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Sam saw a shadow out of the corner of his eyes. No... it couldn’t be... Eyes narrowed, he headed out of the kitchen and scanned the living room, searching for the shadow. At first, he saw nothing out of place. Then, suddenly, something separated from the dark furniture. Something short, and fluffy, and with a long tail, and whiskers. A cat!
"Emily! Dean!" Sam yelled, a warning tone in his voice as he tried to figure out which one of them was the culprit, bringing a cat home when they already had a dog.
The cat, seeing Sam, barreled toward him, was howling up a storm as if it were cussing Sam, or even the whole world, out. Standing at Sam's feet, it glared up at him, its tail flicking wildly, its ears back. It was obviously very pissed off at something.
"Hey!" Sam stepped away, though he stared right back at the rebellious cat. "You, stay." Pulling his gaze away from the animal, he looked up toward the stairs. "Dean!" he insisted sharply, thinking his other half was hiding from him.
"Meow!" the cat answered each time Sam called for Dean. "Mreowwww!" it demanded, smacking at Sam's leg but keeping its claws dug into Sam’s jeans.
Sam's gaze swept down to the cat, his mouth tightening with displeasure. Bending over, he captured the creature, but held it away from his body, and tried once more. "Dean, come take this cat back where it came from. I'm serious!"
The cat stared coolly at Sam with its large emerald eyes. "Meow. Meow. MEOW," the cat declared, looking perturbed and then finally hissing once, its ears going back in annoyance.
"Don't you hiss at me," Sam hissed right back, getting a firmer grip on the cat as he braced for it to try to scratch him. When nothing happened, he stared into its eyes. And stared. And stared some more as an unsettled feeling started to invade his gut.
He shook his head. "That's just nuts," he said out loud, preparing to drop the animal and find his husband.
The cat slowly shook its head. "Mreow," it said, sounding both perturbed and pathetic. It moved its rear legs and began to wiggle, obviously ready to be put down. It gave another hiss, but this time seemed more like it was hissing at itself than at Sam.
"Meow, right. Just ‘cause you have green eyes..." Just as he released the cat, setting it down on the floor, the kitchen door opened and banged shut, Emily running inside with her friend in tow.
She stopped suddenly, her eyes wide. "Popsie!" She turned, her ponytail whipping around. "Remember, I told you, I dreamed it."
Jen nodded, "But you said he was brown, not black."
"What?" Sam asked.
"I dreamed Popsie got turned into a cat," Emily said, reaching out and petting the cat.
"And wished it," Jen said dropping down and also stroking the animal. "Too bad you didn't dream about Justin Bieber."
Giggling, Emily straightened. "Can we keep him, and call him Popsie2?"
"Wait, Em what are you saying about a dream and a--"
Jen grabbed Emily's wrist and tugged her toward the stairs. "The show's gonna start."
"I'll take care of the cat later," Emily promised over her shoulder, as she started running up the stairs.
"But..."
Suddenly the room was completely quiet, and it was just Sam and the cat. He bent down slowly. "Dean?" he asked softly.
The cat gave a huff and a nod. It turned and trotted into the kitchen and struggled to open the refrigerator door. Looking annoyed when it couldn't, it sat down and looked up at Sam. "Mraow."
"Dean... Dean!" Feeling extremely silly, but in his heart knowing the truth, Sam followed Dean into the kitchen, rolled his eyes, but opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. Opening it, he found a small saucer and poured some into it, then set it on the floor. "And you're not getting more, considering your new body weight and the fact that I'll need your help getting you back."
Dean wrapped around Sam's legs. He could have kissed his husband. He quickly lapped up the beer and gave a soft burp. Then he launched himself from the floor up onto the countertop, stared at the skillet, then at Sam, then at the skillet. "Mrrrreow."
"Hey... no cats on the counters." Despite his words, Sam stroked Dean's back and shook his head. "How can you think about eating when you're... you know, not yourself. What are we gonna do about this?" he asked, a little amused, but also worried.
Dean gave him a plainly disgusted look. Sam knew Dean thought best on a full stomach and he was hungry, dammit. Reaching out, he patted the handle of the skillet then looked up at Sam and gave him a pitiful look. He wanted a hamburger. Or bacon and eggs. Something any good carnivore would appreciate.
