One Species Too Many (Dean/Cas Big Bang) Part 1

[wallmakerrelict]

"I think we should get a cat."

Dean whipped around to look over the couch back at Cas. He studied his face, trying to gauge how far off into his own world Cas had slipped and how difficult it would be to call him back. But Cas's expression didn't have the unnerving, glassy detachedness that it usually did when he rambled about honey and board games. He was looking directly at Dean, lucid and earnest, waiting for a response.

He was serious. This was worse than Dean had thought.

"Uh, why?" Dean asked.

"I think it would be fulfilling for all of us to have a pet," said Cas, "And now is a perfect time. With your injury, you will be incapacitated for at least a month." He gestured to Dean's leg, which was encased in a cast and propped up on a lump of pillows. Broken. Again. It wasn't as bad as the last time it had happened, but a broken leg was never exactly a good thing. He would have liked for Cas to fix him up, except that Cas’s healing abilities had been the first thing to be sapped by Purgatory. By the time they’d escaped, Cas had been almost completely human. Now, a month after the fact, there was nothing left to prove that he had ever been an angel.

Cas continued, "We might as well take advantage of the time that we must spend here in this cabin and use it to bond with a new member of our family."

"A new family member?" said Sam as he walked into the room, balancing his laptop on one arm and a plate of food on the other, "Cas, did you finally knock Dean up?" He grinned at Dean like he thought he was funny. Bitch. Sometimes Dean thought Sam was the only one who wasn’t surprised by the news that Dean and Cas had hooked up in Purgatory. He hadn’t looked surprised when they had tumbled through the portal hand-in-hand, and he hadn’t looked surprised when they didn’t let go. A week after, when Dean had tried to explain, Sam had just told him, “It’s about damn time.”

"He wants a cat," Dean explained.

Sam only considered for a moment before saying, "I’d prefer a dog, but it’s not a bad idea."

"What?" Dean demanded, "Dude, you're supposed to be on my side! What are we going to do with a cat when we're back on the road? You can't just lock it in the car all day."

Cas walked over to sit on the couch's armrest, the better to stare into Dean's eyes as he said, "Cats are very independent. It could fend for itself while we’re hunting."

"Or we could just leave it in whichever motel we're staying at," Sam offered. It was scary how fast he had gotten on board with this idea. "I know most of them don't allow pets, but it wouldn't exactly be hard to sneak a cat in."

"That's… dishonest," said Dean, grasping at straws.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "Since when do you care?."

And then both of them were giving Dean their best puppy-dog eyes at the same time, and Dean knew that he was beat.

"Fine," he sighed. Then, before Cas and Sam could get too carried away, he added, "BUT! Don't go getting a prissy, fluffy thing. Get a big, mean tomcat - one who can take care of himself."

Sam beamed. Cas wasn't the kind of guy who beamed, but he gave Dean one of those little smiles that made it look like he was glowing inside his skin. Then Cas tilted himself back onto his feet and said, "Let's go now!"

"Now?" Dean sputtered.

"There was a shelter down the road," Sam said, grabbing Dean's coat off the back of a chair and rummaging through the pockets for the keys to the Impala. "Don't worry Dean, we'll be back soon!"

As the two of them made for the door, clearly trying to get out of the cabin before Dean changed his mind, Dean yelled after them, "And no kittens! You hear me? No kittens!"

-----

Dean had never had a pet. He had never even been inside a pound except for a couple of times when he and Sam had had to pose as Animal Control officers for a hunt. But he had a general idea of how these things went. His brother and his angel would go to the pound, make girly noises over all the critters, pick one out like they were picking out a pair of shoes, and come back with a big cardboard carton full of cat. The cat would ignore them for a while, and eventually it would get eaten by a coyote. Problem solved.

But when they came back, there was no cardboard carton. Instead, Cas was carrying an open-topped box that was overflowing with fleece blankets. There were at least two power cords poking out from under the mass of fabric with plugs on the ends dangling loose, suggesting that at least some of the blankets were electric. From the way the blankets were tangled at the center like a nest, Dean could tell that there was something living in there, and whatever it was Cas looked as proud as if he had given birth to it himself.

"Dude," said Dean with trepidation, "No."

Sam appeared behind Cas, carrying a tote bag. It was bulging with God-knew-what, but Dean could clearly see the nipple of a baby bottle poking out of the top.

"Dude!" Dean groaned, turning away from Sam's apologetic smile to bury his face in his hands, "What did I say about kittens?"

"Dean…" Cas started to say, looking painfully hopeful.

"Take them back!" Dean ordered, "Right now!"

Cas frowned, a flash of annoyance showing through his zen exterior. "Dean, listen to me," he said, and Dean listened, "We intended to honor your requests, but when we arrived we learned that the mother of these kittens had just died. They are only a few days old, and the shelter simply doesn’t have enough people to take care of them. Since there was no surrogate mother available, if we hadn't agreed to foster them they would have died. We couldn't just let them die, Dean."

Dean could have let them die. Hell, he could have drowned the things himself and slept easy that night (and if that wasn't true then good luck proving it). But one look at Cas's face and he knew that he was in trouble. He let his head fall back onto the couch in defeat. "Let me see them," he said.

Cas stepped forward and lowered the box so that Dean could see inside. Nestled in the blankets were three furry little larva-creatures - two orange and one black. They didn't even look like cats. Their eyes were sealed slits, and their ears were floppy and folded. As they squirmed, their impossibly-small claws snagged on the blankets like hooks of Velcro. One of them opened its mouth and let out a little peep like a dying bird.

"Oh, my God!" Sam cooed, peeking over Cas's shoulder, "They're so cute!"

"Cas…" Dean choked, trying to find a way out of this mess without hurting anyone's feelings, "We can't keep three cats."

But Sam quickly spoke up. "That's the best part!" he said, "They're fosters. After six weeks, we'll give them back to the shelter and they'll go out to permanent homes."

That was bullshit. By the way Cas's eyes were sparkling, he didn't intend to ever let them go. "Let me tell you their names," Cas said.

And he'd named them. Dean's heart sank as he watched his chances of getting rid of the furry bastards shrink into nothingness.

