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They had rolled into the abandoned cabin near Spicer, Minnesota, late last night, or rather early this morning and had promptly crashed for a few hours; Dean on the sagging excuse for a couch and Sam in a bed that was not much better.
The original owner of the cabin had been a hunter for years before he misjudged the distance to his gun while in the proximity of a rather irate ghost of a barber with a penchant for clean, close shaves. Sam and Dean had never met him, but they had grown up hearing the stories of Alonzo Caldwell, the crazy old coot from Wisconsin. Shame about ‘Lonzo’s beard was how nearly every tale ended.
The Winchester’s had actually been over in Wisconsin taking out a coven that not only sucked the joy and hope from a little town about twenty miles from Greenland, but the witches had also fed off of the fertility of every living thing. The town had looked like a ghost town when they had arrived earlier in the week, but there were a few buds evident on the barren tree limbs as they roared out of town. With them, they carried the High Priestess’ black leather pouch, which contained her spell book and a variety of hellacious herbs among other noxious substances. They had placed the latter items in secure containers in the trunk, but Sam had brought the pouch with the book inside with them to look at in the morning.
Sam could tell that the sun wasn’t quite up. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but he could tell, something about the way the chill still held onto the air that coasted over his face. He wasn’t ready to wake up and while it wasn’t exactly the coziest night’s sleep Sam had ever had, it wasn’t the worst. He rolled back over for a few more minutes of shut-eye.
There was a smell of coffee starting to fill the air when Sam felt the awareness of being awake settle into his senses, which meant that Dean was up already and had gotten the fire built back up in the hearth. It was the idea of perusing the book of the occult that finally had him starting to turn in the bed.
Dean’s shout of ‘don’t kill it, you ox!’ blended away in a high-pitched yowl, both of which preceded the bright stinging sensation in his hip. After Sam reached down to brush away whatever it was that stung him, he brought his hand up in front of his face and stared in the only way a freshly woken person could at the puny black ball of fur that hung off his hand by four miniscule paws and one very sharp mouth.
“What the –?“ He started to ask, mind still sleep befuddled, but he was cut off by Dean’s nearly gleeful laughter.
“Seems as though you got a pointy one there, Sammy.”
“Well, get it off me, Dean!” Sam gave his hand a slight shake and could feel the pinpricking claws tighten into his skin. “Get it off!”
He was going to kick Dean’s ass for how slow his big brother strolled over to the bed with that cocky grin slapped across his face. Sam opened his mouth to swear at him when Dean finally reached out and grasp the kitten by the nape of its neck to pull it off. It took a few tugs and Sam’s fingernail edging beneath the last two claws, before he was finally clear of the kittens’ needle-like clutch.
“But I think . . .” Dean held the hissing bundle of venom in front of his face for a second or two, blowing gently, “ . . .she likes you, Sammy.”
“Screw you, Dean. Where’d it come from?” Sam rolled off the bed and reached for his jeans. He was struggling into his flannel shirt when he realized that something was off. “Wait, where’s the book? I left it right here.”
“What book?” Dean’s voice was absentminded, nearly spacy. Sam looked over to see his big bad brother wrapping a towel around the kitten as he cooed at it.
“The spell book in the black leather pouch from last night. The one we took off those witches back in Hazel. That book. Ring any bells, Dean?” Sam was busy rummaging through his coat and had moved onto his duffle by the time Dean spoke.
“I don’t know where it is. I thought you had it last. Yes, he did little one, that mean ol’ Unca’ Sammy had it last. Yes, he did.”
Sam stopped his search to watch his brother talk gibberish to the wad of cloth held closely to his chest. He had never seen Dean being so . . . so doting before. He found it rather unsettling. Maybe one of those witches had hit him with a curse that they hadn’t noticed in their exhaustion last night.
“I did have it last. I brought it in because I was going to look it over this morning and now it’s gone.” Sam replied testily.
“Well, I’m sure I have no idea where it is. Did you look in your bag?”
“Yes, Dean. I looked in my bag. I’ve looked in my pockets, on the table, and under the table . . . I can’t find it anywhere!”
“Shush, you’ll scare Deanetta. Go look in the car. You probably just thought that you brought it in.”
