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In a distant corner of the apartment, past half-open doors and gap-mufflers and thick-pile rugs, a boxy black TV mumbled to itself, fritzing and straining to keep its signal through the storm.
“—power outages widespread throughout the region,” the TV said, its faint voice crackling between every word. “Temperatures reaching a record low in the northern half of the state – reminder that the government has issued a state of emergency, so if you’re inside, stay inside—”
Wind woooooed through a gap in the window seal, its howl turning to a melodic whistle. The snow didn’t make a sound as it hit the glass, unseen past the drapes. Even in the middle of the day, it was dark. The world was dark. The apartment was dark.
Castiel’s bedroom was dark.
Billie liked to think it was her bedroom – she put all her things in there, and everything glowed strongly with her chamomile scent – but the rug on the floor was Castiel’s, the mattress and all its winter blankets were Castiel’s, and the bedroom was, as a whole, Castiel’s.
Beyond the bedroom was the lounge – also pleasantly gloomy, also quiet but for the whistle of wind and the hum of the fridge. The lounge was more of a public space, a neutral zone. Castiel expected to see Dean or Sam scamper through there often, and the kitchen was at the side, so they’d eat together most mornings and evenings. But the rest of the time, Castiel kept to his bedroom, sleeping, licking his cream-coloured back and brown tail – and Dean? Well, Dean disappeared outside.
He’d be gone for days, then come in all dirty and happy and hungry. He’d sleep on the couch for a few days, accepting Billie’s petting and letting his long, darker-tipped coat be combed through to tease out the knots – and then by the morning he’d be gone. He always knew to come home, but he grew restless when inside. His mind was too full of thoughts, his body too full of energy, and all he wanted to do was play and hunt and discover new things.
Castiel liked inside.
Inside was warm.
Outside was the opposite of warm, because there were no heaters. So outside, Castiel did not go. At least not in winter.
Castiel pricked up his ears: Billie returned home with a swoosh of heavy air, her heels tapping onto the wooden floors. Excited, Castiel uncurled himself, stretching his paws allll the way out in front of him, yawning wide, teeth showing. Then he vibrated, and stretched his back legs, and jumped down to the floor.
He trotted out to see Billie, chirruping a friendly greeting. The lounge didn’t have any heaters on, but being cold was worth it for chin scratchies and food.
“Hello, Castiel,” Billie said, bending at the waist to set a cool, snow-scented hand on his head. She tickled his ears, then under his chin, then sighed as she straightened. “Where are your friends today, hm?”
If Castiel understood the question, he would’ve rolled his eyes. He didn’t have friends. He chirped, and hurried with his tail upright, following Billie to the closet, where she hid away her scythe and long black walking cloak.
“It’s such a job, these days,” Billie said lowly, eyeing Castiel as he padded around, expecting food. “I spend half my time hanging around in the storm, waiting for someone to slip or drive their car off the road.” She smiled, bending to pick Castiel up and throw him onto her shoulder as she went towards the kitchen. “Nobody’s died... yet,” she admitted, as Castiel jumped off her back and stormed to his food bowl, hungry, hungry, hungry!
“No surprise, Death’s work is never done,” Billie said. “Especially not in these conditions.” She poured out a stream of crunchy bits into Castiel’s bowl. He stuck his head in and began eating before she was done, so ended up with food on his shoulders. Tutting, Billie let him be, and floated away to take her shoes off.
There came a ka-blam from the cat flap in the distant stairwell door, and Castiel flattened his ears back, eating faster, faster.
“Woww,” Dean cried from the hallway. “Weaaooow!”
Castiel ate so fast he got a tummy ache. He lifted his head and hissed; Dean ambled up to him, sopping wet and dripping. He met Castiel’s eyes – and then shook, hard, spraying water in every direction. Castiel hissed again, retracting his head.
Dean seemed to smirk, coming up close, snif-snif-sniffing Castiel’s nose in greeting. Castiel growled deeply, rumbling from within his chest.
