Title: Kitten Days
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just borrowing them for for a while and will return them in more or less the same condition. ;)
Warnings: Pretty much nothing except Sam's a cat.
Characters(Pairings): Dean, Sam, Bobby (no pairings)
Notes: There is now a poll on my profile page regarding a possible sequel to this. Check it out when you're done reading. :D
Dean glared down at his brother. "Why am I not surprised? It couldn't have been a simple salt and burn, could it? No. We had to try to gank the ghost of a witch who decided you had to spend six months as a cat."
The kitten—Sam—mewled at him, looking completely unconcerned.
"…This is going to be a long six months."
"I'm going to need…what? Food, litterbox, collar, toys…"
Dean looked up to where Sam was currently curled up on a pillow.
"Lint roller," he muttered, adding it to the list.
Dean came back to the motel room to find his clothes spread out all over the floor, the lamp knocked over and salt scattered everywhere. Grumbling about the mess, he started looking for the bundle of grey fur that was his little brother.
"Sammy? Dammit, Sam, where are you, you furry little bastard?"
He finally found him asleep in the tub, curled up in a nest made of Dean's favorite t-shirt. Sighing, the hunter decided to let the little hellion be while he cleaned up.
As he stuffed clothes back into the duffle bags, he glanced at the bathroom door. "What am I going to do with you, fuzzbutt?" he muttered.
Once Sam had finished hacking and coughing, there was a wet ball of hair and mucus left on the carpet. Dean eyed it in disgust.
"This is almost worse than dealing with you as a baby," he muttered, going to get some toilet paper to pick the hairball up with.
"Dude, seriously. Tell me you understand what I'm saying."
The kitten cocked its head at Dean, but made no other indication of comprehension.
Pulling the laptop over to him, Dean opened a Word document and turned it to face Sam. "Here. Can you type with those paws?"
Sam considered the keyboard, then looked back at Dean's face and tilted his head to the other side. Dean sighed.
"Alright, let's try something different. Say you're hungry. How—"
Sam mewed. Loudly. Wincing, Dean held out a thumbs up. "I think I got it. Let's get dinner, huh?"
The kitten purred.
Sam quickly staked out just what he considered his.
The laptop, when turned on, became the choice nap spot and Dean would be unable to get any research done with the kitten sprawled across the keyboard.
One of the duffle bags was a prime spot for something Dean couldn't figure out, but whatever it was, Sam didn't tolerate Dean within five feet of the bag.
Pencils or pens all eventually found themselves stashed under one of the beds and attempts to retrieve one met with tiny claws and fangs.
If it was small enough for Sam to drag it around and was left somewhere the kitten could reach, it became his and joined the pens and pencils under the bed.
Dean quickly grew exasperated with these territorial habits his brother had developed, but found he couldn't stay mad for very long when the kitten rolled over and implored him to rub his tummy or brought one of the pencils back as a peace offering.
"Alright. Dude, I'm warning you. Next time I wake up to find you sleeping on my face, I'm getting you neutered."
The kitten blinked up at him with wide green eyes. Dean scowled down at it.
"Dammit, Sam. Cats shouldn't even be able to have puppy eyes."
Feeding his brother became a lengthy negotiation, Dean discovered. Sam had absolutely refused to eat the canned food Dean had bought first, so the hunter had gotten the dry kind, which at least meant the kitten wasn't starving himself out of pure spite. However, he'd finally realized that Dean hadn't changed his eating habits and apparently bacon cheeseburgers and pie smelled better than the cat food.
Dean didn't really blame him, but he'd spent his whole life looking out for Sam and this was no different.
"Eat your food, Sam. It's better for your body than this is, right now," he said, pushing the kitten away from his burger and fries. The cat ignored him and tried to slink around his arm again. Dean pushed him back again. "Seriously. Over there, in the little bowl. That's your food. This is mine."
Sam sat and leveled a look at him that Dean recognized despite the species difference. Bitchface #4 or Bitchface #17, he couldn't quite make out the nuances to tell which one. Either way, though, Sam was not happy about being denied what he wanted.
