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Sam blinked tiredly, rubbing at his sore eyes, before stubbornly opening another ancient book. The cover flipped open on the table in the library of the bunker, blowing a small cloud of dust into the air.
A little hissing sound startled Sam, making him pause and look at the ball of orange fur by his elbow.
“Sorry man— didn’t know cats could even sneeze,” he muttered, trying to go back to his reading. He feels the soft coat of the kitten - no bigger than the palm of his hand, brush over his forearm as it takes a little leap to get on top of the book and he sighs as the fluffy thing manages to plonk itself down so he can’t see what he’s reading.
“Dean,” Sam sighs. “Please, dude. I’m trying to figure out how to turn you back here!”
The kitten looks up at him with impossibly big green eyes, whiskers and little pink ears drooping a bit over being chastised and Sam rubs his forehead in frustration - mainly with himself. It’s not Dean’s fault… and really, Sam’s not even sure the little kitten knows it even is Dean. He watches as the tiny thing curls up to go to sleep in the middle of his open book and he strokes his forefinger over the back of the little cat. He feels the fragile spine under his fingers, once again amazed over how something can be that small and that soft.
His thoughts are interrupted by the kitten letting out a massive yawn, its entire body giving a little shake.
“Okay, okay… I hear you. It’s bedtime.”
He scoops Dean up into his hand before popping the button open on the breast pocket of his flannel, sticking the kitten in there while he makes his way to the bunker’s bathroom to get ready for bed. It’s already been two days since Dean was cursed, and subsequently turned into a kitten. The little pink cloud of magical dust had settled and Sam had frantically looked around for the witch, stopping in his tracks when he had heard the small meow from a very familiar pile of clothes in front of him. The rain was beating down hard on their walk back to the car and Sam had pressed the soaked kitten to his chest, trying to keep it dry.
The little ball of fur burrowed deeper into his breast pocket as he brushed his teeth and kitten Dean yelped in protest, digging barely there claws into the meat of Sam’s fingers as he scooped him up to change into a t-shirt to sleep in.
“Don’t scratch me,” Sam warned, holding the little thing up by the scruff of his neck. “Careful dude or I’ll have you sleep in your own bed tonight.”
Sam swears the green eyed kitten glares at him with the annoyance of a pissed off tiger, but when you’re the size of a ball of yarn and has little pink paws, you’re not the most intimidating thing in the world and Sam can’t help but laugh, making the tiny cat swipe helplessly in the air with his tiny paws. He wears himself out quickly though and Sam settles in bed, feeling his brother curl up in a ball on his collarbone, as he switches the lights off.
He whispers goodnight and feels the little ball of fur buff his chin with his head, purring as it nuzzles his neck.
“Sleep now, Dean,” Sam whispers. “I’ll find a way to turn you back tomorrow.”
The kitten settles, and Sam thinks again that maybe, maybe it knows it’s his brother after all. He can hear the soft, tiny breaths, feel the warm, low rhythmic rumble of his purring and Sam sleeps soundly knowing that at least his brother is safe.
When Sam wakes up to the sound of his alarm the next day, the kitten has somehow found his way underneath Sam’s washed thin t-shirt, and is sleeping curled up on his stomach. Sam stretches and catches the little kitten as the movement makes him startle.
“Shh, you’re okay.” Sam gently lifts his t-shirt, to reveal the fluffy little thing that he’s just managed to so rudely wake up, and he chuckles at the way its fur is all messy. His laughter makes Dean bounce where he lies on Sam’s stomach still and he lets out a high pitched little cry of protest at the earthquake he’s subjected to first thing in the morning.
Sam hits the books again after breakfast, and he gets hit by a wave of sadness so intense that he has to close his eyes against the force of it, when he thinks about how much he wishes he could call Bobby for help right now. Bobby would have taken one look at kitten Dean, with his little ginger tail with the white tip and his tiny pink nose and muttered damn idjits under his breath, before scampering off to find the solution. He always knew what to do and who to ask. Now it was up to Sam and though he was glad to have the men of letter’s library as his starting point, he couldn’t help but worry about how long it was taking him to figure this out.
As it would turn out it was going to take even longer, when kitten Dean gets bored again and decides to start chasing Sam’s shirt sleeve as he turns the pages. Dean leaps, claws getting stuck in the fabric and he clings on as Sam tries to displace him.
“Dean!” Sam frowns at the silliness, feeling more stressed than amused and he swats gently at the little furry ball. “Stop that, man.”
He manages to dislodge his brother, putting him down on the table again and Dean wags his little tail, nose twitching with mischief before he jumps again a second later when Sam’s reaching for his pen and this time the younger man’s full cup of coffee gets knocked over in the process. Hot brown liquid splashes over books and Sam’s carefully made notes from the past few days of diligent research and drips over the edge of the table, soaking Sam’s jean clad thighs.