“You know we’re not keeping that cat, Dean. We can’t take care of a cat on the road.” He walked over and looked down at the snoozing kitten in Dean’s arms. It didn’t look quite as vicious as it had a few minutes ago. Dean made a disgruntled warning noise low in his throat as Sam reached a tentative finger out to coast down the kitten’s nose, but he didn’t say anything. “You alright dude?”
“Yeah, I just think she’s cute, alright? She’s just a little thing, ‘bout five weeks, I’d guess.” Dean turned his back on him and walked towards the sofa. Sam watched as he dug in the pocket of his coat for a moment before pulling out the keys to the Impala and lobbing them at him. “Go find your book and I’ll figure out something for breakfast.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow at his brother’s strange protectiveness towards the cat, but he shrugged and headed out into the frigid morning air.
The book wasn’t in the car, Sam checked both the passenger compartment and the trunk. Twice.
The herbs and other spell making seasonings were there, right in the airtight glass containers that Sam had put them in, but that was it. No leather pouch, no book. He headed back to the cabin.
After securing the door behind him, Sam spun to tell Dean what he hadn’t found in the car but stopped cold when he saw his brother leaning against the edge of the deep metal basin that served as a sink. The look of utter confusion on his face also held a touch of horror.
“Dean?” He spoke softly so as not to startle him. “Dean, what’s going on?”
“I put Deanetta down so that I could make some sandwiches and . . . and . . .” Sam gaze followed Dean’s finger to where it pointed at the sofa.
There amid the wrinkles of the blanket that Dean had forgotten to fold was the kitten and another one and yet another one. Three perfectly identical kittens with ebony hair and luminescent golden eyes. Sam jumped back, stumbling over a chair at the table until he fell hard into its seat.
“Wha- I mea- What did you do?!?!” Sam swiveled his head to glare at his brother’s still astonished face.
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I put Deanetta down an-“
“Quit calling it that!” Just the name alone set Sam off, what were they going to keep calling whatever it was (because it surely wasn’t a ‘natural’ kitten) Deanetta One, Deanetta Two, Deanetta Three, until they reached for infinity. No, we are not. Sam thought miserably. We just . . . No!
“Fine! I put her down and turned around for a minute, maybe two and when I looked back she had . . . she was . . . there were three.” Dean finally ripped his gaze away from the kittens and stared at Sam like maybe he had an explanation for what had just occurred, but Sam shook his head silently before running a hand through his hair. “What do you think . . .”
“I don’t know, Dean. Maybe, well, maybe it has to do with the book.” He suggested, the statement sounding lame as it slipped between his lips.
“Yeah? Maybe . . . yeah, I bet it’s some retroactive curse or something. Gimme the book and we’ll just –“
“I don’t have the book, Dean.” Sam stated as calmly as possible; it was his way of tempering the string of swearing that he was sure was going to pour out o Dean’s mouth the moment that the truth set in.
He wasn’t wrong in his prediction as Dean started sputtering about the damned coven and ridiculous spells and a variety of other infractions that life had bestowed upon the Winchesters. Sam sat back and let his brother spew out his anger, knowing full well that soon he would peter out and they could get down to the business of figuring out what to do.
“We can always call Bobby. He’ll know somet-“ Sam started to speak but he made the mistake of looking back at the kittens. He lifted a hand and physically pointed at each one as he counted.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“Uh, Dean?” Sam could see Dean out of the corner of his eye. His brother had finally slowed his diatribe down to mutter beneath his breath as he rooted through his duffle by the door.
“Not now, Sammy. We can figure this out. That coven had to do with fertility, right? So we just need to find an anti-fertility spell to counter it and we’re so not calling Bobby. He’ll just mock us for not knowing how to hand a couple of witches. Remember that ghost over in Idaho? The one that took a liking to you something fierce? Well, it took us weeks to shut him up about that, do you think that I want to hear that gravelly voice laughing at us again, like we don’t know anything?”
“Dean?” Sam tried again.
“Sam.” Answered Dean, still not looking up.
Sam stood and edged as far away from the couch as he could until he reached his brother’s side, never once taking his eyes off the cushion full of feline. He snagged at Dean’s sleeve, pulling and pointing as if he were a boy again. Dean finally looked up as his hand closed around their dad’s journal.
“SONOVABITCH!” Dean roared as his free hand completed the exact same method of counting that Sam had used.
A whisper of sound at their feet caused them both to peer down at their boots at the same time and there sat two more of the little demon spawns. Sam felt as if he were a girl at that moment he would have climbed into his big brother’s protective arms.
