Ant-Man's Best Friend (Hank Pym x Dog Reader)

Who Let The Dog Out? Seriously, Who?

The day following the "pet project", as Hank had mentally dubbed it, proved to be a busy one. He rose early in the morning in order to prepare before bidding his wife and daughter goodbye and setting out to the laboratory. It was a busy workday, yet the scientist was able to take momentary refuge during a quiet moment to speak to one of his coworkers.

"Been a crazy day.", Dr. Pym began, taking a sip from his much-needed mug of coffee, deadpanned, "And so early, too."

"I know. These days, the stuff I see here, it's like we're living in the twilight zone. You hear about the dog out there, near the parking lot?", the fellow scientist stared at Hank expectantly, as if the canine situation were obvious.

"No, I hadn't.", the gears in his mind began to shift. A dog, suddenly turning up at his workplace, after the pet debacle just the night before? Had his daughter somehow devised this?

"Yeah, Johnson was the first to see it. Some brown mutt. Nobody's claimed it. No tags or anything. Acting real weird, though. Wouldn't be surprised if it had rabies or something, probably eating stuff straight out of our garbage. We're going to call animal control in the morning if it doesn't go away. Just be careful, alright?"

"I will be. I was never much of a dog person.", Hank stated this honestly, although he now had many questions gnawing at his mind. What were the chances of this happening? It seemed to be something out of a movie, simply too good to be true. His life wasn't usually this full of cliches. Despite his coworker's warnings, he was tempted to see the mongrel for himself. By the time his day of research was waning to a close, he had a plan devised to hopefully witness the furry visitor.

With most of his scientist comrades gone for the night (Hank often stayed far later than the others, being very devoted to his work), and with the large building dark, the man shuffled his way towards the communal room. With its large refrigerator stocked with the lunches of the day, packed by many a doting wife only to be forgotten with the chaos of working in a lab, the tasty morsels within would be any hungry stray's dream.

While an expert in entomology, Hank admittedly did not know much about dogs. While he admired the creatures for their loyalty and uncanny intelligence, he found them unsuitable pets. In his many years, he had never owned one. They stunk, slobbered, shed, and were far too much work for him to consider appealing to move into his home. And, yet, they were often a lonely child's closest companion. Keeping Hope in mind, the doctor quickly snatched up a wrapped sandwich from its chilled container. Peeling back the wax paper, he gave it a sniff. Bologna. Dogs liked processed lunch meats, right?

Suddenly noting some writing on the wrapper, the man turned it over for inspection. Have a good day, sweetie. Love, Ethel, scrawled in a thick black marker, signed with a heart. "Sorry, Ethel.", Hank murmured to himself, as if this unknown woman would somehow know of his sandwich-stealing escapades, "I've got a canine to capture.".
It was now time to set his plan into action. Armed with a tasty snack, Hank set out for the parking lot where the creature purportedly lurked. There were certainly harder tasks in the world than getting a likely-starving dog to consume a bologna sandwich.

The parking lot was bare, save for a few cars that seemed to be there perpetually, the smooth asphalt dimly lit by a few surrounding streetlights. Dr. Pym strode out to the middle of the lot, a patch free of white lines and within range of the alleyways and dumpsters, and set down the sandwich. He then backed away, deciding to let nature take control. He glanced at his watch. 9:41. If the dog took too long to make its grand appearance, he figured he'd leave. There was no sense in waiting any longer when he could always just check animal control later. Why was he even bothering luring out some possibly missing mutt with lunchmeat when he could already be home? Perhaps a part of him felt bad for the animal, alone on the street and hungry. Yet, as the minutes ticked on, the man began to regret his decision. What had made him, a perfectly rational fellow, decide to hinge his entire evening upon a stray devouring some poor wife's abandoned sandwich?

Hank had absent-mindedly steadied his eyes upon one of the eternally parked cars, a dull orange sedan, lost to his thoughts as he so often was, when a shadowy break in the streetlights caught his eye. He turned around, feeling an unexpected jolt of excitement.

Sure enough, presently tearing into the crust of the offering, was a brown dog. Of no discernible breed, it had pricked ears, thick fur, and an upright, slightly-curled tail, hinting at some sort of spitz ancestry. Upon initial survey, they were quite adorable.

"Hey.", Hank crouched to the ground a few feet from the apparently famished mutt, extending his hand as an offering for an introductory sniff. Tail wagging, the friendly canine abandoned the meat in favor of meeting someone new. The doctor gently ran his hand across the dog's silky head and ears, detecting no immediate signs of illness despite the warnings he had received earlier.

Feeling content that he had found the adventurous stray, he had neglected to devise the most important part of taking the mongrel home: the means to do so. He hadn't had time to stop for a leash and collar, with how unexpectedly a potential pet had cropped up into his life. Not seeing any other opportunity, he grabbed hold of the sandwich once more, taking care to avoid the slobbery, half-eaten part. Waving what remained of the snack in front of the dog's sensitive nose, he began to carefully walk towards his car, as it was only a few feet away. Luckily, the mongrel obediently followed the wafting lunchmeat and white bread. Once close enough, Hank whipped out his car keys from his pocket and unlocked the side passenger door, hurriedly tossing the sandwich onto the seat just in time before the mutt had a chance to jump up and ruin his work clothes. Within an instant, the dog was in the seat, gulping down the final half of the sandwich. He shut the door behind the hungry animal and got into the driver's side, buckling in and starting the car. He took one last look at his newfound companion, admittedly already quite smitten with its chocolate-brown eyes, specifically evolved for nothing more than manipulating humans with one heart-melting glance.

"Hope's going to love you.", he gave the mutt one last affectionate pat on the head before beginning the drive home, "You're a good dog, aren't you?". To tell the truth, he felt silly talking to a dog, yet it seemed... natural. Something in their eyes seemed like they understood each and every word.

And little did he know at the time, you were certainly no ordinary dog.