A/N This was a random prompt from a friend of mine- "Destiel with a kitten," more or less. I wrote it without really knowing Castiel well at all, but, looking back on it, I still have to say I like it. The plot is random and cracky and doesn't really fit into canon at all, but, meh, at least it's fluffy. Enjoy, and please review!

Rated K plus for mild language and such

Disclaimer I don't own Supernatural or any associated characters, events, etc.


Even being trained as a hunter with senses geared to the extreme, there was no denying that Dean Winchester could probably sleep through a hurricane. The man liked his rest time, and no one got to interrupt it unless the world was ending. Unfortunately, it often was, one way or another, but this night was supposed to be a quiet one. He, Sam, and Castiel had boarded themselves up in an abandoned house for a few nights (another skinwalker incident had left Cas with a death warrant in multiple states, and Sam insisted that the best way to avoid being caught was to simply hide out for a while)—not a haunted house, but in fact a very quiet one, situated out in the country, rundown but oddly cozy. The day-to-day life of staying out of anything resembling a city bored Dean to tears, but he coped with it anyways, and Sam and Cas didn't seem to mind.

Still, if there was one thing he liked about the rural life, it was undoubtedly the silence at night. Rather than being a simple absence of noise, it seemed to lay over the springy green hills like a blanket, muffling even his own heartbeat and creating a cocoon of warm peacefulness marred only by Sam's breathing in the twin bed next to his own. He was able to actually relax at night, which was a pleasant change by any definition, and the starry sky that he could barely glimpse out of the half-shaded window wasn't too bad to fall asleep to, either.

A gentle whispering of crickets was lulling him to sleep this particular night, and his eyes were half-open, lazily taking in the silvery moonlight painting the windowsill and spilling over the hardwood floor. His thoughts were idle, spinning in unbound spirals, and he was nearly asleep when a slight scuffling noise disrupted him. Immediately, his eyes flew open, fingers tightening around the sheet that he'd been gripping loosely. Sam's silhouette seemed undisturbed, back and shoulder curve slowly rising and sinking with each of his slow, long breaths. Maybe it's nothing. Blinking a couple of times to calm himself—stop being so paranoid, dammit, even you can get some peace once in a while—Dean was just beginning to relax again when the noise came again, louder—this time as the very distinct creaking of footsteps.

He lifted silently into a sitting position, hands braced on the mattress, eyes wide and ears alert. Those were definitely footsteps, moving along the hallway outside their room, slowly and in a manner clearly attempted to be careful. It was all too noisy, though—probably the work of some damn idiotic burglar, he thought with a scowl, swinging his own legs silently out of bed and settling his bare feet onto the cold wood floor. Whoever it was, he'd get hell for forcing Dean out of bed just when he was getting comfortable. With a much more admirable amount of stealth than his quarry, the hunter slipped over to the door, peeking into the dark hallways just in time to see the back of a dark human shape round the corner.

"Son of a…" Swearing under his breath, Dean flitted towards the door leading to the kitchen, wondering if he should have armed himself somehow before recklessly going after the intruder. He sufficed to flex his fists, prepared to give the bastard a good pounding at the very least for having the nerve to break in. Clearing the final step, he flicked on the light switch, and the room was immediately flooded with merciless brightness, blinding him for a split second before the man he'd been pursuing blurred into focus.


"Dean?" the angel questioned, sounding equally surprised. His face was caught in a half-confused, half-guilty expression, blue eyes wide and shoulders rounded slightly, hand seeming to gesture towards the floor. Following the path of his tan coated arm, Dean's eyes fell upon the object he was reaching for: a creature, in fact, a small, absurdly fluffy chocolate-colored kitten.

"What the hell are you doing? It's past midnight," he growled, squinting in confusion at the little animal. As he watched, it tilted its diminutive head up, flicking out a tiny pink tongue to lightly lick the fingers dangling nearby it. Cas hastily knelt down, scratching under the cat's chin and behind its ears but keeping his gaze fixed on Dean.

"Feeding it," he replied quietly, his low voice sounding almost ashamed. "It comes every night… it doesn't have a family. It's hungry."

"You've been feeding that thing for nights?" Dean asked, unsure whether to be disgusted or endeared. Despite his late-night crabbiness, he couldn't deny that he was leaning towards the latter. The sight of his angelic companion crouched over the ball of fluff that vaguely resembled a kitten was too absurdly adorable to be ignored.

"It doesn't have a family," Cas repeated simply, reaching down and lifting the cat with a single hand. Tucking it into the crook of his arm, he straightened up, tilting his head and watching Dean as though curious to see what he might do next. "And it can't take care of itself. Why shouldn't I provide it with what it needs?"

Dean opened his mouth, ready to give a very precise and probably wordy explanation why, but the other's liquid sapphire stare seemed to take the very words from his mouth. He ended up simply shaking his head in bemusement, pacing over to where Castiel stood and reaching over to awkwardly pat the kitten between its ears. It didn't respond in any way but to flex its miniature paws slightly, miniscule claws digging into the arm of the coat it clung to. Its purr was sweet but surprisingly deep—rather like Cas's own voice, Dean realized, then frowned to himself. No need to wax poetic.

"Well, if you have to feed it, you could at least be a bit more quiet from now on," he muttered gruffly, withdrawing his hand and trying to ignore the warmth that tingled in it when it brushed against the angel's forearm. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Of course. It wasn't my intention to disturb you."

Nodding and mumbling something that might have been a form of thanks, Dean reached a hand up to rub at his neck and turned away, headed back out to the hallway. Just as he was about to leave the room, though, Castiel's voice stopped him in place.



"…Sleep well."

A helpless grin materialized on his face, and he stared at the ground, rolling his shoulders slightly. "You too, Cas buddy," he shot back with more warmth than intended, then set off for his room once more.