Dean turned away, still smirking, and bent his head to eat the food Castiel had left, and whatever had fallen on the floor from his back. His long, wet tail swished across the floor, sweeping like a brown-black tasselled mop, leaving a glossy semi-circle.
Castiel glared, tiptoeing past Dean’s tail. It swished against his paws, trying to trip him up. Castiel stood on it on purpose, and Dean grunted, freezing halfway through a crunch. He turned to look over his shoulder and finished his mouthful; Castiel glowered back defiantly.
Dean sneezed in Castiel’s direction; Castiel shot off, scowling, fluffed up and angry.
He sat on the dining table, sulking, tail thrashing and wriggling like a furious worm. He glared at the kitchen, slowly lowering himself to his belly, waiting for his moment to strike.
Dean emerged, mouth wide as he licked the corners of his lips, green almond-shaped eyes half-closed in content. He plodded into the open, careless as to who or what was watching him.
Castiel went still and silent, breathing slowed. He locked eyes on his target. Haunches raised. Paws stomping gently, taking aim. Ready... On three!
One...
Two...
Thr—
Sam bounded off the back of the couch, pouncing onto his brother’s back. Dean yelped, and shot away, but Sam chased him, and a tumbling, rumbling, scruffing of clawed feet went rushing around the lounge, twice around the couch, once over the top – then they both stopped abruptly, as Dean had leapt onto the top of the fridge from the kitchen island, and Sam hadn’t seen where he’d gone.
Castiel scoffed to himself, eyeing Dean from across the room.
Dean sat on the top of the fridge, and started to lick his paws.
Castiel settled on Billie’s closed laptop in the middle of the glass dining table, tucked his paws under his chest, and stared at Dean for half an hour.
Dean was just finishing up cleaning his backside when Billie came in, carrying armfuls of black Death-Day books with local people’s names in white on the spines. She put them all down on the glass table beside her presently-occupied laptop, then sat and began to leaf through the tome from the top of the pile, apparently looking for something in particular.
Castiel was busy staring at Dean, so there was room on Billie’s lap for Sam. Yet, instead of choosing the available space, Sam walked in front of her, over her book, and sat on her hands.
“So you’re helping with the research, are you?” Billie asked with a smile. “I suppose that is your speciality. Along with surprise hand-warmer.” She extricated her hands from under Sam’s fluffy middle, and tried to turn a page, but Sam batted it down, so Billie lifted only the corner and peered underneath.
Sam pushed the page down firmly, then stood up and bounced onto Billie’s shoulders, slinging himself around her neck like a scarf. He meowed something matter-of-factly. While Billie scratched his head, lost in thought, her eyes fell upon a weather-related paragraph that appeared in a swirl of ink upon the open page.
Billie sighed. Then she chuckled knowingly.
Standing up made Sam startle – so Billie bent towards the table and he plopped off like a slinky. Castiel pointedly ignored Sam and kept watching Dean, while Sam padded around on the table, sniffing the book Billie had been scouring, then hopping down to the floor.
All three cats looked up when Billie drifted away, heading to her closet to fetch her cloak and scythe.
She said nothing at first, but seemed sullen and wary.
“Maybe,” she said, catching Castiel’s eyes as she buttoned her cloak and drew up the hood, hiding her brown face in shadow. “Not definitely. But it doesn’t pay to be inside when all the action is out there, in the snow.” She patted Castiel’s head, scrunching into his soft fur, then took her scythe and vanished into thin air.
Her breath lingered in the space she no longer occupied. You take care of yourselves, now.
Castiel shivered with cold. He wanted to go back into the heated bedroom.
He hopped down onto a chair, then to the floor. He jerked a half-foot in the air the moment he landed; Sam was there, looking at him.
Castiel didn’t mind Sam. Sam respected his personal space, and he didn’t smirk.
Castiel blinked at Sam, then headed towards his bedroom, tail slightly a-swish. He might not mind Sam, but he still didn’t like being surprised.
Relief hugged his whiskers as he entered the warmer room, where the air was muggy and the rugs were fluffier, and the TV mumbled as it always did. Castiel leapt lazily onto the foot of the bed, purring straight away: everything was squishy and soft under his paws, and there was nothing he liked better in the world.