Cas sat down on the coffee table right next to where Dean was lying on the couch. He set the box on his knees so that his hands were free to pet the kittens gently. "I wanted to name them after some of my siblings," he explained.

"Your siblings?" said Dean, "Like Zachariah? Because one, I hated that guy, and two, that's a terrible name for a cat."

Cas rolled his eyes. "I had other siblings," he assured Dean, "Siblings of whom I was considerably fonder than Zachariah." With that, he scooped the little jet-black kitten out of the box and placed it carefully on Dean's chest. "This one is Ambriel," he said.

Dean tried to squirm away, but the kitten had already latched its little Velcro-paws onto his shirt. He settled for lying very, very still and hoping the kitten wouldn't try to cuddle him too much. Luckily, it appeared to be too small to do much other than wriggle a little bit.

Cas set a second kitten beside the first, saying, "This one is Raziel." This kitten was a solid, creamy orange color.

"I guess these names aren't so bad," Dean admitted, lifting his eyebrows approvingly, "Amber and Raz. Got it." The kittens squirmed a little less as they started to get comfortable on their new bed, and Dean decided that it really wasn't too unpleasant.

Cas didn't bother arguing with Dean's nicknames. He just lifted up the last kitten - orange with the faintest hint of stripes - and declared, "And this one is Tzaphqiel."

Dean blinked twice. "Tza… qi… huh?"

"Tzaphqiel," Cas repeated.

"Dsaff…keel…" Dean tried uncertainly. The sounds were familiar, but he couldn't quite make his mouth put them together right. When Cas said it, the consonants rolled musically. When Dean said it, it sounded like he was trying to spit something out from where it was wedged under his tongue.

Cas winced at Dean's pronunciation. "On second thought," he said, "His name can be Daniel."

"Danny it is, then," Dean sighed as the last kitten was placed on his chest.

"So," said Cas, folding his hands over the empty box and gazing at Dean expectantly.

"So?" Dean repeated. Of its own accord, his hand floated up and began rubbing one of the kittens very gently between the ears.

"So, can they stay?"

Dean had already accepted that he would have no say in the matter, so he was caught a little off-guard. Taking care of infant kittens was really the last thing he wanted to do when he was busy recovering from a broken leg, but Cas had clearly bonded with the things already. Dean glanced at Sam, his eyes begging for help. Sam just shot Dean a look that clearly said, "Don't you dare break his heart."

As if Dean had to be reminded.

"Yeah, they can stay," Dean said.

Cas leaned forward and kissed Dean on his forehead. "I'll get the rest of the supplies from the car," he said, and he whisked back outside before Dean could express his disbelief that there were more supplies than what was in Sam's tote bag. Damn kittens had more luggage than Dean.

After a moment of stunned silence, Sam's lips curled up into an irrepressible smile. He looked down at Dean, stretched out with three tiny kittens curled up on him, and said, "You are so whipped."

"Shut up," Dean grumbled. He peered at the kitten closest to him - he was pretty sure this one was Amber (he had already forgotten their full names). "I'm on to you, furball," he whispered, pointing an accusing finger. Amber just yawned until it looked like its jaw was about to dislocate and, God help him, Dean had to admit that it was pretty fucking cute.

Sam scooted Dean's casted leg to one side so he could sit on the couch with him. "He's really excited about these cats," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at Dean.

"I said they could stay, didn't I?" Dean grumbled, "What else do you want from me?" He sighed heavily, disturbing the kittens with the movement of his chest. They mewed in complaint.

"I think this'll be good for him," said Sam.

Dean snorted a laugh. "What, like they're his therapy cats now?"

"Dean," said Sam reproachfully, "He's not crazy."

"I know," said Dean quickly, "I'm just saying… He's not quite right either, sometimes."

Sam's mouth twisted unhappily. He knew what Dean meant. "Is it really that bad?" he asked, "I mean, do you actually know what's going on with him?"

Dean stalled by herding Danny, who was shuffling determinedly to the right, back toward the center of his chest with a cupped hand. "Kind of," Dean finally said, "He just…He knows everything. It's hard for him to focus, especially when he gets a thought in his head and can't let it go. But it's weird - I think Purgatory actually made him better. At least he deals with it better, most of the time."

"That makes sense," said Sam.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "It does?"

"Sure," said Sam, "He's always been good at pulling it together when you need him."

"Yeah," Dean muttered uncertainly as he watched the kittens fall asleep.

-----

Cas soon returned with two more bags full of kitten supplies, whisked the little creatures off of Dean's chest, and set about fussing over them. Sam joined Cas enthusiastically. Dean laid back on the couch, turned on the TV, and waited for the inevitable moment that they would both run to him and ask for his help. Not that he would give it to them even if they asked. The kittens had been Cas's idea, and Dean wanted nothing to do with them if he could help it.

But the moment didn't come, and soon Dean found himself peeking over the couch back in the direction of the kitchen to find out what was going on. Sam was showing Cas how to mix and heat up the kittens' milk replacer. When Sam started testing the temperature on his arm, encouraging Cas to do the same, Dean couldn't help but call out, "When did you learn to do that?"

Sam looked up as if he were surprised that Dean was still there. "One of Jess's friends got pregnant sophomore year," he explained, "We all helped out with the baby. I still remember a few things."

"Please don't worry, Dean," Cas added, "Sam and I have everything under control."

"Right," said Dean, sinking back into the couch, "Good. Cause I'm not going to babysit the things. I didn't even want them."

"I will make sure that they are not a nuisance to you," said Cas, so meekly that Dean immediately felt guilty.

Once the milk was prepared, Cas and Sam rejoined Dean by the TV, Sam taking the chair and Cas curling up on the floor by Dean's feet with the box of kittens. As soon as Dean was sure that Sam was watching the game, he allowed himself to glance away from the TV and down at Cas. Cas lifted each kitten out of the box in turn and eased the nipple of the bottle into their mouths. They were so small that they didn't even fill his palm, but still he cradled them close to his body as if he were worried he might drop one. His hands were remarkably gentle, and his eyes were intense with focus on his task.

Those hands had once wielded swords and smote demons. The intensity in those eyes had once come from fierceness instead of motherly concentration. Cas had been a soldier once, and now he was something approaching domestic. Dean loved him both ways, but he couldn't help but think that Cas was somewhat diminished now.

