our country rose to meet us in the air

"Sam," Dean says, "I'm pretty sure I just broke your llama thing."

Sam doesn't even look up from where he's hideously torturing one of the fluffy babies. Its mother is standing over him, placidly sniffing his hair as Sam stabs the baby with a needle and, okay, seriously? His brother is fucked up.

"Alpaca," Sam says, then, "What's she doing?"

"Looks like it's... doing something." The alpaca-thing turns its head slowly to regard Dean with huge, black eyes and wrinkles its lips back away from its teeth. Dean backs up a prudent step. "Possessed type things."

"She's not possessed," Sam says tiredly.

"Then I broke it," Dean says. The alpaca makes this noise that's enough to make Dean skitter back half a step and then starts randomly chewing on nothing. "It just dropped."

Sam squints over at them through his hair, both hands absolutely steady on the baby in his lap. "Amoon," he snaps, "Stop cushing."

The alpaca turns its head very, very slowly to look at Sam, then lumbers to its feet and flicks both its ears back at Dean. Dean takes another couple of steps back, raising both hands and letting the lead rope drop. He smiles. The alpaca's ears go even further back and it makes this... noise. Like it's coming for his soul.

Dean keeps smiling. "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?" he says through his teeth. "What made you want to raise Hell-spawn as pets?"

Sam lets the fluffy baby go and puts his hands on his knees. "Dean," says Sam, "You've faced hellhounds, wendigos, angels, demons, and God. And you're scared of something that doesn't even have enough teeth to actually bite you?"