried holding his breath. It didn't help. It lingered.

"And touch... well," He shook his head. How to explain being like this? "It's like I'm being constricted. And this room smells like sex. And - " He threw his hands up before rubbing his face roughly. "I can hear the light over on the other street flickering . The couple next door trying to have quiet sex, but it's like they are screaming in my ear. WOULD YOU SHUT UP!"

Dean yelled the last bit while hitting the wall. The couple only stopped for a second, confused, before continuing.

Ugh. It wasn't even the good kind of sounds. It was boring and awful.

Sam yanked his head back and shook it, like a confused moose.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's like everything has been turned to the max. Radio set to a hundred," Dean said with a sigh,

He pulled himself up short. "Uh, is there a reason you're wearing just a towel?"

Sam looked down to his crossed arms, to the white towel tied around his hips. A blush reddened his cheeks.

It was too damn early for this shit.

"We're talking about this," He said as he grabbed clothes and started to get dressed. "We are sooo talking about this."

The next time Sam came out of the bathroom Dean had managed to get pants on. It felt even more constricting and heavy than just boxers, like someone had wrapped his legs in plastic and tape. Uncomfortable was just the tip of the iceberg.

"So, let me get this straight. No more fever, or cough. Just like that?"

Dean nodded, wiggling in his seat to try and find a comfortable spot. He failed.

"And now you can hear, smell, and feel just about everything? Like super senses?"

"Sums it up nicely, Sam," Dean said with a sigh.

"I've definitely never heard of anything like this." Sam flopped onto the bed and watched Dean wince. "The only thing that comes close would be a werewolf, but you said it was a dog, not a werewolf."

Dean side-eyed him. "Yeah and I know what a damn Werewolf looks like."

"And I believe you, Dean, I do. It's just... none of this makes sense." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I've never seen anything like it."

Dean knew he shouldn't feel delighted that Sam's attention was so fully focused on him, but he was. When was the last time they'd talked about anything other than a case or ... Jessica and Mom? And when would this ever happen again?

Now, if only Sam's attention didn't come with this new condition Dean sported.

"I know, Sam, I know." Dean said.

Except, Dean didn't know anything. Nothing at all.

Burgers were a favorite of Deans. The fattier, juicier, the better. Cheese, onions, the works. Before, eating a burger was delightful and itched a scratch that Dean needed itching.

Eating a Burger now was like a revelation. He ordered it like usual and just about spat it back out. Not because it was disgusting, but because it was like nothing he'd ever eaten before. And he'd eaten a lot of weird shit. The meat sizzled against his tongue in a pleasant way, the add ons tasted like nothing, but the meat.

The meat.

"Do you two need a moment?" Sam asked and for a second Dean doesn't even hear him.

It's just him and the burger.

"Huh?" He finally says. Sam still looking at him in half-amusement, half-not. "I just. It tastes..."

Dean now understands he doesn't have a word for what he is experiencing. Its delight, its intrigue, its curiosity. It's a bundle of things, but it's nothing Dean has ever experienced before, at least not like how he's experiencing it now.

Sam looked at him, worried, his own burger half forgotten as he sat on his laptop. Yet his eyes were now on Dean, not on the article he was reading. Not on tracking dad. Not on tracking the demon. No. On Dean. On Dean and how his brother stared at his burger like it'd grown another head or started talking.

If Dean heard his heartbeat differently, he didn't say anything.

"Dean,"

His brother is silent for a minute, not breaking eye contact with his burger. He took a swig of beer and almost wanted to burn his tongue off. Meat is one thing. It seems barley, water, and fermentation - is another thing entirely. He sets his beer down hard on the table and glared at it, not taking his eyes off it. When he does, it's to look at Sam with wide eyes, a touch fearful, like when he'd been forced to ride that plane.

Sam's stomach dropped.

"What is happening?"

"I don't know, Sammy,"

After that, it's the women that are the problem, and that damn near break Dean's heart.

It's not that he doesn't find them attractive, drop dead gorgeous, mouth watering, or D, all of the above; its that he finds them attractive and he also smells everything about them. It's no longer just his eyes that see people. It's his nose. And his ears.

Every women that glances at him with anything short of a skipped heartbeat catches his attention. He can smell their arousal. He can hear catching breath and steps slowing. He watches the subtle shift in their faces as their mouths drop, their noses sniff, and their eyes cloud.

Its overwhelming and he can't look at them without seeing every micro expression and every thought cross their face.

The part that breaks his heart is that it is often the disgust that he can't handle anymore. Before it was playful, but there is something about how anger, and disgust, and lust all play about into a cocktail he can't stand.

Oh. That and that it's not just human females he finds himself sniffing.

Its when he first sniffs the back of a dog as it passed that he realizes there is a problem. It's not like he's right up next to its butt or anything - but the simple fact that some part of him did sniff made him not just pause, but damn near toss his cookies right there.

"Dean?" Sam had asked, all innocently.

Which just made Dean actually run to the nearest bush and throw up his taco.

Dean doesn't talk about the incident afterwards. He stays well away from beer. Eats more meat than he can stomach sometimes, but doesn't take another look at beer. He doesn't chase any tail, none of it, and he's basically celibate. Like Sam. Which, well, maybe that changes him. Maybe something fundamentally Dean dies, but they don't talk about it.

Maybe this is the point of no return. Dean hadn't realized he'd thought there was one, but it seemed he was wrong.

What was Dean if he wasn't crude and loud and self assured? What was Dean if he didn't sweat arrogance? What was Dean if he didn't smile at servers, waitress, and bar keepers alike? What was dean if he wasn't... human?

They may not talk about it, but Dean thinks about it. Thinks about all too much.

And Dean realizes that Dean doesn't know Dean .

They go back to Bobby's to research.

The place smelled like metal, oil, and dirt. Somehow cleaner than anything Dean had smelled yet. Perhaps it was because of the forest surrounding the place, but the air seemed to give the entire place a clean and open feeling. And Dean had never been one to shirk closed spaces, but now he couldn't even drive Baby without the windows down.

Bobby had given him the works as soon as he'd stepped into the entrance devil's trap. Holy water, silver, gold even.

"Ain't never seen anything like it." Bobby sighed as soon as they were done and got to work.

It took a good week to turn over every stone they had in the books Bobby kept. Bobby himself reached out to everyone he could think of.

In the end, their big break came with Dean doing his next 'weird' thing.

And it was a doozy.