He spent ten minutes massaging every corner of the bed until he found the squishiest bit, then curled up in a donut shape, then sighed deeply, and his purr rattled into silence.
He breathed slowly, and smiled, comfortable as he started to doze.
About an hour later – Castiel could tell it was an hour later, because The Bad Terrible Ugly News was on again – Sam’s tall brown ears perked up from the side of the bed. Castiel opened one eye to watch him.
Sam put both paws on the mattress, cautiously peering over the edge. He watched Castiel for a bit. Sam knew this was Castiel’s room. Castiel’s personal scent had been carefully applied to everything. His fur was shed, his claws had marked, and there was really no arguing with a claim this strong. Yet Sam was in here for one reason, and one reason only: it was cold in the lounge.
Cats liked being warm. Castiel, as a Thai-Siamese cat, had almost no undercoat, nothing as thick and bushy as Dean and Sam’s Somali coats. Dean and Sam were family; not littermates, but brothers of the same parents, two separate years. They were dense, muscular, agile cats, decorated with long and fluffy fur around their faces and chests and tails, but a shorter coat around their middles. Much of the time, they were fine outside. But in the snow, even Sam gave up and stuck to the couch. Yet on a day like this, Castiel could understand wanting a touch more heat.
Sam jumped onto the blankets, head down, giving Castiel an apologetic look.
Castiel watched him pad around.
Then Castiel shut his eyes, signalling that he didn’t care.
Sam found a good spot within a minute – rushing his choice, so as not to upset Castiel, probably – then lay his chin on his paws, licked them a couple of times to show he was happy where he was, then shut his eyes and settled in for a nap.
Castiel snoozed, but stayed slightly alert, ready to wake up in a snap if Sam made any sudden moves.
After an hour... two hours, when Sam hadn’t done so much as snore, Castiel let himself fall all the way asleep. His awareness darkened to black, his body no longer holding any tension. He faintly heard the TV in his dreams, but was only comforted by voices, not able to differentiate between sounds. The world became a distant thing.
He slept for a few more hours.
Castiel woke slowly, becoming gently aware of his surroundings and body before thinking about what it all meant. Sam’s scent was stronger than ever. Castiel felt Somali fur against his paws and supposed Sam had rolled closer. Castiel wasn’t bothered. Sam was very warm. Castiel had gotten so comfortable that he’d woken lying on his side, instead of in a tight donut with his tail over his nose. He hadn’t been so warm in weeks.
Content, Castiel rolled onto his back, paws in the air, purring softly. He smiled, ear twitching once as it touched the blanket, then he went still again, and soon returned to his dreams.
•·•·• ♡ •·•·•
Dean had tried resting on top of the fridge, because the higher spaces tended to be warmer, and the fridge was generally warm anyway. Dean had tried the couch, burrowing under a throw blanket, but even then, the tightest donut curl wasn’t tight enough. He’d licked every inch of himself, but the melted snow had gotten too deep into his undercoat, and his outer fluff was keeping the moisture in. Night had fallen and he was still damp.
He wanted a cuddle. Outside for two days in the sleet and ice and snow, and not one cuddle! He could survive without food, but no cuddles was just too much.
His back was starting to prickle, his chest aching. He wanted adventure but he hated that adventure came with loneliness. He was just glad that Sam always greeted him with so much energy. Not like Castiel. Castiel clearly wished Dean would stay gone.
Dean went hunting for Sam, plodding through the apartment, calling. “Ma-waow? Ma-waaaaow?”
Sam didn’t answer.
Dean pouted, roaming through the kitchen. The food bowl was empty, so he pried open the food cupboard with his paw, pulling from the bottom, until he could push his nose into the open crack. He then shoved his head in until the cupboard was properly open. He pawed around to make the box fall over, and purred as he ate everything that dropped.