Dean sighed and considered his options before offering his brother a deal. "Okay, look. You eat your food—all of it—and I'll let you have a few bites of my burger and a few fries."
Sam didn't move.
"And a piece of pie."
The kitten jumped off the table and started eating the kibble like it was his absolute favorite thing in the world.
He'd left for ten minutes.
Standing in the doorway, Dean considered seriously killing his brother, or at least neutering him.
The room looked like a hurricane had passed through and touched only Dean's stuff. The hunter was miffed to see that Sam's things (what there was of them, since most of them were now stored in the trunk of the Impala) were completely untouched.
Remembering the first time Sam had done this, Dean quickly checked the bathtub for the grey fluff ball. No Sam. Suddenly worried, Dean scoured the entire room, searching for the kitten.
No response. Dean rubbed at his face. He'd closed the door, locked it even, so Sam should be in the room somewhere. Except that he wasn't.
Starting to think up completely implausible scenarios involving demonic cat-nappers and vampires, he took a deep breath and started gathering up the clothes.
Only to have Sam fall out of one of his shirts with a sharp yowl of surprise. Dean definitely didn't emit a matching shriek. Because that would be unmanly and would totally ruin his image.
After taking a moment to calm his racing heart, Dean scooped the kitten up and sank down onto one of the beds.
"Dammit, Sam, don't scare me like that. I couldn't find you and I was starting to worry that a demon had cat-napped you and…and…just don't do that again."
The cat batted at his nose with one paw and mewed, but didn't show any other sign of remorse and Dean sighed.
"Yeah, well, I learned my lesson. I'm not leaving you alone with my shirts again."
Dean had one eye on the gun he was cleaning and one eye on his brother, as the kitten tumbled head over tail, playing with one of the toys Dean had gotten from the pet store.
Abruptly, Sam lost interest in the toy and padded towards Dean's duffle. Setting down the swab, Dean grabbed the spray bottle and aimed. Sam jumped and glared at Dean, ears flat against his skull. Dean stared back, unapologetic.
"Dude, I'm going to keep doing it until you learn to leave my clothes alone."
Ten minutes later, Sam had been sprayed six times and was sulking on the other bed, pointedly ignoring Dean. The hunter shook his head and resumed cleaning the gun.
"Yeah, no can do, Bobby. What? No. It's just…Sam's kinda unable to hunt anything bigger than a dust bunny right now. What do you—No! He just got turned into a kitten a few weeks ago. Uh, six months from the fourteenth. Yeah, I'll bring him by."
Sam looked up from trying to grab his tail when Dean hung up the cell phone.
"Come on, buddy. Let's go see Bobby."
Sam growled at Dean's fingers and the hunter carefully kept them out of pouncing range. Scowling, he tried to use his other hand to reach around, but got swiped at instead.
Glaring, he decided enough was enough. Standing, he bent over and, ignoring the small scratches Sam managed to land on his hand, picked the kitten up by his scruff.
"I need my shoe, midget," he grumbled, holding his transformed brother aloft while he slipped the shoe on.
Turned out, Sam had enough self-awareness that he automatically went for shotgun in the Impala. Dean had noticed it on the way to Bobby's, but had put it down to coincidence. However, when they made a trip into town for some grocery shopping, Sam hopped right in ahead of Bobby and curled up in the front passenger seat.
Bobby glared at him and tried to shoo him into the back, but the kitten was stubborn and refused to budge. The old hunter finally sighed and got into the back.
He didn't even try on the way back and Sam continued to enjoy life from the passenger side.
"You seen Sam today?"
"No. I thought he was with you."
"I haven't seen him since I woke up with his fuzzy butt in my face."
"Well, I haven't been out of the house or opened any of the outside doors, so he's in here somewhere."
Five hours later:
"Found him, Dean!"
"Where was he?"
"In the laundry basket, fast asleep."