“Quick, you find the incantation and I’ll get the guns.”Dean thrust the journal into Sam’s hands and pushed him towards the table before heading out to the car.
“We’re not going to shoot them, Dean.” Sure, he had always been more of a dog guy, but he wasn’t going to kill a kitten, no matter that it seemed to be bred from the freak pairing of a bunny and a Gremlin.
“I’m not gonna shoot the wee li’l kitties, dude.” Dean glared over at the cats; his entire stance was one of affronted indigence at being taken in by their cuteness earlier. “These have got to be the familiars of that damned coven, so once we get them to convert back to human; we’re taken them out once and for all.”
The door slammed shut but not before a stark whip of wind entered the cabin. It made the flames dance wildly in the fireplace. Sam glanced around the room, but the number of kittens was holding at eight. Wait, eight? He counted again and yep, eight. He thought about looking for a box to hold them all, but if they really were familiars, he really didn’t want to be handling them too much, lest one of the priestess’ took offence and decided to fight dirty when they changed them back.
Sam snagged his messenger bag, laid it, the journal, and a few other books that they had borrowed from Bobby once upon a need, on the table before pulling a cup from the cupboard. He glanced in it long enough to note that it needed a rinse. He put it back and grabbed Dean’s mug and refilled it. He was seated at the table, books spread out and notebook page halfway filled with possible remedies to their situation when he heard the scrapethudscuff of Dean’s boots on the porch. He slammed his hands down to keep the pages from flying away as the wind curled in again.
“I got all of their things and I made sure to grab the yew bark and Mica.” The items rained down on the table as Dean crossed to the cupboard for a mug and then to coffee pot that hung over the coals. “We still at eight?”
“Nope. I counted nine a few minutes ago.” Sam leaned back and rubbed his at his left shoulder. One of the little hellions had jumped on the chair opposite and from the chair to the table. Sam had tried to lift it down, but it was off like a shot, climbing his arm like a rope leaving a few spectacular holes in the soft skin of his shoulder.
Dean took a sip of his own coffee and sat at the table next to him. A cloud of black fury ascended on them, one, two, three of the kittens clawed their way up to the tabletop and nestled down among the books. It had been close when Dean reached for a book that outlined natural remedies that had once been employed by the Celts when dealing with things that were less than holistic. The spastic spitting made Dean grimace and Sam grin, that was until Dean kicked him.
“Keep Reading! There’s got to be a way to stop them.” It came across slightly anguished even though Sam knew that Dean was aiming for his usual superior bossy tone.
“I am reading, you ass, but I’m not finding anything that can make a witch shift back. I’m telling you, we should call Bobby.”
“We are not calling Bobby! Christ, Sam, we were supposed to handle that coven, not bring it with us as gift for him. We can fix this. We have to do it. It’s what we do, Sam. We get rid of things like this. We make evil go away so that it doesn’t suck the life out all that is pure and good in this world. We’re Winchester’s, Sammy, we run at those things that seek to destroy. So keep reading and let’s get rid of these pests.”
Sam was going to point out that the entire way through his passionate little speech on good versus evil, Dean was scratching beneath the chin of one of the kittens, maybe it was his Deanetta, maybe it wasn’t, but it was purring rather loudly nevertheless.
The blustery day passed into a sullen afternoon and yet the right incantations, the right mix of herbs eluded them. Sam broke out the candles from the trunk to give them something to read by as the waning sun was proving to be less than helpful. A screeching at the window caused Sam and Dean to whip their heads around, expecting some sort of monster demanding their attention, maybe even the irate barber ghost, but it had only been a kitten scratching at the glass.
Finally, as dusk sank over the cabin, Dean slammed his spell book closed, pulled his mobile from his pocket, and laid it on the table in front of him. They had expected to be most of the way to Bobby’s by now and yet here they sat with no more food and twelve kittens (at last count). It was time to suck it up and call in reinforcements. Dean sighed and nudged the phone towards Sam, who merely shoved it back.
Dean sighed again and hit speed dial number 2.
“Yo.” Dean pushed the button for speakerphone and laid the mobile back on the small mountain of books. A couple of the kittens peered at it with blatant curiosity practically radiating from their amber eyes.
“Bobby, it’s us.” Dean states simply, his voice even, practically jovial.
