A/N: So I was lurkin' about on ff .net one night, and I came across 494dwangel's profile and her challenge for someone to write her a "Boys Find a Kitten" fic for her birthday. And I thought it was a cool idea, so I decided to take it on. :)

(Oh, and I figured this would take place during third season, in that big gap of time we got over the Writer's Strike.)

"Did you hear that?"

Sam shined his flashlight down the alley, but the band of light only went so far in the midnight darkness and torrential downpour. He pretended not to notice Dean's shoulders slumping in exasperation and began heading into the alley from whence the noise had come.

As Sam turned down the alley to investigate the sound Dean hadn't heard, Dean began following reluctantly, his flashlight half-raised and his other hand loosely on his gun. They had already ganked one spirit tonight, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to face another.

He was in the mood for dry clothes. And a cheeseburger. And dry clothes. And sleep. And did he mention dry clothes?

Sam moved toward where he had thought he heard the sound: a large Dumpster. He cautiously tapped the large metal contraption with his shotgun, and the sound came again.

Dean knew that sound. And there was no way in hell they were messing with that.

"Sam, c'mon, let's get out of here. I'm hungry. And wet. And tired. Did I mention wet?"

But Sam was too busy looking behind the Dumpster to hear his brother, and then, when he straightened, he was holding the most pathetic-looking thing Dean had ever seen. And Dean had seen a lot of pathetic-looking things.

There was a kitten in his brother's hands—primarily white with black markings around the face, soaked to the bone, practically shivering and beyond bedraggled. On top of that, Sam's face had adorned its saddest puppy eyes, just begging to take it in.

But Dean wouldn't have it. "Dude? No." He didn't do cats.

"Dude, c'mon! What if it's sick or something? We can't just leave it out here!" As if to emphasize his point, the animal mewled pitifully and burrowed into the crook of Sam's elbow.

Dean was not so easily swayed, however. "Uh, yeah we can. And we will. Just leave it there, Sammy. This is someone else's problem!"

"Dean. The least we can do is bring it to a shelter or something."

Dean sighed and put his hand to his face. Sammy's pitiful puppy face was turning into his determined bitch face, and Dean was just too tired to deal with any of this. "Fine. We'll take it in for the night. Shelter first thing in the morning."

And then Sam's face melted into a smile, and Dean wondered if he had made the right choice.

An hour later, he decided he hadn't.

They had been okay when they first got back to the room. Dean changed into dry clothes, Sam headed for the shower, and the kitten silently explored the room. Dean lay face down on his chosen bed and closed his eyes as he heard the water begin running, and was debating if wanted to let himself fall asleep or find a McDonald's when the kitten suddenly leaped onto the bed and placed its cold, wet front paws on his back, kneading slightly.

His first instinct was to haul it off and throw it across the room, but he felt Sam might never forgive him for that. Instead he gently nudged, hoping the animal got the message that its proximity was NOT appreciated. Instead, it seemed to take it as an invitation to clamber fully onto him.

"What—no—cat!"

He firmly pushed, but it was undeterred and began to knead in earnest at his back.

"Dammit, cat, no!" He rolled over, which sent the feline sliding off him. It stood there for a moment, giving him an offended, reproachful look that could give Sam a run for his money. "I ain't fallin' for that, cat. Now g'wan, get." He waved a hand in the general direction of the animal, and it seemed to take the hint, leaping off the bed.

Deciding that sleep trumped hunger this time, Dean rolled back onto his stomach, one arm flopping over the edge of the bed. He had nearly drifted off when he felt something damp and furry rubbing itself into the palm of his hand. "What the—"

He peered over the edge of his bed, to see the infernal cat walking back and forth, as if just his fingertips brushing it were a perfectly legit form of petting. "What the hell? Get away from me, you little shit." He tried to push it away, but that apparently just encouraged it.

After about ten minutes too long of fighting with the animal, Sam finally came out from the bathroom, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Sam, control your animal!"

Confusion creased Sam's forehead. "What? What's it doing?"

Dean chose not to comment on the fact that Sam didn't deny it was his. "It won't leave me alone!"

Sam chuckled before snapping his fingers, not entirely sure if that worked on cats. Apparently it did, as the cat immediately directed its attention on him, and pranced over, jumping on the bed to reach Sam's outstretched hand. Sam allowed himself a small smile as the animal walked back and forth. "What should we name it?"

Dean groaned. "We're not naming it anything, Sam. It's a stray that's going to the shelter in the morning."

"Aw, c'mon, Dean. What if the shelter asks for a name?"

Dean smirked into his pillow. "Call it Little Shit." Sam made a scandalized noise, but Dean couldn't care less. "Just name it whatever, man. I'm going to sleep."

And now that the cat had Sam to play with, Dean was mercifully left alone and was asleep within moments.