He headed into the bathroom and leapt into the sink, nosing on the faucet until a dribble came out. He drank from the dribble, then leapt down, because the faucet was weighted and turned itself off after thirty seconds. Billie installed that feature on purpose, after coming home to find her bathroom flooded a fifth time. There was a water bowl, but Dean wasn’t a fan of puddles.
Dean sat on the rug, cross and lonely and cold. He wanted to go outside. But he didn’t like the snow, it stung his paw pads.
Maybe he’d like to chase something instead, just for something to do.
But where was Sam when Dean needed him?
Dean decided to check every room for his little brother. The apartment was only three rooms and a closet, so it was an easy deduction to make: Sam was in Castiel’s room.
Dean stood at the door, tail swooping from side to side, ears alert. He listened, and listened, and could hear two feline heartbeats past the endless muttering of the TV.
As his fur pricked upright on his back, Dean crept into Castiel’s sacred den, belly to the floor. He so rarely came in here. As much as Dean and Castiel teased each other, and fought, and beat each other up, Dean knew there were ultimate boundaries between the two of them, and he dared not cross those lines. At least not under normal circumstances.
These were not normal circumstances.
The TV lit the side of the bed in blue. Dean could hear Castiel, deep in slumber – and Sam, awake, listening to Dean creep forwards.
Dean put his paws on the side of the bed and stood up on his back legs, peering across the mattress. There was Sam, watching him with both golden eyes silvered by the TV’s glare.
“Mhhh,” Sam whispered.
Too afraid to reply, Dean blinked back. His whiskers twitched, eyes darting to Castiel. Would he notice? Of course he would. He’d be able to smell Dean’s paw scent on everything.
But would he understand? He was trusting enough to let Sam rest beside him, lying so close they touched. He trusted Sam enough to fall asleep properly next to him.
Sam and Castiel had only ever been tolerant acquaintances, but they looked like friends now. If the deadly-cold weather could bring them together... maybe there was hope for Dean.
He just wanted to join that snuggle pile. It looked so comfy and cozy and warm...
He gazed longingly at Castiel.
He stared for so long that Sam shut his eyes and lay his head down, leaving Dean to deliberate by himself.
Dean sat down on the rug, wondering what to do.
It was warm enough here, wasn’t it? On the floor. On the floor with no cuddles.
With a huff, Dean made up his mind, and pounced onto the bed in absolute silence, so quiet that Sam only noticed because he felt the air move. His whiskers flinched, but he relaxed again, and kept his eyes shut.
Dean picked his way between the other cats, heart beating faster. He was tense, fearful that Castiel would wake up and smack him in the face, which he had every right to do. Every muscle in Dean’s body screamed at him to run, but his little cat soul just wanted to lie down on his housemates and sleep the way he did as a kitten, snuggled up between his littermates and his mama.
It was funny, but in the years since that time, he’d only ever wanted to go back. He’d grown up and out and found a bigger world outside, but still ached for a loving tongue stroking his cheek and another cat’s deep, low purr rumbling against his chest.
Dean gave in to his core instinct, and lay down with his belly over Castiel’s legs and his side pressed to Sam’s fluff. He remained closer to Sam than Castiel, still wary, but didn’t shy away from touching his enemy. Castiel’s dainty paws were pleasantly warm.
At first, Dean remained tense, worried he was doing something wrong.
But after twenty minutes, he let his chin rest on the blanket.
After forty, he relaxed his spine.
After sixty-three, he was snoring.
•·•·• ♡ •·•·•
Castiel woke up and stretched, spine elongating in a languid curve, his muscles juddering, toe beans separating, taut belly pushing onto the cat beside him. A rattle of a purr escaped Castiel as he relaxed. He felt so absolutely satisfied. He didn’t think he’d slept so soundly since summertime.
He wriggled closer to the warmth, happy to smell a familiar cat and not a stranger. He’d had dreams of a strange cat sleeping beside him, but this scent was one he knew, so he had nothing to worry about.
He was vaguely aware there was more than one cat in this cuddle pile. But that made it all the nicer. So warm. So friendly. So much like family. He purred softly against Dean and Sam, smiling, giving them a fond lick each. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed being a kitten until he was wrapped in a tender knot of other felines.