“Where the hell are you two? I’ve got a roast in and a lead on some weird electrical storms up in Hettinger.”
“We’ve, ah, hit a bit of a snag, Bobby and where is Hettinger?” Sam spoke with a little less confidence than his older brother.
“North Dakota and what kind a snag? What did you idjit’s do this time?” Sam knew that if Bobby was in the same room with them right at that moment, he would be rolling his eyes and giving each of them a belt upside the back of the head.
Sam bit his lip to keep from grinning as Dean swept a ribbon that was once a bookmark, but was now the best toy in the world across the cluttered tabletop. Several little black heads swiveled back and forth, but one incredibly feisty fluff ball was charging pell-mell across the mess of the table to catch it. Sam’s smile slipped when he realized that Dean had left him to break the news to Bobby. Again. He rubbed a hand streaked with tiny red scratches across his weary eyes before he spoke.
“We, well, we had a bit of a problem up here . . . with the coven.”
“What kinda problem, boy? You boys have dealt with witches before. This should have been a cakewalk for you two.”
“I know. I know. You’re right, Bobby. I just . . . what do you knowaboutfamiliars?” He pushed the last words out in a rush, trying to make the yelling come that much quicker, so that it would all be over faster.
“A witch’s familiar? Ah, hell, son, tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t let them change before you took them out.” The exasperation was strong pouring out of the mobile speaker.
“No! No, Bobby, nothing like that.” He was quick to reassure their friend that Winchester’s were smarter than that. “We just aren’t positive that they didn’t cast a spell that changed their spirits into their familiars upon death.”
“I’ve never heard of that, but then I haven’t known too many crones that were open and forthcoming about their inner beings. What makes you think that you got a case of the familiars anyway?” Bobby’s voice sounded genuinely curious, which made Sam hesitant in telling him what was going on.
“It didn’t go as smoothly as we had hoped. I got knocked out for a second and Dean –“
“ - Forgot his Latin. Again.” Bobby finished. Sam watched as Dean’s face shifted from calm to pissy as he caught the jab to his linguistic skills.
“Hey! You know that those words were formed way before I was born. How the hell am I supposed to learn, let alone remember something like that?” Sam thought that Dean sometimes sounded like a petulant child when he tried to argue with wit.
“Dean, all words were created before you were born . . .” he started to counter.
“Bennifer. Brangelina. TomKat.” Dean grinned smugly as he ticked the ridiculous namesmashes off on his fingers.
“What’s a Brangelina?”
“You don’t want to know, Bobby.” Sighed Sam. “Anyway, I brought the High Priestess’ spell book in last night to take a look at and now it’s missing and we have about a dozen black familiars running around.”
“A dozen!?!?! Aw, hell, boy.” There were a series of bumps and mutterings emitting from the phone followed by an extremely loud thump that made the kitten swatting lightly at the mobile to jump and dart towards Dean. The whisper of turning pages, both in South Dakota and in the cabin, filled the air for a few moments. “Okay. According to some legend that came out of Scotland, you can do one of two things when dealing with familiars. You two morons listening?”
“We hear ya Bobby.” Dean replied trying to dislodge a kitten from his shoulder. He transferred it to his lap and set about rubbing it lightly between the ears.
“Okay. You can pack the familiar or in you idjit’s case, familiars, into a sack made of hemp and then by the yellow glow of a black candle, you recite the incantation ‘Warebeus incitous ronecus expelliate Goan’ and then you set the bag on-“
“What’s the other method?” Sam interrupted as he caught the look of horror as it briefly flitted across Dean’s face. He was pretty sure that Bobby was going to end that sentence with the word ‘fire’ and something told him that Dean, no matter how ruthless he usually was with demons and monsters, was not going to agree to burning kittens.
“Where’d you say the spell book was, boy?” There was an edge of irritability tingeing Bobby’s voice as the older man sighed across the line.
“We, well, we can’t seem to locate it right now.” Sam murmured, but Bobby must have heard him as the man expelled an even big, more put upon sigh before he spoke again.
“Fine. Fine. Fine. Okay, I’ve got a breaker curse that some ancient Abenaki tribesman’s journal that says it worked on a werewolf back in fourteenth century. Old Abe Turndall over in Ohio swears left and right that he used it on a Windigo, but Old Abe is drunk nine-tenths of the time, so I would take his account with an entire bag of salt. Did your daddy ever tell you the time that Old Abe –“
“Bobby.” Both Sam and Dean spoke at the same time to get their friend’s attention.