It wasn’t that Cas was human. Dean didn’t care about that. The problem was that Dean couldn’t always tell whether the changes in Cas’s behavior meant that he was adapting to his new circumstances or whether he was about to let his eyes glaze over and demand that they all play Twister.

The last kitten finished eating, and Cas silently got up to return the bottles to the kitchen. Dean craned his neck to watch him go, and Sam finally took his eyes away from the screen to give Dean a smirk.

"You guys are really adorable, you know that?" said Sam, quietly enough that Cas couldn't overhear from the kitchen.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean muttered, turning back to the TV with a frown.

Sam's smirk relaxed into a worried smile. "Something wrong?"

Dean glanced at the kitchen to make sure Cas wasn't on his way back before leaning toward Sam and whispering, "It's weird, isn't it? He’s making us sandwiches, doing our dishes. He was more like his old self in Purgatory, you know, fighting monsters and stuff. But now here he is playing mom to some kittens. I don’t think it’s his... you know, head thing... so what gives?"

"I dunno, Dean," Sam said, shrugging unconcernedly, "Maybe it just makes him happy."

Dean was about to reply when Cas suddenly returned from the kitchen, and both Sam and Dean whirled back toward the TV as if they hadn't just been talking about him. Cas didn't seem to notice. He was holding a wet paper towel and a folded sheet of newspaper.

Once again, Dean couldn't help but slide his eyes down toward Cas and his kittens. Cas picked one up - the orange one with stripes; was that Danny? - and cradled it in his hand, its rear end tilted up. And then, inexplicably, Cas began using the paper towel to wipe the thing's ass.

"Uh," said Dean, not sure how to proceed. Cas's weirdness had never taken this particular form. "Cas? I think you've got the wrong end."

Cas paused, looked at Dean, and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "You are an idiot." Then he explained, "The shelter gave us many pamphlets concerning the care of these kittens. They need to be taught how to eliminate waste. If their mother were alive, she would lick their anuses to stimulate defecation, but a warm towel has the same effect." He set Danny down on the newspaper and, sure enough, after squirming around for a few seconds the kitten did its business.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Ooookay," he groaned, "That's disgusting. Just so you know, I'm never letting you rim me again after this."

"Argh!" Sam shouted, clapping his hands to his ears, "Too much information!"

Cas ignored both of them. Once he had finished with the other two kittens, he folded up the soiled newspaper and took it outside to throw it away.

Shaking his head, Dean said, "I don't get why anyone thinks kittens are cute."

"Cas loves them," Sam admonished, "So be nice."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean sighed.

They went back to watching the game. Ten minutes passed before Dean started to worry. "Where the Hell did he go?" Dean muttered, glancing at the door through which Cas had so far failed to re-enter.

"He's probably just enjoying the fresh air," said Sam, but he was starting to look worried too.

Dean pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his feet off the couch and onto the ground. "I'm going after him," he said, struggling to his feet.

"I'll go," said Sam, jumping to his feet, "You need to take it easy. Your leg…"

But Dean was already fishing under the couch where he had stashed his crutches. "Sit down," he told Sam, "I’ve been lying on that couch all day; if I take it any easier I’m gonna puke. You stay here and watch the cats." Sam reluctantly returned to his seat, and Dean wobbled his way to his feet before making for the door.

When Dean got outside, to his relief, he found Cas almost immediately. At least the bastard hadn't zapped himself off to Antarctica or somewhere. But he was standing stock-still in the middle of the driveway, his eyes focused on something that Dean couldn't see.

"Cas?" Dean called out. When Cas didn't answer, he immediately felt the familiar grip of fear that his body had acquired in Purgatory. Every second that Cas spent like this - disconnected from the here and now - was a second that Dean spent vulnerable to the monsters that lurked just out of sight, their eyes glowing red between the trees.

And there was a deeper fear too, deeper even than Dean's fear of being ripped to shreds. The fear that, this time, he wouldn't be able to snap Cas out of it. That Cas would go back to the way he had been when he first woke up in the hospital. That Dean wouldn't be able to talk to him anymore except in metaphors involving board games and flowers and bees. Or worse, that he would simply leave, so distracted by all the other things in existence that he would forget all about Dean.

Dean hobbled in front of Cas so that he was looking into his face. "Cas!" Dean called again, louder this time.

When Cas's eyes met Dean's, they had none of their usual intensity. He looked at Dean the same way he would have looked at a traffic pylon - just another feature of the landscape. "The tree behind you is over five hundred years old,” he said suddenly, “There’s a gravestone inside it.”

“What?” Dean couldn’t stop himself from saying.

Cas didn’t quite sigh, but he hunched his shoulders impatiently as he explained, “A man was buried at the foot of the tree. Over the course of centuries, the trunk grew to engulf his headstone. Most of his bones are inside the roots, by the way. Except for his right mandible and a section of his spine - those were washed to the surface in the early 1700s and carried off by a raccoon.” He finished by reassuring Dean, “Don’t worry. He was no one you knew.”

Dean clapped twice, loudly, right in front in Cas's nose. "Okay, that's really fucking interesting," he said roughly, "But your crazy-time is over now."

Cas flinched, blinked, and slowly refocused his eyes on Dean's face. Dean could see the moment that Cas came back to himself. It was only a subtle change in his face, but it masked a jolting shift deep within him, as if he had been asleep and Dean had thrown a bucket of water on him. His brain struggled to reprioritize the words that Dean was saying over the trillions of other pieces of information vying for his attention.

When he readjusted completely and recognized the tension in Dean's expression, he cast his eyes down ashamedly. "I apologize," he muttered.

Dean was too relieved to get pissy about it. "Dude, it's fine," he sighed, "Let's just go back inside." Cas reached out to steady Dean as they turned back toward the door, but Dean waved him off with a curt, "Stop it; I can walk!"

Sam didn't ask, and Dean didn't explain. Cas just busied himself with the kittens again, feeding them twice more that afternoon (did the little monsters ever stop eating?) and repeating the disgusting routine with the washcloth.

