Work Text:
JACK? He can see again. He can see everything. He can feel everything, the currents of the universe, stars being born, and growing, and dying. Galaxies spinning so fast they create a hum, bone deep, and it’s comforting.
JACK, CAN YOU HEAR ME?
Castiel is gone. Dean has been texting, calling, and praying, but the truth settles hard and ice-cold in his stomach: Castiel is gone. The only thing left is a pile of all-too familiar clothes. And fuck, the sight of the abandoned trench coat on the armchair in the library turns his stomach and every nightmare scenario that his brain usually reserves for, well, actual nightmares, is flashing behind his eyes; loud, intense, and scaring the everloving crap out of him.
The Empty came back and devoured him. Another door to another universe opened up and swallowed him and sealed him away forever. Cas finally got fed up with all of Dean’s bullshit and decided he deserved better and was worth more and left because who the fuck wants to stick around if they have a choice… this specific brand of panic is far too familiar and it doesn’t matter that in the past, one way or another, Cas did always return to him. Here and now, it does not matter. Dean knows his luck ran out around his fourth birthday or so and everything that’s happened since is just whatever god of the week toying with him, and they’ve ripped Cas away from him again.
His head is spinning, his body is feeling floaty and weird. He needs to do something. He’s been through this before. He cannot go through this again. He can’t breathe. His head is buzzing and he can’t breathe.
“Dean? Hey, hey, hey. Why don’t you sit down.” Sam’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a glass wall.
“He’s gone.” Dean fucking hates those words. He left me . “He left me.”
Sam’s kneeling in front of him, but he looks blurry. Worried.
“We don’t know that. I’m sure he just went out or something.”
“Without his fucking clothes?”
Dean presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until it hurts, until everything is flashing blue and purple instead of gooey black. The seconds tick by and reality doesn’t magically snap back to the way it was before. This is the new reality. This can’t be happening.
“Woah!” Sam yelps, and it’s so sudden it briefly snaps Dean out of it. “What the fuck is that?”
Dean reaches for his gun and looks around wildly, adrenaline high and head still feeling pretty weird. “What? Where?”
“There!”
Dean blinks, trying to regain his vision, and stares at the next table over, where a black creature stares right back with its countless eyes. Dean shakes his head again in an attempt to clear his vision but that creature still has too many eyes.
“Meow.”
“Is that a cat?” Sam doesn’t sound sure. Dean stares at it. Black and furry with lots of blue eyes, too many blue eyes. Despite its obvious otherworldliness, it looks harmless. If you asked him, he’d say the cat looked grouchy. Flames are licking every inch of his body, but it doesn’t seem like the flames actually burn. He swallows again, because he knows those eyes. He knows this creature, and he’s so certain of it that he immediately puts the gun away again.
“Cas?” The cat tilts his head, and relief floods Dean’s system like rain after drought. “Is that you?” The cat gets up and jumps over to Dean’s table.
“Meow.”
“Hey, buddy,” he says weakly. Cas isn’t dead, he’s just under a fucking spell or something. Immediately, new worries creep up, like how the fuck could this happen and how to we reverse it and is he still in there? The free floating eyes are a little disconcerting up close and he cowers a little under their lazer sharp focus. Being scrutinized by Cas the cat feels way more serious than being scrutinized by Cas the angel. He feels like Cas is staring straight into his soul, picking him apart.
“How… what the hell?” he hears Sam say. “What the hell?”
“Yeah, how ,” Dean agrees. “Cas. What the fuck?”
The cat doesn’t answer. It just stares harder. Then it shakes his head, eyeballs jiggling, but something shifts and suddenly he looks like a normal cat. He jumps into Dean’s lap, and Dean flinches again, not sure what the hell he's supposed to do. “Hey!” Maybe Castiel's not really himself in there. Whatever the situation is, the guy must be letting his cat-instincts take over, because he digs his claws into Dean’s jeans a couple of times before curling into a ball. In Dean’s lap.
“Dude!”
“So he’s. He’s turned into a cat. But he can still understand us, right?” Sam asks, sounding half amazed, half worried. “Cas, you’re still in there, right?”
Cas opens one eye and glares at Sam, who immediately shuts up. Dean doesn’t know what to do except mouthing what do I do? to Sam, who mouths back I don’t know! The cat wriggles a little, getting comfortable. The weight of him in Dean’s lap is heavy, warm. He’s terrified of moving. It’s bizarre, but he keeps thinking about the first few times he met Cas. That same aura is back, the otherworldly element. The holiness that urged him to worship. Of course, he always ignored that urge, because he quickly learned angels weren’t all they were cracked up to be, but this time around… Dean’s not sure what’s appropriate here. He wants to touch the fur, but that’d be inappropriate, right? Cas is basically naked in his lap, and oh fuck, that’s an incredibly inappropriate thought to have. He raises one hand and carefully pets Cas’s head, right between his pointy little ears.
Castiel starts purring. Dean looks at Sam, helplessly.
“I, um.” Sam shakes his head, looking gobsmacked. “I’m gonna call Eileen. You… just sit tight.”
Dean takes a deep breath, and continues to pet Castiel’s head carefully. Castiel keeps on purring.
“So,” Sam says once Eileen picks up, and then he bursts into laughter. Truth be told, he's feeling a little hysterical. Eileen frowns, and adjusts the pink towel on her head. “That’s rude,” she says, sounding affronted. “As if you’ve never wrapped your –”
“No, no, no, I’m not laughing at you,” Sam rushes to sign, feeling a little flustered. “You look lovely.” His cheeks heat up a little more, but, what the hell. She does. “Are you busy? You’re not gonna believe what just happened.”
