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Dean puts his grocery bags down at his feet and all but presses his face completely against the window of the store. He cups his hands around his eyes to cut down on the glare. On the other side of the glass is the front section of a pet-shop and right there is a pen full of mewling, playful, and too-fucking-cute-for-their-own-good kittens. Just watching them pounce on each other and rolling around brings a smile to Dean’s face. It’s all he can do not to baby-talk at them through the window.
Too bad he can’t go inside to play with them.
Y’see… Sometimes life likes to throw you curve balls. And sometimes curve balls come in the form of being allergic to the world’s greatest pet. Everyone might believe that he’s thinking about man’s supposed best friend. But dogs are Sam’s department and, as far as Dean is concerned, Sam can have them. They’re way too energetic, require walks – like – all the fucking time, and you have to pick up their shit either when they drop a fresh deuce during the walk or your backyard is going to be littered with it and you’ll have to watch your step every damn time you go outside. And that’s not even mentioning on how they don’t smell that great and they slobber everywhere.
Nope, dogs are so not for this Winchester. For Dean, it’s all about cats. They’re sleek and beautiful and just plain neat. They shit in a box and the litter covers the majority of the smell. You gotta clean it every day, but at least it’s mostly clumped in litter. Plus, you can totally get those automatic litter boxes that clean it for you, so there’s that bonus. Theirs purrs and their meows are a hundred times less annoying than barking, and they rub up against your leg when they’re being affectionate or when they’re hungry. Cats are chill and they cuddle better than any dog ever could. They’re soft and perfect with their tiny paws, widdle toe beans, and little noses.
And of fucking course Dean just has to be allergic to them. He would give just about anything to have his allergies cured so he could own one. But that’s unlikely to happen, so he’ll take his blessings where he can find them. Dean should count his lucky stars that he’s not swell-up-and-die allergic. Rather, it’s just the annoying sneezing-and-watery-eyes type of allergy.
Sadly, Dean has never had a cat of his own. His mom used to own some when she was a kid, but they never got one while he was growing up. All thanks to his fucking allergies – which run on the other side of the family. Thanks Dad. The only cats that Dean has ever really had the chance to be around was at friend’s houses while growing up. And those friends were assholes who wouldn’t let the cat into the room because of Dean’s allergies (which are also assholes, by the way).
It wasn’t until early adulthood when Dean got the chance to actually properly touch and cuddle a cat. And that was only after he anti-allergy medicated the shit out of himself. Of course he didn’t do it just for some one on one time with a kitty. It was entirely so he could get laid at his now-an-ex’s house (or rather, exes’ houses) without sneezing in their face(s). He’ll admit that maybe he has a predilection for dating cat people (but not cat-people because those don’t exist and he would probably actually die they did and if he tried).
Because Dean wasn’t around his partner’s cat (or sometimes cats) every single day, he managed to get through the relationships with a pack of anti-allergy pills to deal with whenever he was at their place. That was more than enough for him to know, without a doubt, that he is a cat person forever. Too bad he has no interest in being medicated for the rest of his life. Doing it once in awhile so he can hang out at a partner’s house is all well and good, but it’s a pain in the ass to think about having to do it every day for the rest of his days.
The thing is, Dean knows that if he did cave and get a cat, he would end up owning one forever. Because there is no way in hell he could own one cat and not get another when it would inevitably pass on. Hell, he would probably end up getting two at the same time so the one isn’t lonely when he’s at work or out for the evening with friends. And besides, he couldn’t get a cat right now even if he did want to be taking pills on the daily. First of all, he’d have to move.
That’s right. Dean might be pulling in some pretty decent dough as a so-called mechanical engineer for a big wig construction company, but he’s still living in a tiny as shit bachelor apartment – purely for how cheap it is so he can focus more on paying off his student loans and save up for his dream home. But the place is literally just one room. His bedroom is his living room and he doesn’t have the space for a dining room. He’s lucky that he’s got a breakfast bar type thing separating his bedroom from the kitchen. It doubles as extra counter space when he gets in the mood for baking (which is surprisingly often).