Dean figured that he was being a pretty good sport by letting Cas bring the kittens to the dinner table, but he drew the line when Cas went to move their box into the room he shared with Dean.

"Nuh-uh," said Dean, dragging his leg as fast as he could to intercept Cas and the kittens, not even bothering to retrieve his crutches, "Not in there."

Cas turned to watch Dean's slow progress. "Please sit down, Dean," he said, "I will help you to the bed once I've plugged in the kittens' heating pad."

"Did you not hear me?" said Dean, pausing to lean against a wall. Trying to get around with a full-leg cast was exhausting. "I can't sleep with those things watching me!"

Cas tilted his head bemusedly. "Their eyes have not yet opened. They are incapable of watching anyone."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Sam approached, drawn by the sound of the argument, as Cas explained, "They need to be fed every two hours. It will be easier to keep them nearby."

Dean was about to say something else when Sam interrupted. "They can stay in my room," he said, reaching to lift the box from Cas's hands.

Cas didn't let go. "They are my responsibility," he said.

"Don't worry, man," said Sam, "I'll take care of these little babies, and you take care of your big one." He threw an unimpressed look at Dean. Dean threw his arms out to the sides, pouting.

But Cas still wouldn't let go. "If Dean doesn't want them in the bedroom, then I'll sleep out here with them," he said decisively.

Dean's jaw dropped. "You're choosing the kittens over me?" he sputtered.

Cas looked at him so sadly that Dean immediately felt like a dick. "That is not my intention," he said.

"Just let me take them for the night," Sam offered again.

"Thank you, Sam," said Cas, "But no. It was my idea to bring them here, and I am responsible for their well-being. There's no reason for either of you to lose sleep over them."

In the end, Sam helped Cas make up a bed on the couch and Dean spent a long, cold, resentful night alone.

-----

Dean would remember the week that followed as a whirlwind of fur, milk, poop, shockingly loud mewling considering the size of the source, late-night feedings, ridiculous amounts of laundry, and lots of frantic internet searching whenever a question arose that was not covered by the pamphlets from the shelter. Of course, Dean spent most of that week flat on his back on the couch while Sam and Cas did all the work, but he felt that he was contributing admirably by keeping his complaints to himself.

Strangely, though the feeding schedule would have been much easier to manage if they had split it between them, Cas insisted on doing all the actual work. He would take Sam's advice, and he relied on Sam to work the computer when they needed to research something about kitten care, but in terms of physical labor he politely refused to let Sam participate. "Responsibility" might have come up once or twice.

The kittens' nest box was installed in the TV room. As they grew, their squirming began to resemble crawling until they were getting to the point of being able to tip themselves out of their box and onto the floor. Cas countered by getting them a deeper box.

Their eyes opened on the one-week anniversary of their arrival, all six of them a brilliant blue.

"Cas, they've got your eyes!" said Dean with a chuckle.

"The color will change as they grow," said Cas, but he seemed pleased by the compliment.

Dean scooted off the couch to sit beside Cas where he was peering into the box. It was the closest look he had taken at the kittens since they had first come into the house. They didn't look like grubs anymore; they were actually starting to be recognizable as cats.

"That one's Amber, right?" said Dean, pointing at the little black kitten who was squinting up at him testily, "It looks different from before. It's getting some orange streaks in its fur."

"Ambriel is not an 'it,'" said Cas amusedly, "She is female. The other two are male." He scooped Amber up and offered her to Dean.

Dean took her more out of curiosity than anything. He peeked under her tail, but he couldn't see anything that might hint at the cat's sex. "How can you tell?" he asked.

"The color of their fur," said Cas, "It has to do with genetics. Would you like me to draw you a diagram?"

"Nah, I'll take your word for it," said Dean, flipping Amber around so he could see her face again. She seemed to study him for a moment, and then hissed ferociously. Dean gently returned her to her place with her brothers. "I don't think she likes me."

"She will learn to," Cas promised. His sincerity made Dean shift uncomfortably and scoot back toward the couch. "Let me help you," Cas offered.

"I got it," said Dean, already levering himself up.

With their eyes open, the kittens no longer needed to be watched at every hour of the day. They still needed to be fed near-constantly, but Cas was able to return to Dean's bed in between feedings. Dean wasn't exactly thrilled that Cas was sneaking out of bed every two hours all night long, but it was better than him not being there at all.

All in all, things were going pretty well until Jody called.

"You all listening?" her voice said through the phone. Sam had put it on speaker and set it in the middle of the table where all three of them could hear it. "There's some weird stuff going on in Newport. I heard you guys were nearby. Want to give it a look?"

"Well, we are on the West coast," said Sam, "But we're not exactly nearby. Newport is a full day's drive away."

"Well, you're closer than I am," said Jody, "And we don't have any time to waste. There have been five victims so far - all went walking by the ocean at night and were never seen again."

"That doesn't sound too weird," said Dean, "Maybe they were just idiots who drowned."

"Five in less than two weeks?" said Jody, "And besides, two of them washed back up on shore. But just their skin, split from groin to chin and down each inseam, flayed right off their bodies."

"Well, that's pleasant," Dean muttered.

Sam picked up the phone and said with a conflicted grimace, "Jody, we'd love to help, but Dean's laid up with a broken leg. We're not going anywhere for a while."

"Doesn't he have his boyfriend to look after him?" Jody wasn't letting them off that easy.

"Yeah," Sam admitted, "But we… uh, we just took in some kittens and they're kind of a lot of work. Isn't there anyone else you can call? Garth? Anyone? I mean, you've got Bobby's whole address book."

There was silence on the line, and then Jody's voice came back twice as loud and three times as pissed. "I'm sorry, did you think I called you because I just felt like ruining your day? Five people are dead! And I might trust Garth with a simple salt-and-burn, but this is serious! As for Bobby's contacts, they don't know me and I'm not going to call every single person on the list looking for the one or two who might give me the time of day. I don't have time for that; I'm still Sheriff of Sioux Falls and I have work to do that doesn't involve people halfway across the country getting skinned by sea-monsters. I've been working phones, chasing down lore, and running support for you for over a year now - which I do in my free time and which, by the way, could cost me my day job - the job that actually pays me - so when I give you a heads-up about a case in your area it's not because I'm looking for an excuse to boss you around. It's because I assume you're still in the business of saving lives!"

