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There's a flash of light when the spell hits Castiel, and when it fades, the angel's gone.
"CAS!" Dean yells, right before the witch lobs what can only be described as a Magic Missile at him. He manages to dodge, just barely, and uses his momentum to throw himself into the fucker and shove a knife up under her ribs.
The instant he's sure she's dead, he's back on his feet. Sam stumbles over through the debris of what was formerly a lovely abandoned farmhouse.
"You okay, Dean?" he asks, gripping Dean's shoulder like they haven't done this a thousand times and just like on his first hunt, he needs the reassurance of touch to say his brother's still breathing.
"Yeah, fine. What'd she do to Cas?"
Sam shrugs, eyes searching the room. "I don't know, but that spell couldn't've done too much to him, even if he's only at half-full."
Dean doesn't find this very reassuring. He picks his way over to where Cas had disappeared, hoping that maybe there'll be some clue as to what exactly has been done and whether the angel is all right. His stomach flips when he peers behind the sofa that had briefly (not particularly successfully) acted as cover to find Cas's clothing all present and accounted for, but quite thoroughly sans angel.
"Crap."
Sam and Dean stare at the wrinkled outfit for a moment, processing what this might mean. It's while they're taking their obligatory 'shit, yet another man lost to the Winchester Cause' angst moment that the clothing chooses to move.
Both Winchesters jump, training guns on the (admittedly very small, but they just got done with a witch and are still pretty on edge here) mound as it squirms around, seemingly trapped. After several aborted attempts at finding a route to freedom, the little lump inside Castiel's shirt lets out an incredibly petulant meow.
"What the hell?" Sam asks, putting his gun away and leaning over to pull the shirt up and away. A tiny ball of black fur tumbles free from its polyester/cotton blend prison and attempts to sit up, mewling.
The kitten immediately seems taken aback at the noise, as if it had expected human words and not cat sounds. It tries to vocalize again, to much the same result, and its fur raises up in clear agitation. Somehow it reminds Dean of the way Cas puffs up when he's angry and about to smite a dickbag.
"Um," says Sam intelligently.
"Don't. Don't say it," Dean cuts him off before he can continue, "I know what you're thinking and don't say it." Maybe if no one says it out loud, it won't be true...
Their voices draw the kitten from its kinda adorable frustration with its lack of proper speaking apparatuses, and it raises enormous blue eyes to blink at them.
Dean would know those eyes anywhere. Apparently even on a kitten. "Cas?" Damn, no one was supposed to say it.
The kitten fixes its gaze on him, somehow as intensely as ever, and, very decisively, meows.
"...I really, really hate witches."
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The ride back to the motel is not pleasant.
"Is he okay, there? He looks a little foamy around the mouth," Dean states, eyeing the catified Angel of the Lord warily. His eyes are a little glazed, he's wavering a little where he's very valiantly trying to stay sitting up in Sam's lap, and yes, there is definitely mouth-foam happening.
Sam makes a face. "I think he's carsick." He's keeping his hands clasped around Cas's fluffy little body but very obviously wishing he could be free of the potential up-chuck zone.
Dean pushes the gas pedal down a little harder. The faster they get back, the sooner his Baby is no longer in danger of angel!kitten puke.
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When they finally collapse in the motel room, Dean's about ready to call this as one of the worst days ever.
It seems that while he's still got his mind, Cas's mojo has left the building. Turning him back is entirely on the Winchesters. Fortunately they have the resources to figure out how to do that. Unfortunately, most of said resources are at Bobby's, and Dean has absolutely no desire to see how long Cas's weak kitten stomach can last.
Maybe they could get one of those pet carrier things and Cas can throw up all he wants in there...
Dean feels guilty for thinking about it even before he glances over at the still unsteady kitten lying pathetically on the pillow where he was deposited.
One of his paws is stretched out, hanging in the air. Dean pushes it with one finger (Jesus, his finger is almost bigger than the entire paw). When Cas doesn't react, he does it again. This time he gets a very weak sigh and big, mournful eyes.
...or maybe they'll just stay in town until Cas is back in Holy Accountant form. He doesn't really want to be stuck in a car filled with the smell of cat sick for several hours, anyway.