But that’s not the point. The point is that his apartment block doesn’t allow pets. Which is just downright disgusting in this day and age. Who would actually deny anyone the comfort of a pet? It’s just rude. Dean couldn’t even get a hamster if he wanted to. Not that he wants a rodent. It’s cats or nothing. There’s no going back now that he’s pseudo owned one through his exes. He’s a cat convert and there’s no going back. Nothing is going to live up to them and now he’s doomed to a cat-less life.
Dean has to resign himself to looking at cats through pet-shop windows whenever he passes by one. It’s not like he spends day in and day out pining over the feline race or anything. It’s just a craving that crops up every now and then – particularly when he sees a shelter or shop. If he’s ever feeling the urge to adopt and subject himself to the torture of moving and daily pills, he’ll spend an hour visiting with cats in one of the aforementioned places. It’s just one pill once every so often and then he satisfies that lonely part of him that wants a pet.
Now, the problem is that Dean’s apartment block is located in the middle of a shop-heavy district. There are all sorts of restaurants and boutiques everywhere and he would swear that it seems like there’s some kind of pet store or shelter on every fucking street. The pet-shop around the corner to the right doesn’t exactly adopt out cats, but they have one that is owned by and lives in the store. Then there’s shelter around the corner to the left. It’s just a small hole-in-the-wall place lined with cages and staffed entirely by volunteers.
If he goes the other direction and heads down the back roads, there’s another shelter. This one is bigger than the other. They’re also run by volunteers, but they cater to both cats and dogs. The front of that shelter is mostly windows that look into three different rooms. Two of them are full of cats and one has a couple dogs in it. There are more rooms on the inside, but Dean’s never been in that one. It’s a little farther than the others. He generally only walks by that one when Sam is visiting and he manages to talk Dean into going for a so-called stroll.
It has occurred to Dean, on occasion, that he could probably do that volunteer thing. Maybe. It’s what, like, a once a week gig? A couple hours cleaning cages or something? He could tolerate taking a pill once a week for that. Then he’d get his fill of cats, he could pad his resume with some volunteer work, and then he’d get to cuddle and play with cats once a week. That’s sure to satisfy the whole goddammit I want a fucking cat feeling, right?
Dean will admit that volunteering probably would help. But at the same time, he doesn’t have the time for it. He works full time five days a week and he takes home a lot of his work to be that keener who uses personal time to get ahead. Granted, he totally does it all with Netflix playing on the TV, so it’s no big deal to him. Barely even feels like work at all. That aside, he also has a pretty active social life. Every weekend he’s out with friends or visiting with family. And he’s still on the prowl looking for the future Mrs (or Mr) Winchester.
Part of him wants to wait to find that person before he starts thinking about getting a house. But the bigger part of him is more than willing to get it before then. Dean is just so sick of apartment living. His neighbours are loud, his place feels cramped and small (he would kill for actual rooms), and he has to park his precious car in a lot. Baby isn’t covered or protected from the elements. She’s vulnerable out there and Dean checks out his window at least twice an evening to make sure that she’s okay.
School has been long over and Dean’s student loans are slowly, but surely, getting paid off. He worked his butt off both in school and out to pay for as much as he could out of pocket without using the loan. Of course, no matter how hard he worked he still had to dip into it quite a bit. Because grades came before work and he had to find that perfect balance between them. Thank God that his parents didn’t mind having him live with them until he graduated.
Sadly, no matter where he lives, how much loan he has left, or what job he has, there is one depressing fact that will remain. That fact being, of course, that he will forever be cat-less. But, wherever he ends up moving, Dean can only hope that there won’t be a shelter around it. As nice as it is to go look at the cats when he’s feeling down, or pop in for a visit every other month, it’s still torture.
Dean isn’t even a particularly active person. But every time he walks to any store in the area, or just needs some fresh fucking air because the damn apartment is so small it gets pretty stuffy in there, he usually passes one of the shelters or the pet-shop and it’s just not fair. It’s like the universe just loves rubbing it in his face that he’s allergic to his favourite animal and he’ll never be allowed to own one.
