House Grimalkin: Chapter 2
Rating: Mature
Fandom: Supernatural
Category: M/M
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Bobby Singer, Additional
Summary: Dean is the child of two Courts, Seelie and UnSeelie, and was hidden at birth because he would have been killed if found. Now the Prince of Cats is sent to find him, defend him against all enemies, and bring him back to the Never Never to end a brutal war that has taken the lives of a great many. Trouble is, Dean is an auto mechanic from a tiny town in South Dakota, has suffered from hallucinations his entire life, and the birthmark talisman that proves his identity was burned off in a house fire that took the lives of his parents. Now the only way to prove that Dean is who Castiel claims him to be is to wake up Dean’s latent magic. That is, if he can convince Dean not to kill him, that Dean is actually sane, and that everything he knows is a little less than half the truth.
Dean jumps backward with a barked ‘Fuck!’’ pinwheeling his arms when his hell skids on the hallway runner and just barely managing to stay upright. The man squeezes his eyes shut and bares his teeth, then looks down at himself in disgust, rubbing a hand through his wild hair. Dean catches a glimpse of a delicately pointed ear tucked under the black curls.
“This has not gone as I had planned. At all.” Castiel-- because it has to be Castiel- grimaces and then straightens, coming to his feet. He is naked. Dean looks away, blushing, but not before he sees the golden=brown leaf-shaped mark over Castiel’s right pectoral, the smooth muscle of his belly, the dark thatch of wiry curls at his groin. He refocuses on Castiel’s face, lifting his chin to prevent himself from staring. But then his eyes don’t know where to settle-- not on the man’s full lips, nor on his jewel-bright eyes. Dean’s gaze finally rests on an eyebrow, only to watch it lift slightly. Castiel frowns at him, and then rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now I have your undivided attention.”
“Dude, ten seconds ago you were a cat.” Dean’s voice squeaks, adding to his already considerable embarrassment.
“I’m still a cat, Dean. A Cait Sidhe, actually.” Castiel’s voice is heavy with dry sarcasm.
Dean gathers as much of his dignity as he can, and replies without sounding like he is halfway through puberty. “Um, cool, whatever that is. Can you put some pants on, please?” His eyes are still focussed, laser-like, on that same eyebrow.
“Why would I do that? You’re actually listening to me now.”
All at once, the morning catches up with him, taking root behind his forehead with a hammer and chisel. Of all the hallucinations he has experienced, this Castiel may well be the most persistent, and is certainly the most annoying. His brain is pounding sickly against the inside of his skull and the pain makes up his mind. Dean closes his eyes and presses a hand against his eyelids. “Ok, you know what? I’m going to work. I don’t even care what you do.”
Castiel snorts indelicately. “Then I’m going with you. It’s my duty to protect you now, and you’re not going anywhere without me.”
Dean’s eyes fly open again. “Dude, you can’t go to work with me.”
Castiel just cocks his head, an eyebrow raised, looking both offended and amused.
“No,” says Dean firmly. “No fucking way.”
(=^..^=)(=^..^=)(=^..^=)
“Fuck my life. At least put some pants on!”
“Cats don’t require pants, Dean.”
(=^..^=)(=^..^=)(=^..^=)
Dean’s not certain if he feels better that Castiel is cat-shaped or not. The man… or Cat-she… whatever-- had taken one long look at the Impala and had made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. Before Dean could be offended, or at least voice it aloud, Castiel had sort of twisted, like a mobius strip made out of a person, and then the large cat was staring up at Dean with sad eyes. “If I must ride in a coffin made of iron to protect you, I will do so.”
Castiel sounded so tragically martyred that Dean choked a laugh, only to be pinned with an even more pathetic glare. “Someday, Dean Winchester, you will recognize what I am doing for you.”
“Sure dude. But if you puke on the upholstery, there will be no ‘someday.’ You get me?”
“Yes, Dean. I get you.” There is a pause, the flavor of something odd in the silence. Then, “Dean…”
“What?”
“You don’t seem especially frightened by my transformation.” Dean hears something in the cat’s voice-- something more than just curiosity. Something like satisfaction. “Or that I speak in this form,” Castiel continues.
Dean purses his lips. “Hey, Cas?”
Castiel’s ears flick forward. “Yes, Dean?”
But he doesn’t get to hear what Dean is about to tell him, because Dean reaches out and turns a dial, and the most painful, ear-splitting noise he has ever endured issues from the car’s console. Castiel howls and covers his ears with his paws, but not before he catches the ivory flash of a grin that Dean throws his way. He spends the rest of the ride curled up in the smallest possible ball he can manage, and Dean might be able to make out that sibilant hissing and cursing, if only the music weren’t so loud.
(=^..^=)(=^..^=)(=^..^=)
Surprisingly, Dean is only half an hour late to the garage. Bobby waves a good morning to him from the front counter. Dean musters a grin, as if his life is exactly as mundane as it was yesterday. Or, like, an hour ago. “Hey Bobby. Sorry I’m late-- I had, um, pest problems.”
Bobby grunts understandingly. “Those raccoons getting into your trash again?”
Dean nods. “Something like that.” Castiel-the-overlarge-cat winds around his ankle and the hops up on the counter, peering at a startled Bobby.
After a moment, Bobby shoots a wide-eyed glance at Dean. “This your pest problem?”
“Man, you have no idea.” Castiel wrinkles his nose at Dean, and then leans in to delicately sniff at Bobby’s beard, golden eyes narrowed. Bobby reaches up and hesitantly scratches his ear. Castiel rumbles an overlarge purr.
“Big fella, ain’t he?”
Dean smirks. “Biggest damn cat I’ve ever seen.” Castiel ignores Dean, turning his glossy head so Bobby’s scratches sink into his chin.
“Where did he come from?” Bobby asks.
“He just showed up this morning. And then wouldn’t leave.” Bobby grunts, and then gives the cat a final pat on the head, flattening Castiel’s ears.
“So, he got a name?”
Dean’s mouth softens into a grin. “I’m calling him Sylvester.”
Castiel spears Dean with a glare, his golden eyes wide with fury. Bobby grins back. “Oh look, he knows his name already.”
“Yep.” Dean’s grin widens. “He’s a bright one”
Castiel’s furious expression promises future bleeding, but Dean can’t stop the chuckle from escaping. He pats Castiel heavily on the haunches. “Aren’t you, boy?”