Castiel snuggled his face between the other two cats, his body as relaxed as a cloth, his smile as gentle as a sigh.
His purr faded as he sank back into slumber, lost in dreams of kittenhood and love.
•·•·• ♡ •·•·•
Dean woke up, eyes fighting to stay closed even when he wanted them open. He finally won his battle against drowsiness, and he admired the light, knowing it meant the snow had stopped and the sky was clear. Morning sun shone in a sweet line across the room, dusky pink walls anointed with a thick stripe of gold, which sparkled with floating dust.
Billie wasn’t back yet; her bed was empty but for the cats.
Dean tipped his head up and yawned, snapping his jaws shut and licking his lips.
He lifted a paw and began to lick it, licking and licking.
He then moved onto the cream fur before him, because it looked soft.
It was soft. And it tasted like blankets.
He did Castiel a favour and nibbled a small lump of matted fur from the base of his spine, since he’d clearly been having trouble with it, and Billie had missed it with her comb. Castiel swept his tail out of the way to let him get at it.
After a few minutes, Sam rolled over and stretched, sticking his paw in Dean’s ear. Dean turned his head and licked Sam’s paw, and Sam twitched, batting Dean on the nose. Dean snorted, returning to grooming his new friend.
Castiel sighed, rolling over onto his back, showing Dean his whole tummy.
Dean smiled, his insides rushing with happiness. Only Sam ever trusted him that much.
Dean gave Castiel’s fluffy tummy a few licks, but then shut his eyes, and rested his chin on Castiel’s ribs, listening to his heartbeat. Slow. Gentle. Not a fleck of distrust left in him.
Eventually Dean decided he really ought to use the litterbox, since climbing over roofs and leaping between windowsills to get to the gardens was a big journey and he never liked doing that when the litterbox was so close.
He stood, stretching tall and lean, all four legs shaking into a blur before he eased down to normal height, slowly extricating himself from the cuddle. He paused to lick a tickle on his chest, then looked back – someone had snatched his tail.
Castiel had a paw on the tip of Dean’s tail, pinning it down. With a quirky little tilt of his head, he gazed at Dean with crystalline lilac-blue eyes, black pupils narrowed to slits, a smirk on his lips.
Dean tried to twitch his tail, but it only wriggled, tip still caught.
Castiel blinked at Dean... very, very slowly. Friends?
Dean smiled, and blinked back. Yeah, buddy.
Castiel let Dean’s tail go, and returned to lying with Sam.
Dean watched him for a while, and Castiel watched him back. Happy, Dean bounced from the bed and went on his way, a spring in his step, tail upright and curled at the tip.
•·•·• ♡ •·•·•
Billie returned later that afternoon, her cloak as sodden as Dean’s fur had been last night, her scythe perfectly clean and shiny. As Castiel meowed and curled around her legs, she muttered to herself about “all this fuss for nothing” and “I suppose it’s a good thing nobody died, right?”, but eventually she smiled, bending to pick Castiel up.
“You seem happy,” she remarked, as he purred fiercely, letting her turn him upside down and rub his belly. “What happened while I was gone?”
Dean told her. He snuck up to her boots and played with her laces with an outstretched paw as she undid them, then went chasing after Castiel, who didn’t try very hard to run away. They pounced and tumbled on the coffee table and fell off the other side with a slash of magazines, then broke apart, Dean perched on the couch arm like a mountain lion on a rocky crag, Castiel watching him from the rug with a lively eye, tail swishing, but not out of annoyance – out of excitement.
“Interesting,” Billie said, watching them return to playing.
Billie was used to a lot of cat screaming, and tattletale cats telling on each other, and she’d end up providing comfort after either Dean or Castiel bopped the other too hard on the head. She’d occasionally wondered if Dean and Castiel had ever been suited to the same household, but couldn’t bear to give either of them up, because if Dean went, Sam would have to go too, since Somali cats were so smart and active and needed companions – and she absolutely couldn’t part with Castiel, as he was inexplicably her favourite.
She wondered how long this truce would last.