The only thing that Dean has to say to that is; fuck off, universe. There are such things as hypoallergenic breeds, right? No, he’s pretty sure he’s heard that those are expensive as fuck, and he fully plans to have all his money tied up in renovating his future house. Oh! But what about those hairless, wrinkly, Master has given Dobby a sock looking cats? They’re not the cutest of kitties (in Dean’s opinion) but a cat is still a cat, right? He’ll have to look into it at some point, maybe.
With a sigh, Dean steps away from the shop window and picks up his bags again. If he had any of his allergy pills on him right now, he probably wouldn’t be able to resist going inside just to say hi and pick up a kitten for a little while. But he’s got spoilable stuff in his bags and he can’t let it thaw anymore. He ignores the pang in his chest as he walks away.
If worse comes to worst, he could always get a stuffed animal.
It’s official. The universe hates him. That’s the only reason why Dean is standing on the steps of his brand new house (relatively speaking) and there’s a fucking meowing sound coming from under the porch. He hasn’t even fully moved in yet and this cannot be happening. Not now. Not when Dean’s will is so weak. This isn’t fair. Why a curveball here and now? Couldn’t the universe have just waited for a little while? Like, until after he was settled and not hyped up on the adrenaline that comes with a life change and makes people make stupid decisions?
Buying the house was already a spur of the moment decision. Sorta. Well, no. He wanted to do this for ages and he went through with it when new neighbours moved into the apartment above his. They apparently were raised by elephants and howler monkeys going by how loudly they walked and how wild their sex was. Dean lived in constant fear that the upstairs assholes would ding his Baby in the parking lot. So, since his savings account was padded well enough for a decent down payment, he fucking went through with what he’s always wanted to do.
He bought a house and today is moving day numero uno. Dean has box in his hands and there are at least a dozen more in the truck he borrowed from his dad. Said father figure is working at the moment, so that’s why Sam and Mom are the only ones helping out. To Dean’s knowledge, he’s the only one actually doing any heavy lifting required to bring things inside. His dear little brat of a brother is working on sorting boxes to the rooms they’re supposed to go to, and from the sound of it, Mom is already unpacking the kitchen.
If she hasn’t already started a list of what he’s going to need to buy, then she will soon. And Dean is positive that she isn’t going to be putting a cat on that list. She already made one list before the move of all the furniture Dean needs for each room. Which, in his opinion, is too much. Until he’s got all the renovations done, he isn’t really planning on buying a whole bunch of furniture right away. Hell, his living room might consist of folding chairs and milk crates until the room itself is perfect.
The house is just a three bedroom (two of which are fucking small) bungalow with a kitchen, dining room, living room (with a fireplace holy shit!), and a mostly unfinished basement that has one weird as fuck coloured bedroom, a bathroom, and a laundry room – that doesn’t actually have any laundry machines yet. Those are definitely on Mom’s list. For now, Dean’s totally planning on just taking his shit to his parents’ place.
All that aside, though. Dean knows that this house wasn’t supposed to come with a cat. It wasn’t discussed at all during negotiations. He knows. Sammy is a lawyer graduate guy and he handled looking at all of Dean’s contracts and shit. That thing was iron clad after Sam was done with it. Cats were not mentioned anywhere. So what the fuck.
Well, y’know what? It’s an older house – a character home, as some would say. The thing isn’t falling apart at the seams or anything, but she could use some work. That’s the whole reason Dean bought the place. He wants to fix her up on his own. Maybe tear down a wall or renovate the bathroom, or the kitchen. He wants to finish off the basement and put in a couple more rooms down there. Hell, he might even make it a basement suite and rent that fucker out. This is a starter home with potential and Dean can’t wait to take a crack at her.
That said, it’s entirely possible that what he thought was a meow was actually just the old porch boards creaking under his feet. Those are totally one of the first things he places to replace when he finally gets around to renovating the outside. Dean’s a traditional man and he prefers working from the inside out. He doesn’t want to run the risk of damaging any external work while he’s bringing in all the shit for the internal cosmetics.
Needless to say, whether it’s creaks or meows, it needs to be investigated. Dean’s not going to take the chance of ignoring it and finding a dead cat under his porch when he rips out those boards in a year. He ducks into the house to drop the box he’s carrying onto the pile Sam is sorting. Half of them are open while Sam double checks what’s inside – because apparently Dean is a heathen for not labelling everything when he was packing it up.