“Not busy, and… can I guess?”
“Sure.”
Her face lights up as she makes a show of running through ideas, and she really looks lovely.
“Let’s seeeeee… you found a nest of owls in the telescope you guys refuse to use.”
Sam chuckles.
“No, but… you’re not too far off, actually.”
“You found a family of raccoons in the computer room because you have all this cool shit that you don’t use, even though you really should –”
“Castiel turned into a flaming cat,” Sam bursts out. He repeats the sign for “cat”, making it clear that he did not mis-sign.
Eileen stares at him for a few moments.
“You know that’s the sign for cat, don’t you?”
“I’m dead serious. Cat.”
“But… how? Is that something he does?”
“I have no idea! I mean, no! It’s never happened before. He’s left the vessel before, but… There’s no sign of the vessel, and now he’s just this weird-looking, terrifying monster with a thousand eyes.”
Eileen makes a face.
“I bet Dean’s delighted.”
Sam snorts.
“Yeah, well. That creature is currently curled up in Dean’s lap, so. He’s thrilled.”
Eileen looks absolutely delighted by that.
“ Really? ”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s incredible. Oh my god. Is it… witches? A spell? How could that happen?”
“I really have no idea. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of anything like it before?”
She shakes her head, and Sam nods. They’ll have to hit the books for this one. He chats a little more with Eileen, who has plans tonight but offers to come over the following morning. After they say their goodbyes, Sam hangs up with a smile on his face. If it had been Eileen, turning into a cat… well. He supposes he’d love her all the same.
Huh.
Dean’s been weird about Castiel… well, for a long time. For years. From the start . Sam always chalked it up to the weird soulbond or whatever it was they had, since Castiel was the one who pulled his brother out of hell and all that, but… sometimes, with the way they act, Sam can’t help but wonder if he’s missing something huge. But at the end of the day, they’re just close. Sam can’t really blame them, after everything they’ve been through together. However he would never have let that feral thing rip his pants to shreds and take a nap on the remains. But this is Dean and Castiel, and Sam’s once seen Castiel steal food straight from Dean’s plate, so. The guy will let him get away with anything.
Dean’s pretty sure he’s always been allergic to cats, but maybe the rules don’t apply if the creature in your lap isn’t actually a cat. At least he’s pretty sure Cas isn’t actually a cat. He’s still freaking out, but it has simmered down to a slower kind of freak-out. The soft fur between his fingertips helps immensely. The cat’s steady purr is soothing.
“Cas,” he says, and he sounds uncertain even to his own ears. Castiel opens his eyes and looks up at him wistfully. “Hey, buddy.” How do I help you? What happened to you? “Are you hungry?” Castiel nuzzles his hand in response, and Dean can’t help but smile. “I bet. Let’s get some food in you.”
Castiel gets up on all four and stretches big, before jumping down and leading the way to the kitchen. Dean follows, trying to figure out what to give him. Fish? Cats like fish, right?
“I got some tuna,” he muses. “Regular you kinda hate tuna, though.” Castiel jumps up at the counter, his movements smooth and elegant. “You into lasagna now?”
The cat just tilts his head. And no, Dean knows. That’s no good either.
“Sorry, it’s… that was a joke.”
There’s not a ton of food his Castiel likes, and a lot of it would be kinda hard for a cat to eat. How do you even hold a burger if all you've got are paws?
“I guess I could make you tiny meatballs,” he muses, and gets a slow blink in response. “Yeah”, he decides. “Meatballs it is.”
While he gathers the ingredients and puts the ground beef out to defrost, Castiel pads over to the tap and looks at Dean imploringly. “You thirsty?” Castiel makes a small sound. “Here, buddy.” He pours him a glass of water and puts in front of Castiel, who puts his whole head into the glass and starts lapping. Dean chuckles fondly. “Attaboy.”
—
This all would probably have been easier if Dean just accepted the fact that Cas is still right here .
“You’re telling me he’s acting normal? ”
“You’re telling me he’s not? ”
Sam’s joined them in the kitchen, where the smell of Dean’s cooking hangs thick and lovely in the air. His brother looks marginally less spun out, but there’s still something frantic about the way he’s rolling those meatballs.
“What about all of this screams normal behavior to you, Sam? You’re telling me sitting in my freaking lap is normal behavior for him?”
“I– well– no, of course not."
Castiel looks between the two brothers and sighs inwardly. No, of course that's not a thing. That was the first time he’s ever taken a nap on Dean’s thighs. But Dean hadn't seemed to mind. Actually, he'd been very encouraging about it, petting Castiel’s head and back so tenderly. As experiences go, it had been a very nice one. He wonders when he’ll get to do it again. He’s feeling so very possessive, and he wishes Sam would stop trying to… do whatever it is he’s doing, because Castiel has it under control, okay? He’ll show Sam, right after he’s nuzzled Dean’s denim-smelling calves again. Castiel would prefer it if they smelled like him . (Okay, maybe his actions are a little bit affected by the new shape his vessel has taken, but he’s definitely, one hundred percent still himself. Definitely in control of his actions. Marking Dean is not weird. He's done it before, in way more permanent ways, and it isn't weird.)
“Look at him!” Sam gestures. “You’re cooking, he’s hovering, I can’t tell the difference. He’s, even” Sam chuckles, “marking his territory.”