“Oh, my God Dean. Only you can think of food when we’re having a crisis. Are we? I mean having one?” Sam rattled off. “Or is this one of those things that wears off?” Moving away, he started to pull a can of tuna from the cabinet. “Just what did you get into that you didn’t tell me?” It was pretty nice, being able to have a one way conversation without Dean able to argue back. Looking down at the pacing cat, Sam chuckled at his frustration.
Jumping down on the floor Dean made some hissing sounds, smacking his paws on the linoleum like he was fighting something, then stopped, head-butted Sam, sat down, and meowed once.
“I don’t understand cat.” Seeing the kitchen door start to push open, Sam quickly intercepted the dog and locked the door. He looked out from the window part of the door. “It’s just for a little while, boy,” he said to the perplexed dog.
Turning around, he picked up the cat with one hand and the small bowl of tuna with the other, and took them inside to Dean’s office. Plopping the cat down on the table, and dropping the bowl next to it, he said. “Point me to a book, then eat.” When Dean looked up at him, Sam thought his heart was going to melt. “I gotta get pictures...” he said softly.
Dean hissed at the picture comment and gave a warning growl before focusing on the neatly arranged shelves of books. He leapt from the table to a shelf and walked along it, finally stopping and pawing at a book. Once Sam moved towards it, he jumped back to the table and began gulping down the tuna, not really bothering to swallow.
“Don’t have a hissy fit over it,” Sam couldn’t help himself from commenting, nor from pulling his cell phone out and taking a few pictures. His favorite was of the one when Dean looked up and gave him a ‘stand-back’ glare. Or maybe it was more of a ‘fuck-you’ glare. If cats had fingers Sam was pretty certain Dean would be flipping him off.
Then he pulled the chair out and started to go through the book. At some point, without thought, he began to stroke Dean’s back, running his fingers through his soft fur. It was strange, but he could feel the misalignment in Dean’s hip, even in Dean’s cat form.
Dean couldn’t stop the purring, though he tried. He settled down next to Sam and positively ate up the attention. At least until he spotted a moth. He was after it like a shot, jumping and swatting at it.
A soft laugh broke from Sam as he watched Dean go after the insect. “Come on, use your hunter skills. What is it you’re always telling me? Concentrate, figure out its next moves... ooh, good one,” he said, “get it! Watch out.... damn, it almost sounds like we’re hunting a demon instead of a cute little....” He made a face as the poor moth was squashed under Dean’s clawed paw.
Dean lifted his paw and before he realized what he was doing, he’d devoured the moth. He made a face and looked accusingly at Sam as if it was his fault Dean had eaten the bug.
“Ugh.... you... no kissing for a month,” Sam said, “or until I forget what you just did. Seriously... did you have to eat it?” He wasn’t kidding. “I don’t suppose you’d let me brush your teeth.”
Dean made a face again and wiped at his mouth with his paw and stuck his tongue out. It wasn’t that it tasted badly, it was just the whole idea. Frankly, he was kinda with Sam on the whole brushing his teeth. And tongue. He walked over to Sam and started licking his hand. Better to have Sam-taste than moth-taste.
“No...No...” Sam made another sound of disgust, but in the end, let Dean have his way. “Your tongue is like sandpaper.” Shaking his head, he picked Dean up, grabbed the book, and headed to the living room.
Settling down on the couch, he crossed his leg over his knee and dropped Dean onto his lap. “No more moth chasing, or eating disgusting live things. Take a nap while I read this. Purring is optional.” Grinning, he petted Dean. “You know, this could be fun if there wasn’t a risk of you staying this way.”
Dean growled softly at him. Still, Sam’s lap was warm and that beer had really affected him more than he’d anticipated. He stretched out, sprawling across Sam’s lap and licked his lips a few times as he rolled onto his back and began purring. It was sort of embarrassing, but he couldn’t figure out how not to purr.
Ten minutes later, Sam had forgotten all about the book and was petting the cat. “Aren’t you a cutie? Yes you are, oh yes you are.” He sing-songed, half-laughing at the cat who could barely open his eyes. Using one finger, he lightly tweaked its long whiskers.