“Fuck! Dean, what the hell!” Sam jumps up, his chair scraping loudly against the bunker floor - the sound bouncing off the walls and the kitten is spooked, little paws now strong enough to hang on and he crashes down onto the table with a pathetic little cry.
“Look at this mess!” Sam groans, leaping to salvage what he can from the sopping mess on the table and he swears under his breath, tearing his shirt off, trying to mop the coffee off himself and his research.
He misses Dean. He’s scared that he won’t be able to figure this out and he’s just so fed up that he can’t help it. He throws the wet and stained shirt onto the floor with a frustrated sigh and buries his head in his hands for a moment, taking a deep breath.
He wants nothing more than for them to be able to just have one of Dean’s greasy heart attack’s on a plate for dinner's tonight, a couple of beers and to catch a lame western in the Dean cave. He wants his brother and he desperately doesn’t want to let Dean down here. There must be a way…
Sam collects himself with another couple of calming breaths, running his fingers through his hair before he straightens back up, settling into his chair again.
“Okay… okay,” he mutters mostly to himself, “back to it. Dean?”
He scans the table for the orange ball of fur, but can’t spot him. He looks under the table, under his chair too.
“Dean?”
The bunker is silent and Sam shoots to his feet.
“Dean where did you go?”
He sinks to his knees, searching the darkness beneath the table.
“Dean, please…” his throat feels tight and panic starts to take hold of him, his blood running cold. “I didn’t mean— come on, come back!”
“Dean!” He calls out, looks under furniture and in the kitchen by the little water bowl he’d put out for his kitten brother. The bunker is big on a regular day, but when you’re looking for something the size of an apple, with too bright eyes and a tail smaller than Sam’s pinky finger, it’s impossibly vast.
“Dean, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to yell… I… I’m sorry if I scared you, buddy…”
Sam tells himself that there is no way Dean made his way out of the bunker… he thinks. He tells himself that nothing managed to get inside either, so no matter where he’s hiding he should at least be safe. That only manages to calm his nerves slightly though because the bunker is also filled with weapons and staircases, piles of boxes… suddenly Sam’s hyper aware of absolutely anything that can happen to something as frail as a kitten.
He finds himself growing more desperate as the hours go by. He piles the books high, tears through them with renewed motivation, fuelled by anxiety more than anything and every now and then he tears himself away, searching again.
“DEAN!”
He goes back to his notes, lets his mind list all the reasons why leaving to hunt down the witch herself is a bad idea and his hands tremble with adrenaline as he suddenly finds two separate spells that could… should…? His heart leaps in his chest and he rubs at his temples, the numb ache behind his eyes and temples, receding as he blinks down at what could very well be the solution.
“Yes…!” He whispers, grinning down at the two pieces of paper in front of him. It’s a spell in two parts and there is probably a better way out there somewhere but he doesn’t care. “Thank god.”
He chews on his bottom lip as he scans through the ingredients needed, mentally cataloging, trying to think of what he needs to get from where. He nearly cries when he realises he needs fur from kitten Dean in order for the spell to work and for a second he can’t make his mind work beyond please Dean come back, please I’m so tired I can’t do this — but then he pulls himself together with a silent ‘fucking get going, Winchester’ and he goes down to his bedroom, praying to be able to find some of Dean’s fur on his bedding. Kittens must shed, Sam thinks— but stops dead in his tracks a couple of steps into his room, when he can suddenly just sense what he couldn’t before.
He drops to his knees besides his bed, leaning down, squinting against the darkness he finds there and there… curled up against the wall beneath the headboard, is a tiny fleck of white fur and big, shiny eyes.
“Dean,” Sam gasps in relief. “Hey buddy.”
The kitten curls up tighter, tucking his tail underneath himself, making himself nearly invisible in the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” Sam offers gently, slowly easing himself down onto his stomach, stretching his arm in underneath the bed, towards his brother. “Will you please come out from under there?”
Dean doesn’t move and Sam forces himself to lie still.
“I bet you’re cold and a bit hungry,” Sam coaxes. “Want to come sit in my shirt pocket for a bit? I’ve figured out how to turn you back.”
Dean’s ears perk up a bit at that, and Sam feels bad for ever having doubted how much the magical kitten understood. This is not an actual kitten after all, it’s his cursed brother.
Dean’s pink little nose twitches before he starts to crawl towards Sam, pulling himself up on little white feet.