Dean reached over to cover the mouthpiece of the phone so Jody couldn't hear him when he said, "She's sounding more like Bobby every day."

Sam pushed Dean's hand away from the phone. "I hear you, Jody," he said, sounding appropriately chastised, "I'll take care of it."

"Good," she said, sounding cheerful again, "I'll e-mail you the details. Watch your ass out there, Sam."

"Yep," Sam sighed as he hung up the phone. As soon as Jody couldn't hear him, he gave a mighty sigh and slumped in his chair. "We were supposed to be on vacation," he whined.

"No vacation for Hunters, Sammy," Dean reminded him, "Our retirement plan sucks balls too."

"The important thing is that lives are at stake," said Cas, "You made the right decision, Sam."

Sam lifted his head to give Cas a regretful look. "Sorry to leave you on your own with the cats."

"Please don't worry," said Cas with a smile, "I am more than capable of taking care of them by myself."

Sam gave Dean a pointed glare until Dean finally crossed his arms and said defensively, "What? I said already, I'm not helping. It's not my fault you're taking off. Besides, you heard Cas: he's got it under control."

"Jerk," said Sam as he got up to pack. He left early the next morning, taking the Impala and promising to be back in no more than a week. Cas reassured him that everything would be fine in his absence.

Two days after Sam left, Amber started sneezing. By the time it got dark that night, she was refusing to eat, play, or do anything besides lie on her side and breathe heavily.

Around midnight, when Cas still hadn't come to bed, Dean went out into the living room to find him sitting on the couch. Amber was lying curled up in his lap, and Cas's hands encircled her gently. As quietly as he could, Dean shuffled around and sat next to Cas.

"I thought you weren't going to help," said Cas without looking away from the comatose kitten.

"I'm not helping," said Dean, "I'm just keeping you company. You gonna sit up with her all night?"

"If I have to," said Cas.

Cas's eyes stayed on Amber while Dean studied Cas's face. Cas seemed calm enough, but to Dean he looked even more fragile than the kitten in his lap. Dean still hadn't completely mapped the maze that was Cas's mind post-wall-breakage. What would set him off? How bad could things get? What would happen to him if this fucking kitten up and croaked?

"You know, Cas," said Dean softly, trying to pick his words carefully, "She seems really sick. And I'm pretty sure when kittens get orphaned this young, they're really, uh, not likely to, um… Look, I just don't want you to think it's your fault if she…"

Cas looked up at Dean for the first time. "If she dies?" he said calmly. And now that Dean could see Cas's eyes, he suddenly didn't look nearly as fragile as before.

"Yeah," said Dean.

"Dean," said Cas, "I named this kitten after my brother, Ambriel. He was one of Raphael's followers. I killed him."

Dean raised his eyebrows, surprised at the suddenness of the admission. "Oh," he said, "I thought you said you named them after siblings that you liked."

"I liked Ambriel very much," Cas said, "He was my dear friend since before the dawn of humankind. By comparison, the year we spent at war was a grain of sand in the hourglass of our lives. I loved him. And I ran a blade through his heart and held him as he died."

Cas no longer looked fragile at all. Dean dropped his eyes down to the kitten in Cas's lap, unable to hold his gaze.

"I am no stranger to death," Cas continued, "If this creature dies, I will be sad. But I will survive."

The way he said it, "I will survive," sounded almost reproachful, as if he were reminding Dean that his concern was unfounded. And for a moment Dean believed him. For a moment Dean saw the angel he had met in the barn all those years ago, who had entered Dean's life in a shower of sparks and broken glass. The angel who had held Dean up when Dean was weak, instead of the other way around.

"NYA NYA NYA NYA NYANYANYANYANYA NYA NYA…"

"JESUS!" Dean sputtered, "What the fuck is that?"

Cas pulled his phone out from his pocket. "That means it's time to feed them," he said.

Dean’s heart was still pounding. He peered at the screen of Cas’s phone and demanded, “Is that a cat dressed as a Pop-tart?”

Cas shrugged. He pushed a button, and the awful noise stopped. "Sam set it up for me," he said unconcernedly, "I don't know how to change it."

Sam. Dean would get him back for this, somehow.

Then Dean noticed that Cas was shifting indecisively, his eyes glancing back and forth between Amber in his lap and her brothers in their nest by the wall. "Hey," said Dean, "You go feed those two. I'll keep an eye on her."

"Really?" said Cas, his mouth twitching in equal parts relief and amusement.

Dean raised a finger seriously. "This doesn't count as helping," he informed Cas, "I'm just holding her while you do the work."

"Of course," said Cas as he deposited Amber into Dean's lap. Then he leaned over, kissed Dean's cheek, said, "I love you," and disappeared into the kitchen before Dean had the chance to feel obligated to reciprocate.

While Dean listened to the sounds of Cas preparing bottles of milk replacer in the kitchen, he leaned down and whispered to Amber, "Okay, listen up. I know he said he'd be fine, but that doesn't give you permission to go and die on him."

To Dean's surprise, Amber cracked her eyes open and gave him the most condescending look he had ever received from a cat.

The next time the horrific alarm went off, Cas was able to get Amber to eat a little. The next time, a little more. By lunchtime the next day, she was perfectly fine and back to cuddling happily with her brothers.

"The little drama queen was faking us out!" Dean grumbled.

Cas was too happy to care.




The all-night vigil really took it out of Cas, but he couldn't catch up on sleep, not when the kittens still needed to be fed every few hours. The tooth-grindingly awful sound of the alarm blared regularly all through the day. Dean expected it to wake him up at night too, but that never seemed to happen. At first he wondered if Cas had figured out how to turn off the sound, but then he realized that Cas had simply become so attuned to the alarm that he was able to respond to it and turn it off before it even reached the second NYA.

So Dean remained well-rested, if slightly annoyed, while Cas became more and more haggard over the course of the week.

"Cas, I was just being a dick before," Dean admitted when Cas started nodding off several times in the middle of the day, "I'll help feed them at night so you can get some sleep."

Cas shook his head with a frown and gave him the same response that he had given Sam from the beginning. "They are my responsibility," he said, "Caring for them is well within my abilities."