Having just gotten back from a salt and burn that had taken longer than expected, Dean wanted nothing more than to collapse and go to sleep and not wake up for a week.
He made it through the front door and into the living room before falling onto the couch, unable to muster the energy to go upstairs to a real bed. Something small, but surprisingly heavy, landed on his chest and he told himself it was only because he was so tired that he didn't react beyond cracking one eye open and glaring half-heartedly into a pair of slit green eyes.
"G'way, Sammy," he slurred, but there was a distinct lack of force behind the words and the cat just blinked at him. Then the kitten twisted around and lay down, a ball of warmth and a pleasant weight on the tired hunter.
Five minutes later, both were fast asleep.
Dean woke to shouts from downstairs. Pulling on a pair of jeans and throwing on a shirt, he hurried down to find out what was going on.
Finding Bobby in the middle of the kitchen, Dean grinned. "Having a little trouble with the flour, Bobby?"
The old hunter glowered at him and pointed at the floor in accusation. Tiny paw prints were clearly visible against the fine white dust that otherwise covered everything. Dean rolled his eyes.
"I'll go have a talk with him," he promised, making sure to be out of sight of the kitchen before doubling over in silent laughter.
Dean grabbed the kitten by the scruff and held him up at eye level, expression already set in a glare. Sam squirmed slightly, as if fully aware that he'd done something bad. Shaking him slightly to get his attention, Dean pointed at the couch leg.
"What have I told you about using furniture as scratching posts, Sammy?"
"Sam! Let go of me!"
The kitten dug tiny claws further into Dean's sleeve and curled up closer to the hunter, mewling piteously.
"Dude, it's only four days. I'll be back before you know it and Bobby will take care of you."
Sam just tightened his grip and Dean sighed. "Fine. I'll stay, okay?" Sam relaxed, but it still took another hour to get the small cat to calm down enough so that he'd let go.
When Sam fell asleep half an hour after that, Dean carefully snuck away and was on the road for four hours before the kitten woke up again.
Taking Sam to the veterinarian's turned out to be a lengthy process. Getting him into the car had been easy enough, though the kitten had promptly sprawled across the shotgun seat. Bobby had glared at the impassive creature before huffing and getting into the back while Dean just rolled his eyes.
The trip into town went smoothly, with Sam mostly keeping to the seat he'd claimed. Pulling up in front of the clinic, though, Sam seemed to finally catch on to what was happening. It took Dean and Bobby nearly half an hour to get the cat out of the car and even then, it was with plenty of scratches along their arms and hands. Finally, though, Dean had the pouting cat tucked under one arm. Bobby stayed outside to chat with some of the townsfolk.
The wait was thankfully short and Sam didn't fuss much once the vet took him from Dean, but as soon as she was done, he was immediately at the door, obviously wanting out. Dean scooped him up, paid the vet and carried his brother out to the Impala, where Sam curled up in the passenger seat and glowered at the world.
Dean shook his head as they headed back to the house. "It's a good thing you'll only be like this for three more months."
"Sam, get out of the trunk. I need to close it."
The kitten pushed his face between a sawed-off shotgun and the hatchet handle, one paw trying to reach around the wood.
"Seriously, Sam. As cute as that is, I don't think you want to be stuck in here until I need to get something again."
Sam didn't make any move to leave his spot.
"In five days."
Jumping out of the trunk, the kitten immediately started grooming, as if to say 'I did that of my own volition and not because you threatened to leave me in a small dark space for five days.'
"Hey, would you look at that. We've only got one month left of the spell."
Bobby nodded, staring at where Sam was batting his paws back and forth across the spokes of the older man's wheelchair. "Yup. I think I'll miss him being this small, but I sure won't miss the messes he makes in the kitchen."
"Alright, Sammy. You go turned into a cat at noon, so you should turn back at noon, too. We'll just sit here and wait," Dean said, matching action to words as he flopped back on the couch.
As the minute hand slid over the twelve, Sam was abruptly human again. Sneezing, he blinked at his brother, then at Bobby.
"Did I miss something?"