That turns Dean’s face a lovely shade of red.
“Shut the hell up.”
“Watch out or you’ll wake up with a burning paw print on your shoulder.”
Dean points a messy hand at Sam.
“I said shut the hell up!”
Communicating with Dean in this form is not easy. Castiel talks, and talks, and Dean replies, but since there’s currently a pretty big language barrier between them, their conversations aren’t really making any sense.
YOU KNOW, I WAS LOOKING FOR A WAY TO REACH JACK.
“Yeah… I’ll ease up on the salt.”
I FIGURED IF ANYTHING COULD REACH HIM, IT WOULD BE THE OLDEST OF ANGEL MAGIC.
“I know, I know. This is probably not how the Italians would do it, but hey. Can’t go wrong with spaghetti.”
BUT JACK DIDN’T ANSWER.
“I hear ya.”
NO , Castiel sighs. YOU DON’T .
Sam, on the other hand, is surprisingly attentive.
FOLLOW ME? Castiel asks, staring hard, and that’s all it takes for Sam to curiously leave his desk and follow him out of his room. He takes him back to the library. Castiel is not used to seeing it from this angle; from here, he can see all the dust bunnies that’s collected in the nooks and crannies nobody bothers to reach when they sweep the floors. There are abandoned beer caps and scraps of paper and oh, there’s the Ladyheart cassette Dean swore he didn’t own. It’s lodged underneath a witch encyclopedia that’s as thick as Castiel is currently tall. But no, right now they’re looking for something else.
Ah. Turns out it’s right where he left it– in one of the armchairs, under his trenchcoat. The old enochian book with the passages about using your grace to tap into all the old angel magic that’s still floating around untethered in the universe. The kind of magic that once gave Castiel and his siblings several heads, and claws, and tails. It was always meant to be a temporary shift, like a change of clothes.
IT’S JUST ENOCHIAN MAGIC. SEE? I’VE GOT IT UNDER CONTROL .
“Hey, what are you trying to… oh!” He watches as Sam picks up the book, and then realization seems to dawn on him. “Of course! Enochian magic.”
YES , Cas says. Finally .
“Hang on, I’ll show Dean, okay?”
Thank you.
“Dean, I think I know what happened.” Sam walks over to show Dean the same incantation Castiel found. Castiel jumps up on the counter next to Dean, watching him as he puts the pan full of meatballs to the side and leans over to read. He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but a bit of tension seems to melt out of his shoulders as he reads on.
“So it’s temporary? He’s not gonna stay freaking Salem forever?”
NO , Cas assures him, and Dean blinks.
“No,” Sam confirms. “I mean, at least that’s what it says. Hey… do you mind if I go cross-reference this with some of the other lore we’ve got on enochian magic? Maybe it’s possible to reverse it sooner.”
“Sure, go ahead. Guessing you don’t want any of these anyway.” He gives the pan a little shake, and Sam shakes his head.
“Just… um. Behave.” Sam gives Castiel a look.
Castiel hisses at Sam, who rolls his eyes and leaves.
Dean stares at him.
“Did you just hiss at Sam? Okay, weirdo.” But the way he says it is soft, and he looks so sweet in his apron, and Castiel just wants to nuzzle him again. He can’t help it. His new body wants to purr at the mere sight of Dean. Purring was also a new experience, but it was very pleasant, and it was satisfying to feel how it calmed Dean down. Castiel goes straight for the outreached hand, and he’s not really marking his territory, he’s just… well. He just thinks that if Dean smelled more like him, it would be better. Then Cas could really feel like Dean belonged to him. No, wait, that’s not… It's a good thing he can’t speak English right now, because none of this is coming out right. And Dean’s calloused hand feels very good on Castiel’s fur.
“Hey, grumpy cat,” Dean chuckles and uses one finger to stroke his jaw. It’s affectionate in a way that makes Castiel’s tiny little heart beat fast and this time he can’t really stop the purring from happening. “You know, I’m not usually a cat person,” he confesses. Castiel nuzzles his knuckles, absent-mindedly thinking about how that could always change. “Food’s ready, by the way.”
Dean makes himself a plate of meatballs and spaghetti sauce, and puts a small tower of meatballs on a smaller plate for Castiel, and sets the table for two people. Well, one person and one cat-shaped being.
“Ehm… bon appetit,” he says, scratching his neck awkwardly. Castiel is rather hungry so he jumps up on the table and pads over to carefully smell the meal. Eating without hands is… not what he’s used to, but he manages, he thinks. Dean sits down and starts twirling spaghetti around his fork with a grin. It’s equal parts inelegant and endearing.
“Good?” he asks.
Castiel tries to hum, but it comes out as a mrrrrrp . Dean’s grin grows wider.
Dean makes an effort to talk to him like normal, but repeatedly falls back into his one-sided cat-conversations. Castiel supposes he can’t blame him. It’s not like he’s able to reply in a way he understands. Still, it’s nice, the way Dean won’t stop looking at him. In this shape, if he squints, Castiel can see his soul again and it glows. It’s just as mesmerizing as the first time he saw it. A little older, a little brighter.
“I can’t… Cas, I’m having a hard time believing you can actually hear me. It’s hard to tell.”
BUT I CAN HEAR YOU.
“You just keep meowing at me, and that could mean anything. Hey, I have an idea.”
He pushes his plate out of the way and puts both of his hands on the table.
“Tap my right hand if you can understand me.”