"Hey, Bobby," Sam is saying, having apparently called Bobby while Dean was busy playing with his angel-come-feline, speakerphone on, "We've got a problem."
It takes a good half hour, a couple pictures of Cas and the empty clothes, and Cas sadly meowing in direct response to Bobby's questions before Bobby actually believes this isn't just one of their pranks. Meanwhile Cas has apparently recovered enough that he's come to sit at the foot of the bed beside Dean, tail flipping impatiently.
Without thinking, Dean reaches over and starts massaging around Cas's ears. For a moment, the kitten stiffens, but instinct seems to take over and he relaxes into it, purring.
"Don't suppose he knows anything 'bout how we change him back?" Bobby more states than asks.
Cas does his best to shake his feline head under Dean's fingers, managing to look apologetic as he does.
"Sorry, he's got nothing," Dean replies, giving Cas's little shoulders a squeeze before removing his hand. The kitten gets up and starts to follow it, but Cas remembers himself and sits back down, looking annoyed again. Dean imagines him reprimanding himself, "I'm an angel of the lord! I do not need petting!" It amuses Dean more than it should.
"All right, well, I'll start hittin' the books," Bobby sighs. "Make sure he don't get run over or anything. Death might be more permanent this way."
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"Cas! Seriously, stop it!" Sam snaps, picking the kitten up and firmly setting him back on the tabletop. Dean shakes his head and chuckles.
Cas had stayed pretty quiet for most of the evening, but that ended about an hour ago when Dean suspects he got bored, and came over to see what Sam was looking up on his laptop.
Dean's pretty sure it started as Cas wanting to assist or at least trick himself into thinking he was helping, but it had quickly devolved into trying to take a nap on the keyboard. Honestly, Dean's not sure what that's about, but once Cas got too overeager about whatever the Nerd Squad was reading, and placed his little paw on the warm base, that had apparently been it for Diligent Research Time.
Sam's attempts to remove Cas from his computer are not, however, working out. The little bastard is tenacious, and as soon as Sam's hand leaves him, he's right back, pushing on Sam's wrist with his head and trying to get past the arm-y barrier preventing him curling up on his new favorite spot in the world.
Dean thinks it's pretty damn funny.
Too bad Sam doesn't see it the same way. "That's it!" He grabs Cas and carries him over to the bed farthest from the table and drops him there unceremoniously. Cas doesn't quite land on his feet, but it's close enough, and before Sam can get back to his seat, Cas has caught up and is—oh shit, this isn't going to end well—climbing Sam's leg.
Sam yelps as little claws scratch him through the denim. "You little—!"
Freezing abruptly in his ascent, Cas's eyes widen like he just realized what he's doing. He looks down at the floor—which is now a gigantor leg-length away—and back up at a fuming Sam, and Castiel, Angel of the Lord, cowers.
Sam's just reaching for him (to do what, Dean doesn't know), when Dean leaps to his feet and rushes to Cas's rescue. "Whoa! Hey, let's not break our record of not hulk-smashing defenseless angel-kittens!" He cups the kitten in one hand and carefully pries his claws free with the other.
"He's being a pain in the ass!" Sam complains. "Can we please lock him in the bathroom or something?"
Dean gives his brother a dirty look. "No, we can't lock him in the bathroom. What the hell, man? That's just cruel."
Sam huffs, arms crossed. Dean knows his little brother well enough to recognize that he's been pushed past his limit and now would be the time to stop Cas from further shenanigans for his own safety.
"Fine," Dean rolls his eyes, "I'll keep him away from your computer." He grabs his whiskey and takes Cas over to flop onto his bed. The kitten tries to wriggle free, but Dean holds firm and starts scratching his chin, effectively immobilizing him.
"Uh-uh, we're gonna stay here and watch some tv. No more tormenting Sam," he tells Cas. Cas has the grace to look a little guilty now that Dean puts it that way. "Exactly, so leave him alone so he can figure out how to fix you."
Cas looks doubly contrite and curls up on Dean's hip. When Dean doesn't continue petting him, he looks up with those stupid blue eyes and ventures a plaintive little meow.
From the table, Sam snorts and shakes his head, watching them.
