"Sam?" Dean's voice growled from the back of the Impala. He kicked at the small bag of trash he'd cleaned out from the floorboard and, using his knees and elbows, wiggled onto the back seat and out of the car. He had a bad habit of throwing his trash into the back, sure, but this was ridiculous.
"Dean?" The answering response came from the other side of the car.
"You wanna explain this?" Dean straightened and raised his head to look at Sam over the top of the Impala.
"Explain what?" Sam walked to the car from the open motel door, his face drawn into curious puzzlement.
Dean walked around the hood of the car and presented his hands. Fur spilled from between his fingers. "You wanna explain why my car's had kittens?"
Sam's eyes widened. "Oh my god!" He grinned hugely and laughed, reaching out and chuckling at the tiny protesting meows.
"They were in my car, Sam! Some cat had kittens in my car!" Dean gladly shoved the furry bundles into Sam's open arms.
Sam dipped and tried to catch the squirming animals. "Where's the mother?"
"How the hell should I know, huh? And you're cleaning the funk from under the seat, so congratulations. That's what you get for leaving the damn windows open!" Giving Sam the evil eye, he rounded the front of the car back to the driver's side.
Sam followed him, clutching the kittens to his chest. "They were open because I was trying to air out the car."
"The car didn't need airing." Dean had dipped onto the backseat once more.
"It does after your onions! The cat probably crawled in looking for the burger." Sam glanced at the furry bundles. Four tiny kittens, just young enough for their eyes to crack open. Vivid blue irises shown out from solid black faces. One tiny mouth opened in an inaudible hiss.
Dean pulled out the garbage bag and slammed his door. "Are you blaming this on me?"
"I'm not. . .look." Sam gave up. "We need a box or something."
"We gonna bury them?"
"What – God, Dean, no!" He gestured with his full hands. "To put the kittens in!"
"That's what I mean. Put them in the box and. . ."
"Just – shut up. Okay! Here." Sam fumbled the kittens into Dean's reluctant hands. "Gimme a minute."
"Wait, where you goin'?" Dean quickly dropped the bag so he could catch the kittens. Garbage spilled from the untied top. "Sam!"
"I'm gonna see if they have a box at the front desk!"
"Take these with you!" Dean held out the kittens, grimacing as one let out a pathetic micro-meow. "Terrific," he muttered.
"Sam. For the love of God, will you sit down?" Dean's eyes didn't even leave the book he was reading. "You're giving me a headache."
"The mama cat's gotta come back for them." Sam closed the motel curtains with a sigh. "I don't see her out there."
"Put the box outside." His voice fell into a deep, movie tone. "If they screech– she will come."
"Funny. Besides, someone might get them."
"Better them than me." He flipped a page.
Sam sat on his bed across from Dean, elbows on knees, hands clasped. "You know, if that cat doesn't show up we'll have to feed them ourselves."
Dean slammed his book closed. "Forget it. I am NOT feeding a damn cat."
Sam grinned. "What's your problem? You ailurophobic?"
"Allure a what?"
"Afraid of cats."
Dean grimaced in disbelief. "No! No. They – rub all on you. Gets on my nerves." He shifted uneasily.
Sam smirked. "You are afraid, aren't you? Hey, you remember that time I opened the locker door. . ."
Dean cut in quickly. "I was drugged, Sam. Sick. Had that ghost thing. I was scared of anything short of lightbulbs." He pointed meaningfully. "Doesn't count."
"You screamed like a girl."
"It scared me!"
Dean scowled and returned to his book.
The kittens, shut in the bathroom, started raging in a mini-cacophony. Sam sighed. "Should I go get the stuff?"
"Kitten milk replacement, Dean."
"Are you serious?"
"They'll just keep meowing."
"Fine. Fine! Here." Dean dug into his front pocket and pulled out his keys, then tossed them to Sam. "Damn. You're more annoying than they are. Bring me back some chips while you're out."
The mews were growing louder, and not in a good way. Dean cursed and flipped onto his side, drawing the pillow over his exposed ear as he tried to read. The meowing persisted, cutting through the cotton he clutched to the side of his head. Since when were kittens so loud? A few doors down, a motorcycle puttered and tried to roar. For a moment, the rumble covered the noise coming from the bathroom. He couldn't feel the vibration from the loud engine, but it sure sounded like it was next door.
Frustrated, he checked his watch. Sam had been gone half an hour. The store was right down the street, what the hell? He huffed and pulled the book closer to his eyes. The rumble faded, and a meow pierced the air, sounding frightened. "Oh, come on! It's a motorcycle!" Dean yelled out over the rumble that had suddenly started again. Sam had better hurry his ass up. He yanked the pillow from his head and walked to the window. The Impala was no where to be seen.
And neither was a motorcycle.
Dean paused for a moment as the rumbling sounded once more. Slowly, he turned to the bathroom. That wasn't right. Kittens didn't growl; not like that.
"Damn. And I thought my stomach got loud when I'm hungry," Dean mumbled. Eyes on the bathroom door, he squatted and slowly stretched for the duffle that sat beside his bed, then pulled out his gun.
The bathroom door dented. Dean was on his feet, his weapon aimed and ready as the door burst open and four tiger-sized black cats with red eyes clawed their way out. Each head was as large as his own, and their teeth looked as long as his forearm. His eyes widened. "Sam, you better bring back a friggin' cow," he muttered. A low growl shook the floor, and the creatures pounced.
Dean was firing before he knew it, the noise disguising his yell of surprise. One cat howled and went down. One darted to the side, red eyes fixed on Dean, while the third lunged at him, slamming him back against the wall. His breath left him, but he managed to put his pistol into the creature's face and pull the trigger. The head exploded, splattered, filling the room with a vile smell. Dean kicked the body away and raised his gun once more, only to be pounced on by the injured cat. He fell to the floor, his gun scuttling away. He kicked out with his boots and caught the cat in the chest as another dug painfully into his shoulder. He yelled out, his hand closing into a fist, and pummeled the face. One paw landed on his chest, pinning him down. Another planted on his thigh, and the cat released his shoulder and gaped, ready to dive into his gut.
"DEAN!" Four shots sounded. The cat that was ready to tear his stomach out fell backwards, while the one that held him down fell half on him with a shriek and lingering meow. He whipped his head around, but couldn't see the other two. He lay there, gasping, then pushed at the cat covering his chest.
Sam shoved it away and pulled him to his feet. "Dean! You okay?" His eyes were frantic.
"Yeah," Dean muttered, coughing, bent half-over and grimacing at the rough smell of blood and brain matter that was permeating the room. "Thanks." He wavered, looking at the carnage. One cat was still trying to move; a single paw stretching out its claws. Sam put a bullet into its brain, then looked at the bodies in disbelief.
Dean backed away and let himself fall onto his bed, still fighting to catch his breath. He waved away Sam's concern. The cats were dead. No longer cute little kittens, but possessed killing machines. Just one more thing to watch out for. All in a day's work, and all that. Only one question stuck in his mind, and he voiced it gruffly.
"Did you forget my chips?"