Dean half-heartedly smacked at Sam with a paw. He was trying to sleep, dammit.
Sam tweaked Dean’s whiskers again, “Are you falling asleep on me? You really do make a cute cat. I never wanted one before...”
Dean slit his eyes open and glared at Sam. The tweak of his whiskers made his whole body twitch. That was it. He didn’t mind the stroking, but playing with his whiskers? Sam was never going to get any work done with Dean on his lap anyhow. With a fluid twist, he was on his feet and walking off of Sam’s lap. He moved to the corner of the couch where he curled up, his back to Sam, and hid his nose under his tail. Maybe he could get some sleep now and Sam could find the way to get him back to being human.
“What? What did I do?” Sam protested, frowning at Dean who’d shot away from him as if he’d been torturing him or something. “Fine... you sleep, I’ll just--”
The sound of two girls running down the stairs and then jumping to the ground floor with a loud thump, drowned Sam out. “Daddy, can we have some snacks, we’re hungry,” Emily said.
“No broccoli,” Jen chimed in.
“Did you tell her that the spinach puffs have broccoli?” Sam asked, making a show of sighing as the girls giggled and shook their heads yes.
“Alright,” he said as he got up. “I’ll make you some healthy salads...”
He disappeared into the kitchen amidst a choir of “Noooo! No!”
Ten minutes later, he brought two plates out to the dining room, with half sandwiches, chips and some dip. It was really too quiet, he thought, looking into the living room and then stopping mid-stride. The girls had put a bow in the cat’s hair, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
Dean had been happily asleep, minding his own business, dreaming of chasing things when he was suddenly scooped up. He was about to let Sam have it, lifting a paw to give Sam a good smack, when he saw it was Emily who held him. He’d struggled to get down, but felt something get clipped into his fur on his head and he knew, just knew, he now had some sort of bow or barrette in it. He was ready to struggle again when Emily began scratching just the right place on his cheek and he twisted his head up and out so she could scratch it better. Before he realized it, he had something around his waist and then Em’s friend was slipping his paws into the arms of a jacket of some sort. Oh no. Hell no! That was it. He twisted and slipped out of the girls grasps and seeing Sam, made a run for him, half tripping in the clothes the girls had put on him. He howled with frustration at Sam and looked up at him, begging for help.
“Get him!” Emily yelled, chasing the cat, while Jennifer went the other way.
Just before Em reached the cat, Sam scooped it up off the floor and raised it up high. “I don’t think the cat-”
“Popsie-cat,” Emily insisted.
Her tone and the look she shot him distinctly reminded Sam of Dean’s mannerisms. A smile quirked the corners of his lips. “Okay, Popsie-cat, then. But he doesn’t seem to be enjoying playing dress up as much as you.”
“But Rumsy loves playing dress up and Popsie-cat will get used to it,” she said, nodding.
Dean gave Emily a small hiss. He was not going to get used to being her dress-up doll. Even if he did let her comb his hair and style it sometimes. That was entirely different. He didn’t struggle in Sam’s hands even though he wasn’t crazy about being held up so far off the ground. If it kept him out of reach of the dress-up munchkins, he’d be happy. If he had to, he’d make an escape out to the garage. Rummy liked cats so he knew the dog wouldn’t hurt him. Slobber him to death maybe...
“Maybe he will. But not today. Why don’t you go and--” Before Sam even finished, the girls headed for the stairs, their plates of food in hand.
Mid-way up the stairs, Emily stopped. “Whatever you do, do not let Popsie-cat drink...” she silently mouthed ‘holy water.’
“Emily, why... Emily!” Sam called again, but she’d already disappeared. He turned Dean around to face him and stared into his eyes. “You don’t suppose... wait, I can’t take you seriously like this.” Chuckling, he pulled the bow off and then got the clothes off the cat. That done, he raised him up to peer into his eyes. “It couldn’t be that simple. For you to drink holy water.”
Dean was so grateful to be out of those clothes, he licked Sam’s hand. He gave a soft meow. It couldn’t hurt to try he figured. He didn’t wriggle or squirm, almost afraid to get set down again. He felt safe in Sam’s large hands and immediately found himself purring.