Castiel just stares at him, a little insulted, but walks over to put a black paw on top of Dean’s right hand.
Dean laughs, incredulous, and his soul shimmers with it.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Okay, now left hand if you liked the meatballs. I mean I can guess, from the way you were wolfing ‘em down, but…”
Castiel patiently moves to put the paw on Dean’s left hand. They were indeed very good. The room suddenly turns somber.
“Why are you a cat, man?” Dean asks quietly. Castiel doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to answer this, with or without the help of his paws. “Did you do it on purpose? Um, right hand yes, left no.”
For the first time today, Castiel pauses to think. Well, yes, it had been on purpose; he had recognized the incantation, and with the way his grace had slowly depleted since his last resurrection, something about the old power of heaven had called out to him. At his core, he’ll always be an angel, even if he’s spent the last couple of years more human than ever. And the thought of being able to talk to Jack… just to make that one attempt at a call, just to see if maybe this way, he would answer, since prayers had proven futile… Castiel lets the lit up grace inside of him loose, and it pales in comparison to a soul, but it’s all he’s got. Around him spins all his eyes and the flames that are only partly visible in this dimension. He’d experienced a moment of weakness. He didn’t mean to leave humanity behind. He didn’t mean to leave Dean behind. He puts his paw on Dean’s right hand, and Dean’s eyes turn sad. Castiel moves the paw to his left hand. The fire doesn’t burn him.
“You’re not making any sense,” Dean says quietly. “But maybe it’s complicated.”
A paw on the right hand, again. Dean smiles, sadly. “Yeah. I can kinda get that.”
According to the other books they have on enochian magic, these kinds of incantations are always temporary. But none of them are able to specify exactly what that means.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I really have no idea. A day? A month, a year? I don’t know.”
Dean turns to the flaming cat. “A year? ”
Castiel mrrrrps. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed.
“Okay. Okay. We’ll… we’ll figure this out.” Dean starts rinsing the plates. Sam reaches out a hand to pet Castiel despite all the fire, like Dean’s been doing all day, and learns that despite their small size, Castiel’s teeth are very sharp.
Navigating the world in this form takes a little getting used to. First of all, “the world” in his case is still just the bunker; Castiel knows all too well what can happen when people are confronted with something they can’t explain, and he’s not exactly able to fight back right now. Still, he ventures outside and roams the areas around the bunker. He occasionally runs into small game and his killer instinct takes over; he detects movement in the tall grass and next thing he knows he’s sinking his teeth into a mouse, crushing its neck. Huh.
He didn’t need to do that. Dean feeds him home cooked meals every day– he didn’t need to kill this animal, not even to feed. Has he finally turned into a monster? Has he returned to the creature he once was, a stone cold warrior who followed the Plan– is he carrying out old Heaven’s will by participating in the circle of life? Castiel carefully puts down the mouse and puts a paw on its still chest. He’s buzzing with grace, but he’s not really in control of it; it’s more of an echo than the real deal. Still, he tries to bring the mouse back to life.
Nothing happens. He tries again, and again, and again, but the mouse is gone. And he realizes that this tiny spirit deserves to be put to rest, but he is not able to dig a grave, nor is he able to salt and burn the bones. Maybe Dean can help him – maybe Dean will have mercy on him, and on this innocent little carcass, and do it for him.
Missing Castiel is a familiar weight that almost threatens to pull him a little too far under, but he stays afloat because there’s a warm, purring little creature following his every move. When Dean sits down to watch TV, Castiel is there, curling up in Dean’s lap. When Dean cooks, he waits patiently on the counter next to him, watching and taste-testing and meowing with encouragement. There aren’t a lot of natural sunspots in the bunker, but around noon the light hits the top of the stairs and Dean brings out a pillow for Castiel to nap on in that very spot. At night, he sleeps curled up at the end of Dean’s bed. It does unspeakable things to Dean’s heart, but he is not about to kick him out of his bed, not even in this shape, so instead he gets used to falling asleep with a warm weight against his leg.
Castiel is so tactile like this. His blue eyes are so gentle. His fur is so fucking soft that Dean has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, but on the other hand, Castiel can’t seem to get enough of being petted. He does not agree to be lifted and will show that with teeth and claws, but sometimes he’ll climb to the top of the couch just so he can rest on the pillow next to Dean’s head. Next to his cheek, and Dean is terrified of moving. And yet it’s so not like having the old Castiel around, the human-shaped one. And although he knows Castiel can hear him, talking to him is definitely not the same thing when he can’t reply. Dean’s done too much of that in his life.
“Cas,” he whispers, carefully waking the sleeping little beast on his chest. They’ve fallen asleep to Dr Sexy again. “Bedtime, buddy.” Castiel jolts, but settles once a couple of hundred of his eyes have found Dean’s. He sits up with a stretch and butts his head against Dean’s chin. Dean huffs out a laugh, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer, and what “temporary” means for beings that are eternal.
Sam is sick and tired of everything and anything related to cats.
“Dean,” he yells. “Your monster pet has left another dead freaking mouse in the hallway.”
“Hey , he’s not a monster. It’s still Cas we’re talking about.”
“Yeah? Having a hard time believing that,” Sam grumbles. Dean shows up in the hallway in grease-stained overalls and promptly walks over to pick up the dead mouse.
“He’s just doing what he’s meant to do, Sammy. He’s a hunter.”
Sam wants to bang his head against the wall.
“We need to do something about this,” he tries, for probably the eleventh time this week. “He’s turning into an actual cat, Dean. What if, by the time he’s human again, he’s forgotten how to act like a human?”