“Hey, we’ve got a problem.” Dean wipes his hands on his jeans and glances around at some of the labeled boxes. “Have you gotten to the shit with my medicine cabinet shit in it?”
“I put it in the master bedroom’s bathroom.” Sam looks up from scribbling on one of the boxes with a Sharpie marker. “What kind of problem do we have? Do we need to tell Mom?”
Dean glances into the kitchen where she’s sorting utensils into one of those little trays for the drawer. “Probably. But first, medicine cabinet. Also, dig out a blanket or something. Or a towel. Y’know what, go with a towel.” Those are easier to wash and take up way less space in his laundry basket than a fucking blanket ever would.
He heads up the hall towards the master bedroom, stopping only to call back over his shoulder. “And, for the record, it’s an allergy attack kind of problem. Potentially.” And then he slips into the room.
This might as well be a living room. Dean is almost positive that this bedroom – including the walk in closet and attached half bathroom – is the same size as his bachelor apartment was. Either way, he likes it. Though the stained hardwood is going to need to be replaced. Someone over watered too many potted plants in here and there are circles all over the place. But it has a sweet bay window which looks awesome and lets in a ton of light. He totally plans to build a bench with storage underneath it. Maybe redo the window trim too. Actually, all the windows need to be replaced so – yeah.
The anti-allergy medication is at the bottom of the box with the rest of his medications – which really only amounts to cold meds and painkillers. After popping one of the pills and downing a cup of water after it, he heads back out into the living room – where Sam and Mom are both waiting for him with a towel. They look curious as all hell and Dean should’ve known that either Mom was listening or Sam couldn’t keep his mouth shut about this. Both are very viable options.
Sam tosses him the towel. “Found a cat?”
“I think there’s one under the porch. I’m going to pull off the lattice and take a look.” Dean slings the towel over his shoulder and heads outside with the both of them on his heels. He’s going to have
There’s a tool box in the back of the truck and he finds a hammer in it. Dad even apparently keeps a flashlight in there too and Dean snags that. He holds it between his teeth while using the claw end of the hammer to pry a couple sheets of the lattice off from around the edges of the porch. Some of it has rotted away in places and there are big enough gaps that he can easily see how a cat could have squeezed their way through.
With the flashlight in one hand and the hammer set aside, Dean pans the light underneath the porch. There’s some kind of nest thing off in the corner that looks like it might have belonged to a racoon at some point. And there’s little bits of trash with a ton of fucking weeds. The only thing that catches his attention is a dirty brown ball of fur pressed against the back wall and hissing at him. Her ears are folded flat to her head and her hackles are totally raised.
“Sam, you’re fired as my lawyer.” Dean whispers over his shoulder as he wedges the flashlight into the lattice, keeping it shining on the cat. “My house wasn’t supposed to come with anything I’m allergic to.”
“Mom, tell Dean he’s not allowed to fire me!”
She just laughs and shushes them both. “Sam, sweetie, go get a box.” Dean barely even feels her getting down to kneel next to him. “Be careful. If you get bitten or clawed, we’re going straight to the hospital to get your shots. You can get a nasty infection from both of them if they puncture too deep.”
He nods and starts belly crawling forward, doing his best not to make too many sudden movements and to say out of the beam from the flashlight. If he gets clawed in the face, he can only hope that he ends up with either a scar that goes unnoticed or just makes him look like a badass. But the cat doesn’t move. From what he can tell, she looks like nothing more than skin and bones. He can’t even make an estimate as to how old she is or what breed she could be. The poor thing is absolutely filthy.
His heart aches and Dean makes a soft hushing sound. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you.” He holds the towel between both his hands, ready to put it over her and fold her up like a burrito. Dean hates having to do that, but he has no other option short of calling animal services. And like hell is he going to call those butchers. This poor girl is probably going to end up at the Humane Society where she might get put down if no one adopts her or something. He’s heard stories and there are no chances being taken with this little one.