Holding Dean close against his chest, Sam found himself stroking the cat’s back as he walked to the office. He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a flask filled with holy water.
Taking it back to the kitchen, he poured some into a saucer and placed it on the floor. Then he kissed the soft fur on top of the cat’s head, and a little reluctantly, set it down on the floor.
Dean looked up at Sam and then at the water bowl. After a moment of hesitation, he began to lap it up. He’d drank almost half of it, stopped and sat on his haunches, giving a disgusted huff, glaring at the holy water. He looked up at Sam with frustration and misery plain on his cat features.
Suddenly there was a cloud of black fur flying everywhere and Dean found himself human again, sitting on the floor, buck naked.
“Holy crap!” he muttered, waving the fur away and looking at Sam.
Laughing, Sam also waved the fur away and tried to get a bit of it off his lip. “You made a mess. Bad kitty, he mock chided. Rocking back against the counter, he looked down at Dean. “Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming...”
“No, you’re not dreaming,” Dean said, then changed his mind, knowing he wasn’t ever going to hear the end of cat jokes. “Yes, you’re dreaming. You’re lying on the couch dreaming.” Dean hurried toward Sam’s therapy room where he knew there was a robe he could wear until he got some clothes on.
Sam followed him out, hoping the girls were still upstairs. When he entered the therapy room, Dean was already pulling the robe on. He moved up to Dean and tied the knot of his belt for him. “You make a fine cat. I never knew I wanted one...” Snickering, he then asked. “So what’s going on. What happened?”
“Best guess? Dream demon. Turns your dreams or nightmares into reality. And that can get real messy, but they usually aren’t too hard to track down. They tend to move from attic to attic. And we are never watching the Aristocats again. It’s off the family night watch list,” Dean said firmly.
“Oh I think I’m having Em watch it again tonight... and then there’ll be no holy water for popsie cat. You look good in a ribbon,” he grinned. “But you did get that cat-tude thing. I mean the minute you figured out I wanted to pet you, you were all...” Sam lifted his face and tossed his bangs back, giving Dean a haughty look.
Dean ignored Sam’s ribbing. “I didn’t mind the petting. It was when you kept messing with my whiskers! Those things must attach to like every nerve in a cat’s body and brain!” Dean shook his head. “And I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”
“C’mere, pussycat,” Sam crooked a finger at Dean. “Lemme pet your whiskers.”
“I am never, ever going to live this down, am I?” Dean said with a sigh then closed the distance between them. He slanted his mouth over Sam’s and gave him a passionate kiss. When they finally separated he looked deep into Sam’s eyes. “So tell me,” he whispered huskily, “how does moth mouth taste?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Ugh... ewww... jerk,” he shouted, shoving Dean away from him. “That was not fair. I’d forgotten....” Running to the sink, he cupped his hand under the running water and brought it to his mouth. Swishing it, he spit it out and glared at Dean.
“Don’t do that again. No, I’m serious,” he said, noting the way the corners of Dean’s eyes wrinkled and the way his shoulders shook. Plus he was slowly advancing. “Brush your teeth or no more...”
Dean crossed the distance and pulled Sam up tight against him, staring into his eyes, licking his lips. Just as he looked like he was about to lean in and kiss Sam he said, “Okay” and released him, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Sam’s breath had caught in his chest and his eyes had started to flutter shut, when they flew open. “You... Double jerk,” he said, taking a giant step away and pointing at the bathroom sink. “Brush.” Both of them knew Dean only had to look at him a certain way, or touch him, and he’d fall for it all over again.
“Keep calling me that and I’ll just pretend to brush my teeth,” Dean tossed over his shoulder as he headed for the linen closet where they kept extra toothbrushes. He added a little swing to his hips and paused at the doorway, looking back at Sam. “You wanna come scratch my itch after my mouth is all minty fresh?”
Sam’s gaze glanced off Dean’s ass. By the time his eyes met Dean’s, a flush had spread over his body. “Yeah. I really want to.” He took a deep breath. “But we have the girls,” he reminded Dean, “and you know it. Triple jerk,” he said, running his hand over his face, then shaking his head as Dean walked out, his laughter echoing in the room. That man did not play fair!
The End