Dean snorts.
“Well, to be fair, he barely knew how to do that in the first place–”
“You know what I mean!”
“Can you just lay off him?”
“Can you tell him to stop sneaking up on me just to stare at me with his creepy eyes? And to stop walking on my shelves and knocking over all my stuff? I’ve started locking my door, but then there’s the bathroom, and I don’t know what business he even has in the bathroom since he’s a cat! ”
Dean rolls his eyes at that, still holding onto the dead mouse.
“Oh, come on. He’s not doing it on purpose.”
“Dean, I swear to God – he’s doing it on purpose.”
“I’ll talk to him. Okay? In the meantime, you need to chill out.”
Cat-stiel is a nuisance with a vendetta against Sam and Sam is seriously considering moving in with Eileen for the remainder of the month. She barely believes him either, sicne Castiel has her wrapped around his sharp little claws just as tightly as he has Dean. Sam feels like he’s losing his mind and sure, he was the one who convinced Dean that Castiel is still in there, but at this point Sam highly doubts there’s anything of the old Castiel left. He has no idea what old Castiel’s personal hygiene routine looked like but he knows for a fact that it didn’t include sitting on the coffee table and licking himself all over. Eileen had responded the same way as Dean: he’s a cat.
But he’s not a cat. And now all Sam can see is Jimmy Novak’s vessel doing that and no, nope, not a visual he needed. Furthermore, he needs Cas to turn human again so he and Dean can go back to remembering that they’re purely platonic friends and not snuggle-buddies who fall asleep together on the couch. When Cas turns human again it’s gonna be… Christ, it’s going to be a disaster.
Sam rubs his face and reminds himself that it’s just temporary.
Later that evening, Dean comes back from his drive to the store with what he calls a peace offering, and yeah, he's gonna need to explain this one.
“Look, Sam. I’ll ask if he’d agree to wear this, and then he can’t sneak up on you anymore, alright?”
Sam looks up from the tablet where he’s absentmindedly been scouring the news for weird deaths in the area. On Dean’s finger hangs a blue cat collar, complete with a bell. Sam frowns.
“Wow. Good luck.”
Dean makes a face.
“Yeah, I know, I know. But it’s also… look, I’m, I’m fucked up, you know that. Especially when it comes to you and him. At least this way I’ll know… I’ll still know he’s here even when he’s outta eyeshot. You know? It’s–” and okay, Dean wants to talk about his feelings. Sam shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s been kinda hard reliving all that shit. Losing him.”
“So your solution is to… put him on a leash?” It doesn’t sound particularly healthy, but he supposes in Dean’s head it makes sense. Even if Sam would rather not examine it closer.
“No, no, not a leash. But just… like I said, this way Cheschire can’t jump scare you anymore either.”
Sam lets out a heavy sigh, feeling at a loss for words most of all.
“I mean. Sure. Go ahead. You… do you, Dean.”
Dean, who’s still not looking entirely convinced himself, clenches a fist around the collar.
“Do you have any better ideas, moron?”
“No, I guess not. Hey, what did you do with the mouse by the way?”
“Yeah I chucked it in the trash.” Dean shrugs and leaves, probably to find Castiel. Sam picks up his phone and starts typing out a long message to Eileen which ends in him half-asking, half-begging her to let him sleep on her couch. He’s a quick packer. He can and will be ready to move in ten.
It’s day twenty of being a cat, and Castiel stretches out his full body, sinking back into Dean’s comforter. Dean’s already left the bed, but Castiel spends most of his days napping peacefully, and he’s about to close his eyes and do just that when a voice cuts through the room.
CASTIEL?
He jumps to his feet.
JACK? IS THAT YOU?
His grace is buzzing and humming and his fur is burning fiercely, tall flames reaching for the ceiling. Somehow, Jack is reaching out.
YES, IT’S ME. HOW… DID YOU GET THIS NUMBER?
JACK, I AM NOT CALLING YOU FROM A PHONE. I’M A CAT.
IN MY REALM… WELL, YOUR CONNECTION IS MANIFESTING AS A PHONE CALL. WAIT A SECOND. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE A CAT?
I FOUND AN OLD INCANTATION, ANCIENT ENOCHIAN MAGIC. I HOPED IT WOULD HELP ME REACH YOU.
WELL, YOU REACHED ME!
Castiel is terrified to even breathe as he focuses on the connection, of Jack’s voice ringing loudly in his head. It is so good to hear from him.
IT IS SO GOOD TO HEAR YOUR VOICE. I MISS YOU.
There’s silence, and then…
I MISS YOU TOO. AND SAM, AND DEAN. WILL YOU PLEASE TELL THEM I MISS THEM?
CAN’T YOU DO IT YOURSELF? CAN’T YOU COME SEE US?
I CAN’T, and there’s an ocean of pain in his voice. NOT YET . THERE IS STILL SO MUCH TO DO, AND… THE UNIVERSE STILL DEPENDS ON ME.
Castiel wants to say that he understands. That he’s so proud of him, that he has faith in him.
THANK YOU, Jack replies gently, somehow hearing him anyway. I LOVE YOU .
I LOVE YOU TOO, JACK. WE ALL LOVE YOU SO MUCH. BE SAFE.
I WILL.
And with that, the grace within him fizzles out.