But Dean was pretty sure that the lack of sleep was getting to him, especially when he found him in the kitchen one morning, holding a glass of milk and smiling vacantly as he swirled the liquid, admiring the thin white film that coated the side of the glass. Dean's stomach twisted tighter and tighter as he watched.

He finally spoke up. "Cas, are you gonna drink that or not?"

"The fluid dynamics of this milk are fascinating," Cas said, "There is nothing else quite like it. An emulsion of lipids and proteins, found in the glands of a lactating mammal."

"Cas…" said Dean, stepping forward and reaching for the glass.

"And this is the substance used to sustain life in precocious young," Cas continued unabated, "Such a strange design. I'm not sure what my father was thinking. It's certainly not ideal. If the mother dies, then the young will soon perish. That's assuming an absence of another source of milk, even artificial milk, and someone to administer it. Like me with these kittens, I suppose. I am thwarting my father's will by keeping them alive. Or perhaps He also planned for the invention of formula, and wishes for the kittens to survive. What do you think, Dean?"

"I think you're freaking me the fuck out," Dean said, hating the way Cas spoke to him superficially, without really engaging with him, as if Dean were barely present, "Now gimme that before you… son of a bitch!" He made a grab for the glass only to fumble it, trip on his cast, and make Cas drop it. Shards of glass scattered in a spreading puddle of white.

By reflex, Dean dropped to the floor, cast and all, and started picking up the largest pieces. Cas stared, his eyes tracking as his brain let go of its milk-related train of thought and caught up to what had just happened in front of him.

"I apologize," he said, distraught.

"No, it was my fault," Dean mumbled. He threw the chunks into the trash, but there was still a minefield of smaller shards all around Cas's bare feet.

"Let me help you clean it up…" Cas lifted his foot carefully, trying to find a safe place to set it down.

"Don't move!" Dean snapped. He was standing on the periphery of the mess, and Cas was just out of his reach in the center. After a moment of considering the logistics, he stepped forward with his casted leg. Glass crunched under the fiberglass. It took him a few wobbly seconds to make sure he wouldn't slip in the milk, but once he had found his balance he lifted Cas under the arms like a ragdoll and deposited him on the other side of the spill, out of harm's way.

But far from looking grateful, Cas looked pissed. "I am capable of avoiding injury on my own," he said, "Go back to the couch and let me handle this."

"I'll do it," said Dean, trying to kneel again, "You'll just hurt yourself." It was awkward, with his casted leg sticking out at an odd angle. He couldn't quite get close enough to the floor without sitting down, and he definitely didn't want his ass touching the floor when there was glass everywhere.

"Dean," said Cas, and this time the tone of his voice made Dean freeze. "I am not a child."

Dean stood, straightening out his busted leg and leaning against the counter. "You were just pontificating on the wonders of milk," he said, "Forgive me if I don't want you handling anything sharp right now."

For a long moment, Cas didn't speak. The anger melted out of his eyes and turned to helpless frustration. "I know that I am broken," he finally said, "But I wish you would see that I can still be of use to you."

The words hit Dean right in the gut. Broken? Harsh, maybe, but yes. That's what Dean thought of Cas now. Broken. His mind shattered. Getting better, but still in need of protection.

But Dean would never admit that. "Who said you aren't still useful?" he said, "If it weren't for you, I'd have died about a million times over back in Purgatory."

"I can be more than your shield," said Cas, "And more than your sword. I protected you in Purgatory by fighting by your side, by standing between you and danger, because that is what you needed. But we are not in Purgatory anymore. Let me protect you now, by feeding you when you are hungry and taking over your chores when you are injured. If you love me, if you trust me, if I am truly a part of your family, then you will accept my help when I offer it."

And then it finally became clear to Dean that all the domestic crap that he had always looked down on was not a symptom of Cas's broken wall, but an expression of his love. Dean should have seen it earlier; after all, Dean knew that kind of love well. That love that compels you to give everything you have for someone else, not because they deserve it, but because you have chosen to make them a part of you. It took strength to love like that, and maybe it was a different kind of strength than it took to fight a battle, but it was no less admirable.

Dean didn't know how to put any of that into words, so he stared into Cas's eyes and willed him to understand. When Cas's face softened, his brow relaxing and his jaw loosening, Dean knew that he had somehow succeeded. He extended his hand to Cas. "I'm gonna go sit down," he said, "Help me to the couch?"

"Of course," said Cas gratefully, taking Dean's hand and positioning himself under Dean's arm.

After weeks of hopping, crutching, and dragging his way around the cabin, Dean had to admit that having Cas to lean on was about a million times better. Cas took most of Dean's weight off his bad leg with just an arm around his waist, and Dean got the impression that Cas could have scooped him up and carried him like a chick in a romance movie if he'd felt like it.

Cas deposited Dean on the couch and made sure that he was comfortable before returning to the kitchen. Dean listened to the clink of glass on glass and the wet slaps of soaked dishrags as Cas cleaned up the spill. His instinct was to call out, to make sure Cas was all right, but he suppressed it. Cas had it under control - under better control than Dean really gave him credit for. So Dean laid back and tried to relax.

But before he could let his eyes slide closed, they were caught by a sudden movement from the corner of the room. The kittens' nest-box was there, up against the wall, the power cords of their heating pad flowing out and into the nearby wall socket. Motionless. But Dean was sure that he had seen something, so he watched until the tips of a pair of ears slowly showed over the edge of the box. A head followed, and then a pair of paws. Soon Amber was peering out at Dean as if trying to decide whether or not he would be an obstacle to her plans for world domination.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her.

She apparently wasn't impressed, because she looked away from Dean and began squirming her way out of the box. The lip was almost too high for her, but she managed to get one back leg over the edge and soon she had somersaulted to the floor with a thump.

"Uh, Cas?" Dean called. Amber's brothers were peeking out after her, trying to figure out how she had pulled off her escape. "The kittens are making a break for it."

Cas didn't sound concerned when he shouted back, "They've been doing that since yesterday. It's nothing to be concerned about. Just make sure they don't wander too far."