The cat hisses more and swats at him a couple time as Dean gets closer and tries reaching out with towel. With some effort and a lot of squirming on the cat’s part, he does eventually manage to get her wrapped up in the towel. By then the cat is practically screaming and it’s breaking Dean’s heart every moment that he has to wiggle backwards to get out with her. He’s barely gotten a foot back before he feels hands close around one of his ankles.
“Sammy, grab his other one. Dean, get ready.”
“Jesus shit, mom! Don’t –” He cuts off as Sam’s hands grab his other leg. The bastards don’t even bother counting down. In one quick pull, they yank him out from under the porch. Dean can’t help swearing and loudly because fuck. If his stomach didn’t get shredded by the gravel under there, then he’s going to have some pain-in-the-ass road rash from it.
Mom scoops the wriggle cat burrito out of Dean’s hands and puts it right into a cardboard box that Sam salvaged from inside. The howling stops, but she’s still growling and hissing. Dean finds it a little heartless that Mom just closes the box and picks it up. He scrambles to his feet and brushes all the shit off his front. Both he and Sam follow her up into the house and straight into one of the spare bedrooms. She puts the box down in a corner, turning it carefully and oh so slowly on its side.
“We’re going to let this poor thing out in here, okay?” She turns around to shoo them both out of the room again. “Let her be. I’m going to find something in the fridge to feed her with. If we don’t have anything, then I’m running off to the store to buy a tin.” After shutting the door behind her, Mom points at Sam. “I want you to flatten all that newspaper in the recycling bin in the kitchen. Cover the floor with it as best as you can so she has somewhere to go without ruining the carpet.”
Dean tags himself in the chest. “What about me?”
“You get on the horn and start finding a shelter that can take her.” Mom pats him on the shoulder and gives him the kind of pity filled look that Dean hates. “I know you’re going to want to keep her, but –”
There’s no lying to his mom. Dean really does want to keep her. But he knows better. “If I wanted to take pills for the rest of my life, I’d be on birth control.” He rolls his eyes and steps out of the way so she can get by him in the hallway. “I’ll find the nearest shelter and see if they can take her.”
“Good.” She kisses him on the cheek as she goes by. Sam tails after her to get the newspaper.
After a minute of staring at the bedroom door, Dean follows after them. He only stays in the kitchen long enough to grab a bowl and fill it with water. Mom hands him a bowl with some chopped up chicken in it on his way back out into the hall. It’s from their lunch, but Dean figures it’s a good sacrifice to make. Now it’s time to feed the cat and search on his phone for a place to take her.
Dean sneaks back into the bedroom carefully, careful to make sure that nothing tries to streak past his feet. The lids of the box have been pushed open, but Dean doesn’t see the cat. Growling starts up after he takes a few steps closer and it’s coming straight from the box. Alrighty, then. She’s still in there. He drops to his knees and shuffles closer that way until he can put the two bowls down right in front of the box. As soon as they’re down, he shuffles right back again to sit by the closet.
Within minutes, the cat is eating. Dean watches her when he waits for pages on his phone to load. As it turns out, the closest shelter is some place called Rescue Siamese and Stray Cats. He’s never heard of it before, but they’ve got a Facebook page filled with posts that make it look like they really care for their cats. Best of all, the first thing it says in their About section is that they’re a no-kill shelter. Awesome! That means this little sweetheart will have a home at some point – even if it’s just becoming a permanent shelter or foster cat.
Sam sneaks into the room to start putting down papers just before Dean makes the call. He puts off hitting the dial button until after Sam is finished. It’s in everyone’s best interest that he not be on the line with someone if the cat decides that Sam’s face looks more delicious than the chicken. But the cat just retreats back into the box with a hiss and it looks like she’s eaten most of the food. She doesn’t show her face again while Sam surrounds the box with paper. But as soon as he’s backed off, she’s right back to eating again.
Dean waves Sam out and hits dial as soon as the door is shut behind him. It rings four times before someone answers – and is instantly assaulted by a too deep voice that sends chills down his spine. “Thank you for calling Rescue Siamese. How may I help you?”