Dean’s in the garage, and he’s been waiting for the little tell-tale jingle of the bell all day, but it’s been hours and… nothing. He hasn’t been hunting because he hasn’t been willing to leave Castiel on his own, and he can’t exactly take him with him, which means there’s been a lot of repair work happening: every vehicle in the garage is in top shape. Baby has practically had a week-long spa retreatment, getting every last pipe cleaned out and polished. And Castiel usually comes out to join him, but the only thing Dean's heard all day is the rock station playing from the old radio on the workbench. And to Dean, that’s a little worrisome. He shuts the hood of the Impala and tries to wipe the oil from his hands on a rag that probably used to be white.
The bunker has been pretty quiet since Sam bailed, but right now it’s downright eerie. Dean figures his best shot at tracking down Cas will be to start where he last saw him, and makes his way back to his own room. There are no dead mice on his doorsteps this time, and he feels a frown shaping as he pushes the door open.
“Hey, Cas, are you…”
His heart almost stops at the sight of the naked body in a pile on his bed. Then it sets into overdrive. “Cas?” Fuck, is he breathing? How long has he been like this for? Dean rolls him over on his back, and holy shit he’s well and truly naked and Dean pulls on the comforter until it covers his privates. Shit. Castiel stirs at that, and thank fucking God, he’s alive.
Dean sinks to his knees.
“Never do this to me again,” he mumbles, reaching for Castiel’s hair, petting it on instinct before he realizes how sort-of weird this is. Castiel shifts again, and blinks awake.
“Cas,” he whispers, and it feels unbelievably good to see those eyes back where they belong, with wrinkles and laughter lines and hooded eyelids. “How you feeling?”
“Naked,” Castiel replies gravelly. He clears his throat and stares up at the ceiling. “I feel naked.”
Dean can’t stop the laughter from spilling over.
“Yeah, man. Whatever you pulled, seems like you decided to strip first.”
“Strip?” Castiel looks down at his hands, and something passes over his face. “I’m almost human.”
The laughter dies down in his chest.
“I’m sorry?”
“My grace is almost gone.”
Castiel sits up, carefully wrapping himself in Dean’s comforter, and despite the hollowness in his eyes, he’s so beautiful it hurts. “I’ve been expecting this for some time, but…”
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry.” And he is.
“What happened? And what happened to my clothes?” A faint blush rises to his cheeks at the words.
“Dude– you– Cas, you were a cat, remember?”
Castiel blinks at him, familiar in a different way.
“I was a what?”
Something not unlike panic curls in Dean’s stomach.
“A… a flaming cat, Cas. For the past three weeks, you were a… do you really not remember?” All the… everything that happened, and Cas doesn’t remember?
“The last thing I remember was that book… the old enochian…”
“Yeah! You used that spell for something, we have no idea what, and it turned you into this… cat-creature. With a thousand eyes, and flames and everything.”
“It must have depleted my grace… but Dean, I can’t remember. Why would I do that?”
“I’m really sorry, Cas, but I have no idea. Trust me, I wish I knew. We were hoping you’d be able to explain it to us once you could speak English again.”
Castiel stares down at his hands, frowning.
“I must have had a good reason.”
“Yeah, you always do.” His voice is soft. Dean tries to keep his eyes on Castiel’s face, but… there’s a lot of skin visible. There’s nothing cat-like about him now. He’s just a man, sitting cross-legged on Dean’s bed. Goosebumps are trailing down his arms. He must be cold.
“Here, dude, put on a shirt or something.” He turns to his wardrobe and starts pulling out clothes at random. A t-shirt, a sweater. The t-shirt’s gonna be snug, but…”Hope they’ll fit you. Um.”
Dean hasn’t missed how Castiel’s gained a bit of muscle lately. Not the time , he tells himself sternly.
“You got a pair of pants too?” Castiel asks.
“Course! Course.” Dean throws in a pair of boxer briefs for good measure and turns his back to Cas and tries to get his own brain under control. He feels like he’s having two different kinds of panic reactions that are somehow canceling each other out and instead just fills his head with a vague buzzing noise. Castiel clears his throat, and Dean takes that as a sign to turn back around. And damn, if it isn’t good to see him. Dean closes the distance between them and pulls him in for a crushing hug.
“I’ve missed you,” he mutters over his shoulder. “I know you were right here, but man, it’s good to have you back.”
Castiel carefully wraps his arms around Dean and squeezes him back.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel says.
You left me.
Dean lets go and rubs a hand over his face. He came back . That’s what matters.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
Castiel’s glances back at the bed.
“If I may ask. How come I woke up here, in your bed?”
And Dean’s going to one-up the cat that was literally on fire with how hot his own face gets at that.
“You’ve kinda been sleeping in my bed. Actually, the reason I came to check on you was because I thought your next stunt was turning yourself into Sleeping Beauty.”
Castiel’s face reddens in return.
“But why would I sleep in here?” And now Dean’s desperate to make him understand.
“No, look, it wasn’t like… It wasn’t some weird thing, okay? You were acting like a cat, so you just curled up and fell asleep anywhere. And lately you were sleeping, you know, at the foot of my bed. It was kinda nice, actually.”
There are a lot of conflicting emotions surfacing and although it’s great to have Castiel back, he sort of wasn’t ready to let go of the bunking together thing just yet, because for once he’s been sleeping through the night most nights.
“So, how are you feeling? You feeling any side effects from spending three weeks as a cat?”
Castiel takes a step back, somehow more shocked by this than by learning that he’s almost all out of grace.
“It’s been three weeks? Dean, why didn’t you do anything?”