Castiel followed after Billie, asking for treats, and as Dean trailed after, trotting side-by-side with Sam, he also wondered.
Was it a one-night truce? Had they just hit pause on their daily fights, only to return to them by tonight, or tomorrow night, or next week? Or was this peace between them going to last?
Dean decided, somewhere in the back of his kitty brain, that he’d rather it was the latter.
•·•·• ♡ •·•·•
Billie turned on her bedside lamp in the night, concerned by an unfamiliar weight on her feet. She squinted until her eyes adjusted – and then she hummed in surprised delight, a white grin spreading across her oakwood features.
Right by her feet, Dean padded around looking for a place to settle.
“What are you doing in here?” Billie murmured.
Dean answered by plopping down onto the bedspread: Castiel now lay sandwiched between Sam and Dean, his paws in the air, a tiny smile on his beautiful brown face. The three of them looked like an orange-biscuit Oreo with the classic white filling, if such a thing would ever exist.
Dean looked guiltily at Billie, knowing full well he was doing something unusual in being here, yet he looked so happy about it. He purred at her briefly, and Billie reached down to touch his soft little head. He nosed her hand, and she sank back, beaming.
Apparently pleased he had Billie’s approval, Dean closed his eyes, settling to sleep with his family.
Billie, still busy adoring the sight, took a while longer to return to bed, but eventually did so, snuggling up with her blanket over her shoulders, light off.
She kept on smiling, feeling three feline bodies pressing lovingly against her feet.
She and her cats had some very pleasant dreams, that night.
•·•·• ♡ •·•·•
After a few weeks, the snow cleared. The air cleared with it, leaving the city gleaming like a jagged, fresh-cut stone, somehow renewed. Dawn air was both humid and crisp, stinging Dean’s nose. Dew had settled on his back as the night turned over to day.
He stood upon the roof’s edge of their home building, looking out across his dominion. This was his world. It was far bigger than Castiel’s, and far more mighty, but...
He looked back over his shoulder, seeing Castiel squirm out of the cat flap in the stairwell door, ambling past the air conditioner vent and up to the lip of the building, his blue eyes purpled by the rising pink.
The outside world was bigger, and bolder, and more interesting than inside, Dean thought. But it was no greater, nor more loved, than the little nest they shared in Castiel’s bedroom.
Both were home.
Sam walked the slim edge of the roof, paw in front of paw, tail held up for balance. He came to Dean’s side, headbutting him hello. He hopped down to the gravel on the rooftop, headbutting Castiel too.
Castiel’s eyes turned to Dean, a chirp of fondness emerging from between his lips.
Dean wasn’t used to showing him affection, and certainly not outside their bedtime cuddle piles, but, well... since Castiel asked...
Dean shut his eyes and gave Castiel a soft headbutt, ears tapping together, fur squishing between their foreheads. Dean gave an involuntary purr, but it was echoed by Castiel as he twisted his head into the push, so he didn’t worry it was out of place.
Together the three of them sat, shoulder to shoulder, back to haunches, tails touching at the tips, and they watched the birds flit across the rising sun, calling, singing, and playing the way kittens would, if kittens had wings.
Castiel turned his head and nuzzled Dean’s cheek, giving him a lick.
Dean squirmed away, surprised, but he smiled anyway, and gave Castiel a slow blink, willing to miss a few seconds of birdwatching just to express how he felt.
Castiel blinked back, just as willing.
Sam watched the two of them, smiling at their interactions. He gave a small huff of amusement, then turned his eyes away to let them have their moment.
The last cold day of winter melted away as the sun rose, coating the rooftops in a shimmering warmth like a blanket. But like Castiel, and like Sam, Dean was certain that even on the hottest months of the year, there’d still be occasion for a cuddle.
In the meantime, if Castiel was serious about leaving his comfort zone, and joining Dean and Sam on a few adventures as the weather warmed... well, hey, maybe Dean could return the favour, and stick around for a couple days longer each time he came home.
It might even be easy.
There was a little more love waiting for him, now.
{ the end }