“Uh –” He fish mouths and stumbles over his syllables for the first few seconds before he gets anything out. “Um – Hi. I – My –” Dean shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. Hi. My name is Dean Winchester and I found a cat under my porch today. She’s – well, I don’t know if she’s a she or a he – but she’s kinda hostile, looks like she hasn’t eaten in a month, and she’s dirty as hell. I’m allergic to cats and I can’t keep her. What do I do?”
A weary sigh crackles through the phone line. “I’m sorry to hear that she’s in such bad shape. Can you tell if she is a Siamese? Or, at least, a Siamese Cross? Our shelter only takes those breeds of cats.”
He tilts his head and squints at the cat while she drinks her fill. “I honestly can’t tell. She’s really dirty and I’m not too keen on giving her a bath. I’ll be ribbons if I give that a shot.”
“I understand.” The volunteer sighs again and Dean can hear papers rustling. “My shift is done in fifteen minutes. If you don’t mind giving me your address, I can come over and check her out. I’ll bring a carrier and I can take her off your hands. If she’s not one that we can take, I’ll personally find another no-kill shelter that will be able to take her.”
Whatever tight ball of worry that had been sitting in Dean’s chest before he made the call relaxes and he breathes easy again. “Yeah, sure. That sounds great. She’s hiding in a cardboard box right now and we fed her some chicken. Was that okay? She just looked so hungry that we couldn’t –”
“It sounds like you’ve done wonderfully.” The volunteer’s voice gets a warm tone to it. “Thank you for your hard work.” He clears his throat after a second. “May I have your address? Oh, and my name is Castiel. I’m one of the volunteers here.”
Dean snorts a laugh. “Nice to meet you, uh, Castiel.” That’s quite the mouthful, but he’s not gonna say anything about it. Chances are this Cas has heard that more than he’s ever wanted. He lists off his address from memory and ends the call afterwards so he doesn’t tie Cas up any more than that. If his shift is almost done, then he probably has end of shift shit to take care of.
Within half an hour, Cas shows up at the door. Dean hasn’t left the bedroom yet because cat – and he’s not wasting this antihistamine by avoiding the poor thing. Sam is actually the one who lets Cas in. Honestly, Dean’s not sure what he was expecting from the voice – but he suddenly has a very strong desire to be one of the cats of Rescue Siamese what that volunteer walks in with a carrier in hand. Tall, tanned, scruffy, and gorgeous. And the worst thing is what Dean’s mind supplies right then; Hello future Mr. Winchester, how are you?
“You must be Dean.” Cas holds his hand out and Dean shakes it from the floor, not making any effort to stand up. “Your allergy must not be very severe if you’re in here with the cat.”
“It’s not that bad.” He shrugs and gestures for Cas to sit down with him. “I took an antihistamine before getting her out from under the porch.” Dean tilts his head towards the box and where the cat is watching them from between the folds. “She hasn’t moved out of there yet. I covered her with a towel burrito when I was getting her out but she can’t be too upset. She ate everything we gave her.”
Cas nods, but he doesn’t exactly sit. He crouches and sets the carrier down. Head tilting while he looks at the cat. There’s something overly cute about the gesture, but Dean’s favourite thing is the way Cas’s whole body goes all soft. He smiles at the cat like someone would smile at a small child. Dean likes his smile. And his eyes. And his everything. Okay, wow. Inappropriate thoughts, brain. Lust is in full effect. Fuck. This is not good.
Dean stays very still and doesn’t say a word – hell, he barely even breathes – as Cas goes from a crouch to kneeling. He knee-walks forward towards the box, one hand held out. The cat hisses, and Cas stops. After a moment, he gets down on his belly, hand still outstretched. In this small room, it basically means his hand is beside the food dishes already. Cas just leaves it there and waits for the cat to react – which honestly doesn’t take as long as Dean thought it would.
The cat crawls forward just enough to poke her head out of the box. She sniffs at Cas’s hand a few times, but otherwise doesn’t move. It’s not until Cas breaks out the treats from his pocket does she actually perk up and meow at him. He lures her further and further out of the box with them until he has the chance to scoop her up. From where he’s sitting, all Dean can see is that Cas tilts his head again before he sighs. In an instant he’s got the cat screaming in his hands and he’s on his knees again.