Unlike his brother, Sam was perfectly willing to let the cat settle, which it appreciated with a loud purr. It was strangely comforting, the weight of the animal near his knees. And you know, once it was dry, it was kinda cute.

"So what should we name you?" Sam asked, reaching to scritch around its ears. This made the cat purr more.

He didn't really know how to name animals. Their lifestyle had never been conducive for any sort of pet growing up—not that Sam hadn't begged to get a dog for three straight years—and while Jess had had a dog back home, it had been named Max, which had to be about the most common animal name in the world.

And the cat just didn't look like a Max. In fact, he had the feeling it wasn't even a boy.

Eventually, Sam grew too tired to really care, and fell asleep to the sounds of Dean snoring and the cat purring.

The next morning they awoke to the sounds of scratching and yowling.

Both of them were immediately up and at the ready, Sam with a silver knife, Dean with his pistol. They blinked for a few moments, not seeing anything that could make such a noise, until Sam had the thought to look at the floor, and there was the cat, who had begun making the door into its personal scratching post.

"What the—?" Sam started, but Dean seemed to realize exactly what the cat needed. He leaped from the bed, stumbled his way to the door, and opened it. The cat quickly scampered outside.

"Ha, didja see that? Ran away all on its own. Didn't want us anyway."

Sam gave him a nice bitchy face, but Dean didn't really care. He threw his gun on the bed, stretched, and announced, "I'm gonna take a shower."

But when Sam said, "Don't hurt yourself," it didn't have quite the same bite.

Which then made Dean's shoulders sag in exasperation. "You're not actually sad about that cat leaving, are you?"

"…No."

Dean rolled his eyes, then began searching in his duffle for clothes. "Dude, you have got to be the gayest man I know."

"Doesn't really count for much if you only know three men."

Dean flipped him off as he headed into the bathroom.

A nice warm shower and his favorite pair of jeans later, he decided he needed his coffee. Sam had set up shop on the computer, still in his sleepwear.

"You want your prissy fancy boy shit, or just black?" Dean asked, shrugging into his leather jacket.

"Whatever."

He was too engrossed in whatever he was doing to really notice Dean was even talking to him, so the older man just shook his head. Finding the keys in the pocket of his coat, he opened the door and—

Nearly tripped over the damn cat.

Without much preamble, the animal slipped between his feet and back into the room, making a beeline for Sam's lap. This jerked Sam out of his research daze, and he looked from the animal in his lap to Dean, confusion making the lines in his forehead crease. "Do you think maybe it's hungry?" he asked.

"Like I would know?" Dean replied with a raised eyebrow.

Sam sighed, and pet absently at the feline for a few moments, before looking up at his brother. Before he could even voice his thoughts, however, Dean replied, "Dude, no. I still say stuff it in a pillowcase and drop it off at the shelter."

"We are not stuffing it in a pillowcase." The animal meowed in agreement.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm going to get coffee. When I come back, the animal better be ready to go, and then we're outta here, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah…" Sam's concentration was slowly sucked in to his laptop again, this time absent-mindedly petting the kitten in his lap.

"Ready to go, Sam!" he reminded.

"Just get my coffee, jerk."

"Bitch."

Forty-five minutes later Dean walked back in the room, nursing his cup while simultaneously attempting not to spill Sammy's girly drink. This task was made more difficult, however, by the animal winding through his legs and trying to trip him up, apparently under the impression that he was carrying food.

"This ain't for you, cat, g'wan."

Sam's voice came from the bathroom. "Dean?"

"Nope, it's the tooth fairy," Dean responded dryly. He managed to make it to the table without kicking the cat, and set the cup down before settling into the chair opposite of the one Sam had occupied earlier. "Sam, why is this animal not ready to go?"

Sam opened the door to the bathroom, fully dressed and holding his toiletry bag. "Well, I've been thinking—"

Dean raised a hand, letting him go no further. "Sam? No."

"But—"

"No! We agreed last night, shelter first thing in the morning. It's not even first thing anymore!"

"Dean, c'mon. We drop it off at a shelter, who knows what could happen to it? They might put it to sleep if no one takes it in! And I looked up the shelter around here—it's horrible, they're understaffed and overfilled, and they just won't have room for it!"

Dean placed his thumb and middle finger to the bridge of his nose and squeezed, trying to remain calm. "Sam, we can barely afford to feed ourselves half the time, much less another animal."

"But Dean…"

Dean made the mistake of looking at his brother then, who at some point had picked up the kitten and was cuddling—for lack of a better, more manly term—with the animal.

It made Dean's heart melt a little bit.

Not that he would ever admit it.

He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. "Fine. We'll keep it until we can find a decent shelter. Deal?"

Sammy's face broke into a grin. "Deal."

The animal meowed in agreement.

A/N #2: So yeah. There's the first chapter. Hope y'all liked it, and I hope this is what you're looking for, 494dwangel.