"What?" Dean asks, a little defensively. He is, after all, for all intents and purposes cuddling Castiel. But he's a kitten right now, so it totally doesn't count.
"Nothing," Sam says entirely too innocently and turns back to his research.
Dean resolves to ignore him and after a pause and a headbutt, resumes scratching the creature using him as a bed.
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Castiel is just about as unhappy as it's possible to be right now. Except Dean's fingers are idly rubbing his neck, so he's actually pretty happy. Except he's not happy. Except he is.
It's all very confusing.
As it turns out, Dean's much warmer, softer, and more comfortable than Sam's laptop—which is fortunate, since logically Castiel is very much positive that further attempts to utilize it as a deliciously heated resting place will be met with violence. And he's not sure his fragile body will be able to stand up to much.
He's tried to use all of his other remaining angelic abilities, but given how those have all failed him thus far, he's really not interested in needing to test whether he can still heal himself.
Dean's a quarter of a bottle into his whisky and happily spouting off lines with Goodfellas. Occasionally he'll try to expound on something that's happening in the movie to Cas, but it's hard to concentrate with the things Dean's fingers are doing to him.
"See? Like right there, Cas. God, Ray Liotta, man." Dean's leg shifts under him, and Castiel obediently opens his eyes to watch whatever it is Dean wants him to.
However, he's completely distracted by the way Dean's shoelace sways with the movement. Suddenly Castiel is fully alert.
Dean settles his leg and the shoelace falls still once more. But now Cas knows. He freezes, waiting for it to be lulled into a false sense of security and move again.
It doesn't.
"Cas? You okay, buddy?" Dean inquires, having noticed the change in his posture.
THERE! The leg twitches a little, and so too does the shoelace. Cas pounces.
"What the—?!"
Castiel barely notices Dean's start as he viciously catches the devious shoelace with teeth and claws. It's surprisingly more resilient than he'd supposed, holding strong against his assault. He adds the claws of his back feet to the attack, mercilessly kicking at the underbelly of the string in eviscerating swipes. Still the shoelace resists. Cas growls low in his throat.
It's right around this point that he notices the hysterical laughter filling the air. Castiel pauses to seek out the source and sees Dean arched back, hands pressed against his front as his body shakes with full-throated guffaws.
Castiel has a shoelace in his mouth. A normal, unthreatening, unalive shoelace that sort of tastes like dirt and salt, in his mouth.
He swiftly spits the damned string out and leaps off the bed, choosing to retreat underneath it where no one can bear witness to his mortification.
"Aw, no, Cas, come on, I'm sorry," Dean says, voice still evincing barely-restrained mirth. Castiel tries to hide his face in his paws, burning with shame.
"I think you hurt his feelings," Sam says, though he's doesn't sound sympathetic. After the computer thing, he probably deserves it, Cas thinks.
"Cas..." He peeks up at the face that's hung itself over the side of the bed to peer at him. Dean does looks a little sorry now, though he's still smiling. "I'm sorry, come on." This has to be the most humiliating moment in Castiel's long existence. Still, when Dean reaches out a hand and softly pulls him out and back onto the bed, Castiel lets him, only uttering a downtrodden mewl. It's too pathetic for words, even if he'd had them.
But Dean cups him in his hand and holds him against his chest, stroking his pitch-black fur and saying again that he's sorry, he didn't mean it. Cas feels slightly better.
"Wow, dude. Just. Wow," Sam Winchester scoffs, and returns to ignoring them.
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Eventually Sam gives up on the research in favor of sleep. It seems Castiel is doomed to remain in cat form for longer than one night.
During the night, Cas starts feeling restless and over-energized without the boys to entertain him. He ends up racing back and forth across the room, and discovers that at the very least, he can still move at superhuman (supercat?) speeds, even if it means remaining corporeal.
Eventually, exhausted, he collapses, curled up in the curve of Dean's arm where it's bent to clutch his pillow. The feel of Dean's skin and warm breath ghosting across his fur is the last thing Castiel knows.
Until the door slams and jolts him into consciousness.
It's morning, judging by the light, and Sam and Dean are fully dressed and carrying white paper bags presumably full of take-out breakfast. The heavenly scent that reaches him a moment later confirms that and Castiel rises, yawning and stretching, to hop off the bed and twine himself around Dean's feet.