While Cas was talking, Raz and Danny had flopped their way out of the box and down to the floor. Now all three of them were meandering clumsily in various directions. "What am I…" Dean almost demanded to know what he should do about it, but then he decided that since Cas was busy in the kitchen the least Dean could do was keep an eye on the kittens. Luckily, it didn't look like it would be very hard. They weren't making much headway; the two boys were mostly staggering in circles, falling on their faces every now and then, and crying plaintively.

Only Amber seemed to know where she was going. She made her way over to the couch, also falling on her face occasionally, but moving with more purpose than her brothers. When she arrived level with Dean's face, she pressed herself up against the side of the couch, opened her mouth, and said, "Mew!"

It sounded like an order.

"What do you want from me?" Dean whispered, not wanting to have to admit that he was talking to a cat.

"MeeeeeEEEAAAAAAEEEeeeeew," said Amber, so loudly that Dean's eyebrows shot up in admiration.

"You've got a set of pipes on you, I'll give you that," Dean whispered as he reached down and scooped Amber up like a flailing potato. She had grown a lot since she had arrived all curled up like a grub, but she was still tiny and, under Dean's fingers, shockingly delicate. He could feel each rib and each joint, and he was instantly aware of how easy it would be to accidentally hurt her. He set her on his chest gently.

She immediately stopped yelling and, instead, dug her needle-sharp claws through his shirt and into his skin. Dean hissed a curse and resisted the urge to swat her off the couch.

Cas came out of the kitchen and, seeing Dean flinching under Amber's kneading claws, stopped and cocked his head amusedly.

"Not a word," Dean said, pointing a finger at Cas, "Now, how do you turn off the claws?"

"You don’t," said Cas, "They haven't learned to retract them yet. You'll just have to be careful." He knelt by the box where the other two kittens were still flopping around in circles, and he herded them back into their nest of blankets.

Dean was careful, and patient, and finally Amber stopped stabbing him every few seconds. "Hey, I think she stopped!" he announced, just before Amber squatted and pooped on his shirt. "Aw, son of a bitch…" he amended, "I thought you said they couldn't shit unless you did that gross paper-towel thing?"

Cas looked up, saw Dean's predicament, and fuck if the bastard didn't have to suppress a smile. "They are learning to do that on their own," he said.

"Thanks for warning me," Dean grumbled, picking Amber up and shifting her back to the ground. She mewed angrily at him, but this time he ignored her.

Cas retrieved Amber and returned her to her brothers, despite her protests. Then he crossed the room to bend over Dean. "Hold still," he advised as he rolled up the hem of Dean's shirt to keep the stain from touching his skin. Then, "Lift your arms, please," as he pulled the shirt over Dean's head and tossed it into the corner with the rest of the kittens' laundry.

Dean still wasn't happy. "You can't keep the little bastards around here if they're just… gonna… poop everywhere…" he tried to say, but he was quickly distracted by the way Cas was thoughtfully regarding his bare chest.

"I understand, Dean," said Cas, even as he knelt on the couch and swung one knee over Dean's hips so that he was straddling Dean's lap. And that was when Dean completely forgot what they had been talking about.

Cas leaned forward slowly, slowly enough that Dean finally lost his patience and pulled him down with a hand on the back of his neck. And just like the first time, just like every time, as soon as their lips met nothing else mattered. Dean let his body relax into the couch cushions, his arm draped lightly over Cas's neck. He let his face be turned by Cas's hands on his jaw and in his hair - they angled his mouth into a better position for Cas to attack it with his tongue.

Then Cas's hands were making their ways down Dean's neck, his chest, sliding down his sides and pressing on his hips. Just as his fingers pushed under the waistband of Dean's pants, Cas dropped his mouth down to Dean's neck to suck fiercely at the skin behind his ear.

"That's it, Cas, keep going," Dean gasped, lifting his hips to chase after Cas's touch. But Cas had frozen. He drew his hands out of Dean's pants and rested them on the couch instead as he slowly lifted his face out of the crook of Dean's neck with a pained expression.

"Dean?" Cas said, grimacing, "When's the last time you showered?"

Dean felt his shoulders hunch in embarrassment as he stammered, "Well, I'm supposed to keep my cast dry, and it's really hard to keep it out of the water since the shower head doesn't detach. I mean, I tried at first but then I figured that I was gonna get it off in less than a month anyway, so… it's been about two weeks."

Cas looked deep into Dean's eyes. Sometimes Dean got the feeling that their whole "profound bond" thing let them read each other's minds, but he was pretty sure that even without that he would have been able to recognize Cas's expression as saying, "And you let me put my mouth on you?"

"Dude!" Dean continued defensively, "It's not that bad. Every morning I stand at the sink and, you know…" He gestured to his neck, his armpits, and his groin. "…spot-clean."

Cas seemed somewhat reassured, but he still asked, "And your hair?"

"I can't get my head under the sink faucet," Dean admitted.

Cas shook his head slightly with a small smile, and then stood and offered his hand to Dean. "Come with me," he commanded.

"What about the cats?" Dean asked, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

"I'll close the doors," said Cas as he pulled Dean toward the bathroom, "They won't get far."

Dean stopped protesting and let Cas take over. Soon he found himself stripped naked and seated with his back against the outside edge of the bathtub, his head bent backwards over the lip. Cas had even put a folded towel under his neck to make the position more comfortable.

As Dean had said, the shower head was not detachable, and the lower faucet didn't work, so Cas had to hold a bucket up to the sputtering shower head to fill it with hot water. Dean wasn't too noble to take advantage of his low angle and peek up Cas's shirt. Not for the first time, he felt grateful that Cas had traded in the suit for hospital scrubs, and then the hospital scrubs for borrowed t-shirts and jeans. Dean wasn't sure whether he preferred Cas wearing Sam's shirts, which made him look small and kind of adorable, or Dean's shirts, which tickled Dean's possessive streak.

Cas shot Dean an eyebrow as he shut off the water and got down to sit on the lip of the tub, letting Dean know that he hadn't missed the staring. Dean answered with a smug grin.

They only had one bucket, so Cas used a large measuring cup from the kitchen to scoop water over Dean's head. He only splashed it onto Dean's face once before figuring out how to hold his hand against Dean's hairline to make sure the water ran in the right direction.