And hey, that’s not fair.
“I didn’t think there was anything to do! We found the spell, Sam said it was temporary, so we just thought we’d wait it out!” Castiel just looks at Dean with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief, but come on, there’s no need to react like that. “Look,” Dean says steadily. “As far as we could tell, you were pretty happy being a cat. Seriously, do you really not remember anything?”
“No ,” Castiel repeats with emphasis.
Dean slaps a hand on Cas’s shoulder and ushers him to the door.
“Come on. I’ll catch you up on everything. And we'll get some food in you too, you must be hungry.”
And he meant to let go, he’s well aware of the fact that he’s supposed to let go, but he doesn’t. His fingers dig into the soft fabric of the sweater and he feels Castiel’s shoulder move as they walk and he realizes that he doesn’t want to let go. He swallows hard and lets go anyway.
They eat, and then they retreat to the library. Castiel is sitting in the armchair where he apparently decided to leave all his clothes. Dean is lounging in the other one, legs stretched out in front of him, and that’s when Castiel notices the strands of hairs. They’re everywhere, and… okay, perhaps he was shredding a lot. He knows cats will do that.
“So I’ve been running around naked,” Castiel comments, and suddenly Dean gets something guilty on his face. He starts fiddling with the label on the bottle in his hands. “What?”
“Don’t, ah. Don’t be mad. I got you one of those little collars.”
The silence that follows could rival the one in the Empty.
“You put a collar on me.”
“You agreed to it! You freaking consented, man, believe me. Nobody could have forced you to do anything. You had claws. You gotta believe me, man.”
He just glares at Dean.
“Why would I agree to that?” he demands. Dean takes another swig of his beer and this time, he’s almost blushing.
“We, ah, we made a deal.”
“How could we make a deal if I couldn’t talk?”
Dean bites his lip.
“We worked out a system. Okay? You were a pretty clever cat. But, um. You really liked, um.”
Suddenly Castiel is not so sure he wants to hear about the deal. If Dean’s got strands of fur all over his jeans and flannel, that means Castiel was all over his jeans and flannel. Busy fighting through his own embarrassment, Dean finally mumbles: “You really liked getting your neck scratched.”
Castiel can feel his face heat up and tries to distract from it by taking a sip of own his beer.
“So,” Dean continues, “I um. You wore it in exchange for extra scratches.”
“That sounds humiliating,” Castiel mutters, feeling like he wants to melt through the floor.
“No, it was…” Dean laughs to himself. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to get a cat, aren’t I? I miss it.”
It’s bittersweet to hear about all the ways Dean touched him when he can’t even remember it. He’s irrationally jealous of this cat-creature that got so much of Dean’s love and affection, this better version of Castiel that he apparently misses so much.
“I’m sorry the spell broke,” he replies dryly, refusing to look up.
“What? Come on, that’s not what I meant! That’s not at all what I meant. I’ve been wanting the old you, I mean the current you, back for weeks. Hey, look at me.”
Castiel meets his eyes warily. His face is open and pleading.
“When I thought you were gone, again… ” He downs the rest of his beer, and Castiel waits, and: “Never put me through that again. If you can help it.” He puts down the bottle with a thud on the table between them. “Because I can’t do it.”
He’s using his thumb and index finger to rub his eyes and they’re looking suspiciously blank and just like that, all the apprehensiveness melts out of Castiel. Dean is tugging on his very almost human heart and he wants to wrap his arms around this man and it still won’t be enough. He wants to brand his skin, put reminders on him that Castiel will never leave him, not if he has a choice. Castiel gets up and kneels next to Dean’s armchair, carefully removing the hand Dean uses to hide behind. Even in the dim light his eyes are vibrant, and Castiel smiles.
“I’ll try very hard not to.”
Dean lets out a shuddering sigh and leans his forehead against Castiel’s, and Castiel is terrified of moving.
Dean doesn’t let go. He can’t. He makes a trip to the bathroom and laughs softly at the bottles that have been knocked down from the highest shelf, grabs his own toothpaste from the lower one and starts brushing his teeth. Once he’s done, he doesn’t really think much: he goes to grab Castiel from his room and just kinda… drags him away. Back to the place where he should sleep, because new habits die hard, and Dean can’t come up with a single reason why they shouldn’t. Castiel comes willingly, not letting go of Dean either. He’s tangling their fingers together in the hallway in a way that makes Dean’s face flush, wearing one of Dean’s old t-shirts.
Dean’s heart is somewhere in his throat and that sense of unreality creeps in again, like any moment he’ll snap out of it and back to a world where everything’s the same and Castiel was never anything other than an angel wearing Jimmy Novak’s skin and bones. But as Castiel nuzzles closer, pressing a nose against Dean’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, he also feels like they’re the only people in the universe. Like finally, it’s just the two of them. Castiel keeps rubbing his face against Dean’s shoulder under the comforter and Dean huffs out a laugh.
“What are you doing?” Castiel throws a leg over Dean’s, inching closer until they’re pressed together from head to toe.
“I like the way you smell.”
“Yeah? Sam said you were, um. Marking your territory, when you were rubbing your face all over mine. When you were a cat.”
Next to him, Castiel stills.
“Maybe I am.” They lie quiet in the dark for a few moments, slowly warming up the bed. “Why did you let me rub my face all over yours?” he eventually asks, voice unreadable. Dean shifts until he can look Castiel in the eyes. Seriously?