Gazing up at Dean, Castiel mews hopefully, willing Dean to share the sausage he knows is contained in that bag.
"Hey, dude. Sleep well?" Dean asks, crouching down to scoop Castiel up. A troubled look unexpectedly passes over his face and he looks to Sam. "Angels don't usually sleep. Do you think that's a bad thing?"
Castiel forgets himself and tries to answer that since he's stuck in this body and apparently subject to its instincts, it's very unlikely that his having slept is any sort of danger, but obviously, he can't.
Sam shrugs. "How should I know?" Dean looks backs to Cas, still concerned.
"Dude, have you ever slept before?"
Despite what he'd just been thinking, Castiel realizes with a shock that no, no he hasn't ever slept before. It just seemed so logical and natural a moment ago, he hadn't even thought of that.
Frantically, he tries to recall the experience and can't. Dream? Did he dream? Dean usually dreams when he sleeps. Castiel can't remember any dreams. Do cats not dream? Does he simply not remember the dreams? Had he sunk into a temporary loss of self? What if he'd ceased to exist while he slept?
"Hey, hey, easy! Hey, Cas, shh, calm down, kid, you're okay," Dean says, stroking him soothingly, food bag now on the table. Castiel had not realized that he was physically reacting in such a violent way until Dean's words reach him. "Must be scary, huh? First time asleep. But you're okay, we gotcha." Dean keeps murmuring that they're not going to let him stay this way, they'll get him back, it'll be okay.
It doesn't take long for Castiel to calm back down, though the niggling anxiety over the nothingness of sleep remains at the periphery of his awareness. When Dean deems him sufficiently secure, he puts Cas down on the table and smiles at him.
The smile makes Castiel feel strange inside; warm and bubbly. This feeling, at least, is not one that he's unfamiliar with. It always seems to accompany Dean's smiles and good mood. Had he still human facial features, he believes he would once again be returning it. Instead he finds himself purring. At the sound, Dean's smile softens, widens...
Castiel is knocked out of the contented moment when Sam flicks his tail. "Cas, scoot, you're about to put your tail in my hash brown." Looking reproachfully over his shoulder at Sam, he finds Sam in a better mood this morning as well, also smiling at him. As if to downplay the order to move his body parts away from Sam's food, the younger Winchester brother uses the hand he'd flicked Cas with to rub affectionately at his ears. Castiel resumes his purring, though the touch doesn't last.
When Sam opens his laptop, Castiel even manages to recall himself enough to not try to interfere.
It helps that at that particular moment, Dean rustles one of the paper bags, drawing his attention. As he removes his hand and the last of the bag's contents, it falls to its side.
Castiel stares in fascination. He's not sure what is so enticing about the thing, but he feels himself drawn to it. After a moment's hesitation, he crawls in. The paper crackles around him in surround sound and Castiel jumps, causing even more noise from the stiff paper.
His head whips first one way, then the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots something black and thin flipping wildly. Oh, whatever that is, it has no idea that it is about to be captured and rent limb from limb. How dare it invade his bag?!
In a movement almost too fast to cause the bag to make further noise, Castiel spins around, claws stretched for his unwitting victim. Only, it's gone. What?! He's an angel! Whatever it was should not be able to move swiftly enough to escape his clutches!
The flap of the thing catches his eyes again almost immediately and he twists after it, missing it once more.
Castiel narrows his eyes. Apparently this opponent will require strategy to bring to bay.
He stands nonchalantly, turning in the bag so he's facing the back (the better to convince it that it has the upper hand and somewhere to retreat, drawing it into complacency). Stretching and yawning, Castiel pretends to curl down for a nap. But he is not napping.
His eyes remain slitted, but only just barely. It moves. Flipping so terribly insouciantly, over-confidently at him, believing it's got the better of an angel. Castiel waits a moment more, luring it further into the illusion of safety.
As soon as it begins to calm, Castiel strikes. He leaps at it, just catching the tip and clamping down on it so it can't escape. The lunge rolls him free of the bag, but he cares not, for he has his prize, caught between his paws and tight between his teeth and he tightens his jaws and—that hurts!