“Christ, fine. Those familiars aren’t going to hurt you any are they?” Sam looked down at his hands. “Anyway, it has ‘bout a twenty ingredients, some of which I know you boys ain’t got. So I guess that you need to find a box to bring your brood with you and head back here.”
“Bobby . . .” Dean started. How one word could carry so much weight, Sam wasn’t sure. He was reluctant to push all the little furry ones into a box either, Dean’s face registered more than mild displeasure. “Their gonna stink up my baby.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He was sure that the way that Dean had been acting with the kittens all day, his brother was going to throw down the cruelty and animal mistreatment cards. I guess it just goes to show that Dean knows his priorities, Sam pondered.
“Dean. Do you want to get stuck with a coven of black cats for the rest of your natural born life or do you want to fix your guys’ screw up?” Bobby placated.
“Fine.” Dean harrumphed just as Sam replied with his own meek affirmative.
“Okay then. You guys get packed up and get on the road and I’ll see you when you get here. Your gonna be eatin’ leftover blackened roast, but we’ll get this figured out.”
“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam said as he reached to turn off the phone.
“Sure thing, Sam.” Bobby’s voice had returned to his regular tone. “Oh and if it’s not too much of a hassle could you two swing by the Caldwell cabin and grab some hellsbane that’s growin’ wild behind the shack?”
“We, uh . . .” Sam tried to tell him that they were already there, but Bobby just kept right on talking.
“ . . . and whatever you two moron’s do, don’t, I repeat, DON’T let your familiars out of the car. Caleb said that when he was up there a month or so ago that there were a couple of pregnant cats livin’ under the porch. Seriously, there needs to be a law about spaying and neutering . . .”
Sam could feel his eyebrows shoot up as he caught Dean’s comical gaping mouth and crater-sized eyes across the table from him. He stuttered out a ‘thanks’ and a ‘bye’ and clicked the phone off while Bobby was apparently building steam on his newest rant.
“You don’t think . . .”
“It can’t . . . “
They spoke at the same time and then stared at the various kittens in their array of poses. Some were playing, others grooming themselves noisily on the table. The pair in the windows merely looked back at the brothers with feigned indifference. The one still splayed on its back in Dean’s lap, rumbled softly as he scritched its belly.
Sam rubbed a hand over his face and rubbed idly at his chin before dropping his hand down to poke at the nearest kitten. It saw the challenge and swatted playfully at his finger.
“Well, what are we gonna tell him when we get there? He’ll never believe that we did the sack remedy.” Sam stated quietly.
“Bet he’d believe that we let them out.” Dean started to shut some of the books in front of him with his free hand.
“We are not telling him that!” Sam exclaimed, shocked that Dean was willing to out them as the complete idiots that Bobby had been calling them for years.
“Well, what the hell are we going to say, genius?” Dean countered.
“I don’t . . . know. Maybe that we figured out a new way or that holy water has the same result as fire or that . . .what? Why are you grinning like a fool?” The smile that started out small on Dean’s lips had grown to light up his eyes mirthfully. Sam found the look of glee on his brother’s face to be rather unsettling. “What are you thinking, Dean? Whatever it is, it had better not . . .”
“Bet there’s a lot of field mice this time of year in South Dakota; trying to get in to be all nice and cozy before the snow flies.”
“Ye-ah . . .” Sam spoke slowly; his mind whirring to reach the same conclusion that Dean had obviously been standing on for a while now. “So we take them with?” He wanted clarification.
“Sure. Bobby told us to, didn’t he?” Dean chuckled as he stood slowly and laid the drowsy kitten on the seat behind him. “Besides, I think Bobby might be lonely now that Rumey’s gone?”
“And they say I’m the smart one.” Sam rose from his chair, his expression picking up the slyness of the idea.
“I know, right? Just goes to show you that everyone has had it wrong for years.” Dean replied as he set about gathering their belongings.
Less than an hour later found them on the road for Bobby’s, their trunk full of dirty clothes, helpful herbs, and the missing spell book, which Dean had found under the bed. The speakers blared out Ted Nugent’s Cat Scratch Fever, Dean and the kittens yowled along while Sam rummaged in the glove box all the while praying that the aspirin bottle wasn’t empty again. After all, it was just like any other day for the Winchester’s.