At first Dean kept having to bite back snarky comments, but by the time Cas was massaging shampoo into his scalp he had decided that this comfortable silence was better. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of Cas's fingers sliding through his soapy hair. The muscles of his neck stayed slack even as Cas gently turned his head from side to side so that he could reach behind Dean's ears and down to the bottommost curve of his skull.

"Mmm," was all Dean said when Cas's fingernails scraped deliciously against his scalp.

"Mm-hmm," Cas replied. A splash and a hollow clunking sound signaled that he was picking up the measuring cup again, and sure enough Dean felt a stream of water begin to wash the soap out of his hair.

When he was done, and the water that ran through Dean's hair came out clean, Cas nudged Dean upright and dropped a towel over his head. Dean was blinded until Cas straddled his lap and pushed the towel away from his face, roughly rubbing his hair dry. Dean's hands made their ways absently to Cas's hips, and then up under his loose-hanging t-shirt. One hand started at the base of Cas's spine and walked slowly up, vertebra by vertebra. The other ran up Cas's chest to gently pinch at a nipple. Cas's body warmed to the attention, and he gave a sigh deep in his throat that was almost a groan. Dean's hair was still quite damp when Cas threw the towel impatiently aside in favor of diving in for a kiss.

Dean pulled Cas more firmly onto his lap, savoring the rub of Cas's clothes against his own bare skin and kissing him lazily, sloppily, all lips and tongue. It was Cas who brought the teeth, biting Dean's lower lip just hard enough to make Dean's hands tighten their grip on Cas's rear.

"My hair's still wet," Dean complained with a cheeky smile once Cas had released his lip.

Cas pulled back and regarded Dean thoughtfully. Then he leaned forward and lapped up the trails of water that were running from Dean's hair down his face. The tip of his tongue ran quickly from Dean's chin up to his temple, tracing the path of a water droplet there, and then again on the other side. A row of kisses along Dean's hairline stopped the droplets that were just about to fall. Cas even sucked up the water that had pooled in the hollows of Dean's collarbones, and worked his way around to mouth at the moisture clinging to the nape of Dean's neck. He only paused when Dean rolled his hips up, letting Cas feel the growing erection beneath him.

They looked into each other's eyes, breathing heavily, for no more than a second or two before Dean asked breathlessly, "Bed?"

"Bed," Cas confirmed, grabbing Dean's wrists and hauling him to his feet.

Dean continued to lean on Cas as they staggered out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. "Good thing I'm already undressed," Dean chuckled, "Trying to get my pants off over this cast is a major mood-killer."

"Why do you think I made you take them off before I washed your hair?" Cas answered, pushing Dean ahead of him.

Dean let Cas push him face-first down onto the bed, turned, and said, "You sly dog!" He levered himself up on his elbow so that he could see. Cas smirked as he retrieved a bottle of lube from under the bed and tossed it onto the mattress beside Dean, and then began to undress. Another good thing about Cas borrowing Dean's clothes was the fact that his pants fell down as soon as his belt was undone. It was very convenient.

Dean tried to roll over, struggling with his heavy cast, but Cas pushed him back down onto his stomach with one hand on his shoulder. "Stay." Dean stayed. Cas slowly crawled on top of him, matching shoulders to shoulders and hips to hips, his hands running down Dean's arms to weave their fingers together. His hardening cock prodded lightly between Dean's legs, making Dean squirm with anticipation.

"Faster is better," Dean whined.

The pop of the cap on the lube bottle silenced him. Cas said nothing. He didn't need to.

When Dean felt the cold slick of the lube between his cheeks he gasped, "Fuck!" and then, when Cas sank two fingers deep inside him, "Fu-uck! That's more like it!"

But after the initial intrusion, Cas took his time. He worked Dean open slowly and gently, planting kisses across Dean's shoulders and up his neck, until Dean was slack and quivering under him.

"Come on, Cas, come on," Dean murmured, "Give it to me."

Cas laughed a little in his throat as he craned his neck to kiss Dean's mouth, and added a third finger. With his free hand, Cas reached around and grabbed Dean's hip, angling him up and rolling him onto his side. He cradled Dean's body against his, back to front, one hand thrusting faster and faster into his ass while the other swept low to stroke his cock, rubbing the head through the foreskin until it stood hard and throbbing.

When Cas said, "Almost there," it was not a question but a statement of fact. Dean was arching back, throwing his head over Cas's shoulder, and trying to quicken the pace with stuttering thrusts of his hips. He tried to bite back his moans until he remembered that Sam wasn't home, and then he threw caution to the winds and opened his mouth, letting loose every gasp and plea and filthy shouted oath. He was so close that he could feel it building within him, growing so quickly that in another moment he wouldn't be able to stop it…

"NYA NYA NYA NYA NYANYANYANYANYA NYA NYA…"

They both froze, Cas with his hands in mid-stroke and Dean with his mouth in mid-curse, and they both turned slowly to where Cas's phone sat buzzing and ringing on the nightstand.

"NYA NYA NYA NYA NYANYANYANYANYA NYA NYA…"

"Don't you dare," said Dean, trying to make his voice low and dangerous. It only came out sounding desperate and whiny.

Cas rolled reluctantly out of bed. He pulled his fingers out too fast and at an awkward angle, forcing Dean to give an undignified yowl as he flopped back onto his face. "I'm sorry, Dean," Cas panted as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants off the top of the open dresser drawer and pulled them on, "I'll be right back." He snatched up the phone and turned off the alarm as he made for the door.

"Don't you dare leave me like this!" Dean shouted after him, but Cas was already gone. Dean gaped helplessly as he listened to Cas's footfalls on the way to the kitchen, followed shortly by the slamming of cupboards and the whir of the microwave.

And then Dean began to laugh. It started as one of those little unhappy chuckles but it soon built into a quiet but gut-shaking belly laugh that would have doubled Dean over if he hadn't already been lying flat. Okay. So Cas loved those goddamn fucking kittens. It wasn't ideal, but Dean could learn to share.

He was still laughing as he rolled himself laboriously over, wrapped his hand around his cock, and finished himself off.

Part 2

(Art by krioboly)