"Okay, that is adorable," Sam pronounces.
Castiel immediately opens his mouth, staring in bewildered shock at—his tail.
Oh lord, he just stalked and caught his own tail.
Dean chuckles, reaching out to scratch his sensitive and exposed stomach. "I never thought I'd have to call an angel adorable, but yeah."
Castiel hisses, once again horrified and shamed. He tries to grab Dean's hand, but he misses and flails after it, rolling on his back until he falls off the table.
Last night is forgotten; this is the most humiliating moment of his life.
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Sam leans back in his chair with an exasperated sigh. "I've got nothing, man. The internet is not our friend today."
Dean slams his book shut too, and the sound makes Castiel jump.
He has been resolutely refusing to move from where he's curled in Dean's bag, on top of his clothes and what weapons he'd brought inside. Castiel fears that if he allows himself to do anything other than remain perfectly still, he'll embarrass himself further in front of the Winchesters. It's bad enough that they regard him as so ineffective when in a human form, with his (not-entirely-full-but-more-than-the-humans-have) powers intact. This ridiculous transformation is serving only to further reduce their respect for him.
A respect for which Castiel desperately yearns.
"Think we should check in with Bobby?"
Sam sighs again, "No, not yet. If he had anything, he'd have already called."
Dean nods. "Library?"
"No, let's try the witch's house. There's bound to be a lot more useful stuff there," Sam decides, and Dean nods, and they begin to pack up. Castiel lifts his head at this, rising and uncontrollably yawning and stretching.
He hops down from the bag and trots to the door as the brothers get on shoes and coats. As they're about to leave, Dean catches sight of him waiting patiently.
"Oooooh no. Nonono, you're staying here, compadre," he says, lifting Castiel easily and putting him down on a bed, moving to leave once again.
Castiel frowns as best he can and jumps down, running after him.
Dean looks down at him and begins to look annoyed. "You can't come with us, Cas. Who knows what hexes that witch left behind. You'll be in the way."
At that, Castiel's ruff rises and he hiss/growls his displeasure. He can take care of himself, despite all appearances.
"Yeah, okay, I know, you're not really a cat. But we can't bring you along like this. I'm sorry, but that's how this stuff works, man."
Castiel yowls very loudly and angrily at him.
"No. You're not coming."
Another loud yowl.
"I don't care, you're staying here. Suck it up."
Dean goes to move forward and Castiel darts in front of his feet, determined not to be left behind like a—a child, or a—pet.
"Cas, he's right, you can't come," Sam tries to reason. Castiel turns and hisses at him.
"Okay, that's it," Dean declares, once again picking Castiel up with one hand and ignoring his flailing. Dean moves quickly, taking him over to the couch. Behind him, Sam opens the door in preparation. Then Castiel is dropped on the couch and Dean hurries toward the door.
It takes a moment to get his feet back under him, but as soon as he does, he turns, sees the door closing behind Sam. He gathers energy in his tiny kitten haunches, bunches up, and leaps.
Castiel lands on the throw pillow leaning against the arm and digs his claws in, preparing for his next leap.
Only the next doesn't come because the pillow begins to fall. There's a lurch in his stomach and he fights to retract his claws and pull free, as the pillow leans into his weight. Distantly, he hears the motel room door slam shut, but it is secondary to his present panic.
His claws are stuck. Everything's slow motion and he can't get free of the pillow rapidly falling on him.
And then Castiel's back hits the couch and the pillow lands solidly on top of him.
Castiel is very, very glad Sam and Dean are not present to witness this.
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Dean is just about done with this stupid witch's library when Bobby calls.
"Bobby? Please tell me you got something," he answers immediately.
Bobby makes uncertain noises, but confirms that he thinks he's figured it out. "You boys looked through her stuff yet?"
"Yeah, Bobby, we're here right now," Sam tells him.
"All right. Look for a book called 'Transformationes Occultis.' I've got a reference to a spell that sounds like this whole thing in there. If you can find it, supposedly there's also a counter-spell in there."
Sam's eyes light up. "I was just looking at something like that," he exclaims, immediately thumbing through texts he'd just been through. "Yes! Got it!"