“C’mere,” Sam whispers, opening his palm for Dean to rub against. Dean presses his soft head into Sam’s outstretched hand and Sam grins as he hears and feels him start to purr the second Sam closes his large palm gently around him. He pulls his brother out and holds him to his chest, over his heart, stroking him over his head with the pads of his fingers.
“Hey,” Sam smiles. “Just hang tight for a little bit longer and I’ll get everything set up, alright?”
Dean doesn’t respond with more than a sleepy yawn and Sam slips him into the breast pocket of his shirt. Before Sam’s managed to gather what he needs, he can feel the telltale rhythmic breathing of the kitten in his pocket that tells him that Dean’s asleep. He takes that as his sign that his brother has forgiven him for his outburst this morning.
///
“I’m sorry about… you know,” Sam mumbles as he hands his newly turned back into himself brother, a pair of jeans. Dean shrugs it off, shooting Sam a small smile.
“Don’t worry about it… it’s fine. I… I was being annoying.”
“No, you— well,” Sam frowns, “you were playing with my shirt?”
“Dude, I don’t know… the sleeve was right there and it was like all I could think about was how fun it would be to chase after it and wrestle with it.”
Dean blushes a bit and Sam feels relieved knowing that his brother was just caught up in the playful instincts of a kitten, and not in pain or trapped in his mind somewhere.
“Didn’t mean to ruin your stuff,” Dean adds, looking a bit sheepish and Sam laughs.
“That’s okay, I was just so stressed. Felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere and as much as I enjoyed you being nice and quiet for once…”
“Fuck off,” Dean laughs, giving Sam a playful shove in the shoulder.
“I just didn’t know where you were in all of this, you know? Didn’t know how long I had to reverse the curse. I was just scared that I was taking too long and man, there are so many things that can happen in this place to someone that tiny!”
“I wasn’t THAT tiny,” Dean protests with a little scrunch of his nose, making him look so much like his kitten self that Sam’s heart skips a happy little beat in his chest. He wants to reach out and pet his brother again but holds back.
“I kept you in my pocket,” Sam points out instead and Dean shrugs.
“Okay so I was a practical size, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Sam chuckles. “Nothing at all.”
Dean sneezes for the tenth time since Sam had managed to turn him and Sam grins at his brother.
“I just realised something.”
“What?”
“I thought kitten you were allergic to dust, but it’s actually you that’s allergic to… you.”
“Whatever, man,” Dean rolls his eyes at him. “I’m just glad to be back. Man I hate witches.”
“I’m happy to have you back too. Hey, by the way, what did the purring feel like?”
“I didn’t do any purring,” Dean protests with a scowl and Sam laughs at him again.
“Are you kidding me? It’s practically all you did! When I scratched your ears, or told you your tail was cute—“
“Dude.”
“When I let you sleep under my shirt…”
“Can we please just forget about this whole ordeal now?” Dean asked, pushing past Sam. “I’m grabbing us a couple of beers and some food. Meet me in the Dean cave in 15? You pick the movie, nothing crap though.”
“Okay,” Sam smiled at him fondly as he disappeared down the hall, dressed and back to himself again. Finally.
They were half way through their movie that evening when Sam noticed Dean’s head coming to rest on his shoulder, where they sit, pressed against each other, feet propped up on the coffee table table. Sam has the bowl of popcorn on his lap and his brother is warm and heavy against his side.
“You asleep?”
“No,” Dean murmurs with a big yawn. After a beat of silence he rubs his temple against Sam’s shoulder and adds, “and don't you dare scratch behind my ear…”
“You love it when I do that, in any form,” Sam chuckles, his voice warm and deep as he sinks deeper into the couch cushions.
“Just so you know, we’re not telling anyone about the me sleeping on your chest thing, Sam.”
“Sure,” Sam smiles innocently and Dean frowns at him.
“I’m serious, Sammy.”
“Mhm. Watch your movie, Dean.”
“Did you take pictures or something?” Dean demands, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He goes to sit up but is kept in place by the hand Sam places on top of his head. “Sam?!”
“Shh.” Sam strokes the top of Dean’s head, grinning down at his brother in the dim light of the den.
“Not a cat anymore,” Dean pouts and Sam scratches gently at the nape of his neck.
“Still pretty cute though,” Sam teases and Dean huffs angrily but doesn’t pull his head away. Before long Sam feels Dean slump against his side again, snoring softly. He pulls a blanket over both of them and allows himself to lie back too.
He’ll never admit it to Dean, but to Sam, his brother is even cuter now that he's back to himself. Sam falls asleep with his arm wrapped protectively around Dean's shoulders, and his palm cradling the back of his head.
Dean isn't small enough to fit in Sam's palm anymore, but he still fits perfectly against Sam's side - where he belongs.