“Holy shit!” Dean is on his feet and scrambling for something that can be used to protect Cas from getting clawed. “Do you have some kind of death wish?”
Cas shakes his head. “She –” He stops and lifts the cat above his head so he can see under the tail. “Sorry, he is declawed. He’s malnourished, so it’s hard to say how old he is. What monster didn’t this to you, little one?” Apparently Dean has been completely forgotten, because Cas starts cooing at the cat. “You’ve been without a home for a while now, haven’t you? To get to this condition. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands now.”
He looks up so suddenly that Dean’s heart nearly stops. He almost jumps in surprise at it. “Could you please open the carrier?”
“Oh – uh – yeah.” Dean grabs it from the floor and fiddles with the squeeze lock until it pops open. There’s a blanket lining the bottom of it.
It takes a bit of maneuvering, but they manage to get the cat into the thing. Cas puts a couple more treats in it before he closes the door and takes the whole thing out of Dean’s hands. “Thank you. Just from the physical features and blue eyes, I believe he might be at least part Siamese. I won’t know for sure until we give him a bath and get a proper look at his colouring. But thank you for catching him. We’ll take care of him from here.”
Something sharp stings in Dean’s ribs as Cas heads out of the bedroom. He tags after him for a lack of anything else to do. “Thanks for coming to get him so quickly. Do you have the room for him? I mean, like, he can stay here until you have space or whatever. I have enough allergy pills to last me a week and I don’t exactly have any plans for this room right now.” Like, why not? He’s got those dumb pills. Might as well use them. It’s not like he desperately wants a cat of his own or anything – oh wait.
That earns him a gummy smile that may or may not make his heart skip a beat. “It’s alright. This little guy will be coming back home with me and kept in quarantine until we can have him checked by a vet. I’ll be giving him a bath and a flea check. Would you like to be notified if I find any fleas? You might want to deep clean this room if he has them.”
Oh shit. Dean didn’t even think about that. And since Mom was the one who brought the cat into the house, she obviously didn’t think of it either. Fuck. Well, here’s to keeping his fingers crossed that the cat is clean.
“Yeah, let me get you my card.” He digs his wallet out of his back pocket to get the one he uses for the construction site. It already has his persona e-mail on it. There’s a pen in the living room and he borrow it to scribble his cell number down on the back of it. “Here. You can text me or give me a call to let me know how he’s doing. If it’s not too much trouble, could you give me updates on him? Like, how he’s doing and if he gets adopted?” They were only together for a short while, but Dean already feels a little attached to the cat.
“Of course.” One side of Cas’s mouth comes up in a half-smile. “It’s nice to see that you care about him so much. We don’t often see that from people in your situation.” He tucks the card away and heads on out to the SUV he parked in front of the truck on the street.
Dean follows him, a million questions already bubbling up in his head. “Hey, I saw on your Facebook page that you guys are volunteer run. Does that mean you work entirely off donations and stuff? How does that work with the vet stuff then?”
Cas looks honestly surprised that Dean is asking all these questions. Surprised, and pleased. “Yes, we survive on donations. We’re affiliated with a pet store that runs constant donation drives for us for food and litter.” He puts the carrier on the passenger seat, but leaves the door open when he turns back to Dean. “We hold fundraisers several times a year to raise additional money to put towards our vet bills. Since we’re a shelter, we have agreements with the vet to have a tab that we pay off in installments if we don’t have enough funds to pay for it immediately.”
Jesus. That’s impressive. “How many cats do you have in your care at a time?”
“Our shelter doubles as a store and there’s roughly fifteen cats there at a time.” Cas leans back against the side of the SUV and tucks his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. “But we have a number of foster families and our founder has several cages in her basement. We actually use to work out of there once upon a time. In total, we have about thirty-six cats, I believe.”
“Holy shit.” That’s just – wow. They didn’t seem like a very big shelter from the pictures he saw on the website, but Dean didn’t even consider that the majority of their cats might be in foster care. Only a couple of the cats on their adoptable page had said they were in foster care and to make an appointment to meet with them. “How does that even work? Do you have foster care because you don’t have the space for them all at the store?”