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As soon as he re-enters the room, Dean expects an over-aggressive kitten to rush his feet and demand his remorse.
He gets nothing.
Castiel is sitting neatly in the middle of the floor, not looking at him.
It upsets him more than he thinks it should.
So Dean leans over, wiggling his fingers. "Hey, Cas, we figured it all out. You'll be good as new in no time." Cas still doesn't come. "Caaas," he waves his shoelace to gain the angel's attention, maybe a little desperate. "Come on, come 'ere."
Finally Cas deigns to look at him. Spotting the wiggling fingers, he perks up and starts to walk toward Dean...
...only to, at the last moment, turn in a wide arch around Dean's hand, very pointedly avoiding him entirely and, once past, resuming his previous trajectory and leaning straight into Sam's lowered palm, purring loudly enough that it could probably be heard through the walls.
Dean glares at him and Cas narrows his eyes back, butting his head spitefully into Sam's fingers.
"Asshole," Dean says, and throws down the bag of ingredients he's carrying, stomping back out of the room.
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As soon as Dean slams the door, Sam sighs and straightens. "Man, you didn't have to do that, you know. Now he's going to sulk for at least a few hours. And he'll probably come back drunk. And this ritual takes two people."
Castiel suspends all movement in that second. Oh, no. They had the remedy to this repugnant situation, and because he'd chosen to get petty revenge on Dean for (not actually) making him drag a pillow down on top of himself, he's going to be stuck this way even longer.
Oh, he is an idiot.
Not to mention he's just hurt Dean and made him storm out. The ache in his tiny chest at the thought is sharp and overwhelming.
Castiel shoots a look up at Sam, who, finally, looks sympathetic. He can't hold that honest gaze though, and lowers his eyes, flattening himself to the carpet and willing himself to disappear.
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Dean finally returns to the motel, and he's not even that drunk. Nonetheless, he pretends he is, because the first thing he sees upon opening the door is Castiel the angel!kitten looking up at him with the most pleading eyes he's ever seen, begging for forgiveness.
Forgiveness is just not something Dean's ready for, and he's also not ready to admit why he's not ready to forgive, because he's not ready to admit how much one simple rejection from Cas hurt him.
So he pretends he's smashed as hell and in no fit shape to assist with helping Castiel get back to human form.
Instead he crashes onto his bed, fully clothed, and apparently he is drunk enough to find sleep easily, because he's gone almost before he can feel a tiny body crawl up and curl under his chin. Dean's vaguely aware that he nuzzles it once or twice before he drifts away.
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The next morning, Dean's equal parts disappointed and seriously relieved when Cas unfolds from black kitten into office worker.
And then he's extremely embarrassed, because Cas's clothes are still folded on the bureau, far from his slim, smooth body...
Happily, it all refocuses to pissed as Cas disappears within two seconds of being restored to humanity.
"That—ungrateful son of a bitch!" he snarls.
But then, why'd he think the angel would stick around? He'd just been forced into their presence for like, 24 hours. Not like he'd ever stayed that long of his own free will before. Probably he just wants to be anywhere else than with Dean sitting right there.
Sure the kitten enjoyed his close proximity, but Cas had been more or less subject to the kitten's instincts and whims, so that can't be counted on as a reliable barometer of Cas's tolerance of Dean's companionship.
Whatever, it's not like Dean cares.
Castiel surprises him by returning within a minute, clothing now gone from the furniture and present on Cas's body.
"I'm sorry," he tells them, "I needed to test my powers and reaffirm what is still left to me. I feared that I may have lost further abilities in such a...vulnerable state."
Cas's just standing there, same as ever, stoic, completely earnest, no sense of humor. Again, a wave of relief with a sub-note of disappointment rolls through Dean. To cover, he snorts with laughter and shakes his head.
"Dude, whatever, it's cool. Just glad you're back to normal."
He lifts his eyes to Castiel's. They're dark and sort of questioning, and Dean finds himself smiling.
To his surprise, Cas smiles back, and then even more unexpectedly, tells them, "Now let's please never speak of this again."
Dean doesn't think he can do that, but for the moment, he's just glad Cas is willing to look him in the eye again, and he grabs Cas's upper arm and squeezes. "Of course, man. Of course."