The hunt wasn't going well. Three days into a local case, the boys still had no idea what they were hunting. So far, two had turned up dead, clawed to pieces by an unidentified creature that the witless cops deemed a wolf. Sam had ruled out werewolves the first day on the job. Dean ticked skinwalker off the list the day after. Castiel, feeling useless, left the Winchesters at the latest crime scene on the third day, taking the short walk back to the police station. He pulled out his badge and asked for a list of witnesses on the first death, which he'd thought the boys had moved on from too soon.

"I'm sorry, Agent Rogers," the policeman told him, "but the only witness accounted for is a cat."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, recalling the stories Sam had told him, much to Dean's dismay, about the older Winchester using a spell to communicate with a dog a few months before. "Where is it?"

Taking a bus to the animal shelter, Castiel actually adopted the gray, short-haired feline, and walked out with the witness in a box. He made his way back to the bunker, ignoring multiple calls from Dean, and set out to find this "mind-melding" spell, as Sam had called it. He was determined to do something useful for once, feeling inadequate as a hunter thus far. It took a little digging, but the former angel was soon ready to mix up a potion and solve a case.

"Cas, where the hell have you been?!" Dean demanded that evening upon returning to the bunker to find Cas leaning against the wall near the entrance, arms folded over his chest. "I called you like seven times earlier, you-"

"We're looking for a rougarou," Castiel interrupted.

Dean raised his eyebrows, turning to Sam, who shrugged and nodded at him. "How did you-"

"I have my sources," the former angel said quickly, motioning for the boys to leave. "Now go take care of it."

A surprised, humorless laugh escaped Dean's mouth. "Excuse me?"

Castiel avoided eye contact with the hunter and turned back toward the hall. "I'm no use out there," he said, beginning to walk towards his room. "Go find the rougarou and kill it. I'm staying here."

Sam pulled Dean's arm when the older Winchester started for the hall. "Dean. Come on. Worry about him later."

"What," Dean said, turning back to his brother and frowning, "that wasn't at all suspicious behavior to you?"

"Yeah, Dean, it was, but we need to stop this thing before it kills again."

Unable to argue with that logic, Dean complied and left the bunker with Sam. Castiel would be interrogated later, he decided.

As soon as the Winchesters were gone, Castiel brought the cat out of his room and asked, "You're sure about what you saw?"

"Of course I am, idiot," the cat snapped. Cas could've sworn she'd rolled her eyes. "I am a creature of the night, I can see better than you can."

Nodding, Cas said, "Thank you, uh..."

"He called me 'Smoky'."

"Smoky?"

The cat looked down at her paws. "I know. I know. Ridiculously stereotypical, isn't it? But at least he fed me." Smoky looked up at Cas, who'd knelt down beside her, and rubbed her head against the new hunter's leg. "You got any food for me?"

"I don't. I'm sorry."

"You're a more miserable owner than Charles," Smoky complained, "and he's dead."

"I am not well equipped to care for a cat," Castiel admitted, standing and gazing down sympathetically at the feline.

"Clearly. So let me go."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me outta here," Smoky encouraged. "Come on, I can take better care of myself than you can." The cat pranced eagerly over toward the bunker's exit. "Please?" she asked in a childlike, mocking tone.

With a deep sigh, Cas nodded and walked over to let the cat out. "Take care of yourself, uh, Smoky. And thank you for your help."

As soon as the door was open, Smoky was gone.

"'Goodbye' to you, too," Castiel mumbled, closing the door and retreating to the kitchen. He made himself a TV dinner and sat at the table, awaiting Sam and Dean's return.