Cas nods, coupling the motion with a shrug. “More or less. We primarily use foster care as a way to learn if the cat’s disposition. Once we know what he’s like, we’ll be able to promote him on our social media accounts. If he’s vetted and if we think he’ll get adopted quickly or get along well with other cats, then he might end up in the shelter faster than most. It’s a case by case situation most days.” He gestures at the carrier. “I’ll be fostering this little one for the time being.”
“When you take him to the vet, let me know.” Let it never be said that Dean isn’t a moderately impulsive man. “I’ll pay for his bills.”
Again, Cas looks like he’s caught by surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Dude, if I wasn’t allergic, I’d be adopting this guy in a heartbeat.” Dean looks wistfully at the carrier. “Hell, I’d probably volunteer too, if I could. But the least I can do is take care of his bills while he’s with you guys.” It occurs to him suddenly that this might be overstepping his boundaries here and he ducks his head slightly. “If that’s cool with you guys, I mean.”
To his surprise, Cas reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “That is very generous of you, Dean. I can honestly say that we’ve never had someone do that for us before. If that’s what you want to do, I won’t try and talk you out of it.” He smiles, so bright that it feels like Dean’s being blinded by it. “Thank you. We really appreciate it.”
Dean shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, a little embarrassed with the way Cas is looking at him right now. “Yeah, well. If you can’t own a cat, then you might as well support a shelter, right?”
“I like that saying.” Cas laughs under his breath a little. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder once before letting go. “If you ever get in the mood to visit with the cats, you’re welcome to come to the shelter. We’re not too far away from here and I’m in every Saturday afternoon from one o’clock to four o’clock.”
Is it his imagination or does it sound like Cas is asking Dean to visit him more than he is the cats? No, no. That can’t be it. They just met and all that. He must just mean it like how Dean might be more comfortable visiting the shelter while a familiar face is there. Or maybe he might arrange to bring the cat in with him so Dean can check him out and see how he’s doing? That would be fucking awesome, actually. But it’s super unlikely and he’s probably just overthinking things with his lower brain instead of his upper brain. That tends to happen a lot.
Dean clears his throat and bobs his head in a quick nod, returning Cas’s smile. “Sounds like fun. I’ll drop in soon, then.” It can’t hurt to show that he is interested, right? Cas seems cool, and he’s obviously a cat person. They haven’t talked about much, but conversation seems easy. And he’s definitely easy on the eyes. So far, he’s got a lot of good points and – and Dean hasn’t even checked to see if he’s got a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Shit.
Cas just smiles wider as he steps away from the SUV. “Well then, I hope to see you around.” He shuts the passenger door and starts around to the driver’s side. “And I’ll text you a picture later of what our little friend looks like once he’s clean.”
“Awesome. Thanks!” Oh no, the cute volunteer guy is going to text him later. Dean can already feel the butterflies and it’s just ridiculous.
He takes a few steps back off the sidewalk and onto his lawn, putting some distance between him and the SUV in case he might act on those damn impulses again and maybe try to go with Cas or something. It’s unlikely but he’s not going to take the chance. Like an idiot, Dean stays out on the lawn and waves until Cas has turned off his street. And, like an idiot, he covers his face with both hands right away and swears at least fifty times. If he was smart, he would have turned around before doing that.
“Fifty bucks says he’s going to be volunteering there within a week.”
“I’ll take that action, sweetie, and raise you another fifty. He’s going to adopt the volunteer and the cat – even though I told him he shouldn’t.”
Dean whips around to find Mom and Sam standing together on the porch, an arm around each other. They look smug as shit and Dean immediately hates them both for it. He also hates himself for not remembering that they were there. Great. Now he’s going to spend the rest of the day being teased by these two assholes. That’s going to be delightful.
On the bright side, at least he has a text from Cas to look forward to tonight. And hey, maybe he will go back on every decision he’s ever made about medication and adopt that cat. The universe threw him a curveball, right? Instead of letting it hit him in the face, maybe he should try catching it this time.