“Can I kiss you?” he asks abruptly. The surprise is apparent on Castiel’s face, but he licks his lips, and nods, and that’s all Dean needs. This is the kind of touch he’s been waiting for. Castiel’s full lips are soft against his own and Dean tries to cup his face and get his fingers in his hair all at once, and he kisses him recklessly, hotly. With this one kiss he tries to convey everything: how grateful he is to have him back, how devastated he’ll be if Cas ever tries to sleep anywhere other than here, how absolutely a-okay he is with Castiel rubbing himself all over Dean. Eventually they have to break apart to catch their breaths.
“That,” he mumbles, “is why. Can’t, can’t really get enough of you. Especially this you. Grace or no grace, man.”
Castiel smiles up at him, looking pleased.
“Good.” Suddenly Dean’s on his back with Castiel hovering over him, and there’s nowhere to hide now. He spreads his legs to make room for Castiel. Dean pulls him down for another kiss, trying desperately to get closer, finally getting his fingers into his soft, dark hair that’s graying a little bit at the temples. When Castiel catches his eyes, he’s absolutely certain the universe stops spinning.
“Off,” he whispers, and Castiel manages to wriggle his way out of the soft t-shirt. Dean sits up and tugs his shirt off too, and Castiel immediately dives down to kiss his clavicles, the inked skin, every little scar on his chest. Castiel’s stubble rubs against his skin, leaving fire in its wake.
They discard their clothes.
Castiel is back to kissing him, slowly and thoroughly, and the careful attention cracks him right open. Dean stares up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. Castiel could take anything from him and he’d let him, he could botanize in his chest cavity and pick whatever piece of his heart he wanted. He could take it all, his quick-beating heart. Hold it in the palm of his hand. He feels Castiel’s mouth move lower, over the swell of his stomach, and Dean knows he’s not exactly in the shape of his life before but the kisses on his stomach are no less tender.
“Dean, are you okay?” Castiel’s voice is a quiet murmur in the dark.
“Y-yeah,” Dean replies, breath hitching. “Come here.” He knows what kissing Castiel is like now, and he never wants to do anything else, one hand back in his hair and the other roaming over his skin.
Castiel is gasping and moving, kissing him where he can reach, reaching between them to touch. It doesn’t take a lot more than Castiel’s eager hand between them to get him right over the edge. Above him, Castiel arches his back, all jerky movements, and follows with a shuddering sigh. Dean feels liquidized, he’s absolutely wiped, but Castiel rolls off him with a groan and a small smile at the state of his stomach. Dean puts an arm over his face. He’s certain his cheeks have caught on fire again, despite the fact that they’re wet. The words are lodged in his throat, and then the moment’s passed because Castiel moves to get one of their discarded t-shirts to wipe them both clean. Once he’s done, he climbs back in under the comforter and resumes his position from before: plastered to Dean’s side, skin on skin all the way down. Dean is still trying to breathe steadily.
“I’m yours, you know,” he croaks out. “I mean. I want to.”
Castiel tilts his head up, fits a hand to his cheek so very gently.
“I want to be yours too.”
The last two people in the universe. They fall asleep like that.
When Sam returns with Eileen, the silence is his first clue. No jingle echoing from the dark corners of the bunker. No Dean, talking nonsensically to the pet from heee…aven. Whew, he’s not slipping up about that again.
“Guys?” he calls. “Everything alright?” He turns to Eileen. “I told you about the bell, right? Yeah, I can’t hear it.”
Eileen shrugs.
“Maybe he didn’t need it anymore since you fled the battlefield. Like a coward.”
“It wasn’t– look! He was taking it too far! ”
Eileen’s eyes are sparkling with humor.
“Suuure. Big strong hunter, scared to death by a kitty cat.”
“In here!” Dean shouts from the kitchen. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
They lug their bags down the stairs as Castiel emerges to greet them. He looks relaxed; happy, even.
“Do you need help with those?” he offers.
“There he is,” Sam grins. “Good to have you back, buddy.” He pats Castiel on the shoulder and gets a small smile in return. Eileen gives him a hug, and together they join Dean in the kitchen, leaving the bags at the bottom of the stairs.
“Howdy,” Dean says, waving at them with a wooden spoon. He’s got different pots cooking and is wearing a garish green apron. “Did you have fun sleeping on Eileen’s couch?”
“Oh, he didn’t sleep on the couch,” Eileen laughs. They help Castiel set the table and Sam grabs more beer from the fridge.
“Here,” Dean says in a low voice, and holds up a spoon of sauce for Castiel to try, watching his reaction curiously. “Good?” Castiel nods, and Dean smiles in a way that brings out the crow’s feet. His older brother’s getting old.
Huh. So they’re back to normal, then.
They dig into the food, and Sam continues to glance between the two, but there’s no trace of awkwardness. This cements it, then: whatever weird bond they have, apparently means they’re close enough that they can handle some snuggling while one of them turns into a fiery beast. He decides to let it go, and nudges Eileen’s knee under the table. She looks up at him with a sunny smile.
“Man, this is nice,” Dean comments, mouth full of food. Next to him, Castiel rolls his eyes, and Sam huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Then he sighs. “I miss Jack, though.” Castiel echoes his sigh, and his eyes turn a little sad.
“I miss him too.”
A movement from the kitchen door catches his eye, and he freezes. He instinctively angles his body to cover Eileen, and on the other side of the table, Dean and Castiel have both noticed it too. The creature, which is golden yellow, tilts its head to the side, and around it, a thousand eyes blink in confusion.
“Meow?”