Author's Note: This is a story I originally posted at Sinful-Desire-dot-org, so it may look familiar to some of you. Don't worry – I'm me, no one's copying. Basically, I read a story where the author would write for twenty minutes, edit for ten, and then post everything. I've been having trouble writing and decided to try something new. Now, I write for twenty minutes, edit, and post over at Sinful Desire daily. This is an edited version of what I've been doing. Hope you enjoy.
Pronunciation: Vunas is pronounced something like VOO-nas (nas as in nasty) in my head.
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1.
Sam crept along the wall of the apparently deserted house. Everything was quiet and dark. The witch he was hunting could be just around the corner, hidden in the looming shadows. A doorway was just ahead of him, and Sam paused, taking a deep breath and bracing himself, before he turned sharply, leading the way with his gun.
The room was empty, no sign of the witch.
Sam let out the pent up breath he'd held and lowered his weapon slightly. A tiny movement registered in the corner of his eye, and he turned, immediately alert again. A handsome silver tabby cat wandered out of the shadows and stood looking at Sam with big yellow eyes.
After a moment of tense contemplation, the cat sat down and began licking its paw. Sam smiled slightly and shook his head. The cat was a cat, no danger there.
This witch he and Dean were hunting used animals to do her dirty work. Cats and dogs had robbed banks. A boa constrictor stole a Lamborghini. Meanwhile, people had been reported acting oddly. One guy crawled everywhere on his belly for days and nearly caused a multi-car pileup before the cops got him to safety. Three days later, Jacob Smythe woke up in the psych ward of the local hospital. He, and others like him, had no memory of their odd behavior, nor could they explain themselves.
After the story pinged Sam's radar — on Facebook of all places — he and Dean began the near cross country journey to Northampton, Massachusetts. Now, a week later, Dean had figured out it was a vunas witch and Sam had tracked down her possible location: this historic house near Smith College, where most of the human incidents had taken place.
Sam turned away from the cat, intent on heading back into the hall so he could finish his half of the search and meet up with Dean again. He never saw the middle-aged woman step out of the shadows behind the cat. He did hear her soft whisper though. Sam was only halfway turned when his knees buckled suddenly and he passed out.
2.
Dean had a bad feeling, like really bad. He'd finished searching his half of the house, and there was no sign of Sam. He'd have called if he found something or met up with Dean if the house was clear. Something was wrong, Dean could feel it.
The hall he was walking down was empty and dark. He'd already finished most of the second floor, and there were only two rooms left before he reached the attic. Dean hated attics; They always had something creepy. Distracted by his thoughts and his search, Dean never saw the cat he tripped over.
The damn thing twined around his ankles and sent him crashing to the ground. Dean cursed loudly, knowing any chance of secrecy was blown, and propped himself up on his elbows. The cat immediately walked up his chest and sat down. It stared really hard at him, like it was willing its thoughts across the empty space between them. Dean cursed again and shoved it off.
The cat let out a meow of protest, but Dean ignored it as he picked himself up. He frowned for a moment as he considered his options. If Sam was nearby, he would have heard the noise Dean made when he fell and come to investigate. The witch also would have heard and would be long gone. Snorting, Dean glared at the cat and cautiously approached the next door.
The cat seemed determined to trip him again. Dean nudged it aside roughly with his foot.
"Look, cat," he growled, "I really don't have time for this. So would you please move?"
He had a moment of disbelief that he was talking to a freakin' cat, but he cleared the doorway at that moment, and the tableau in front of him was much more interesting.
Sam was in the room along with an older woman with crazy hair. Dean blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, when he realized his brother was curled up in the woman — witches' lap. He totally didn't fit. Only his head and shoulders were actually on her lap, his arms were extended across her knees, and the rest of Sam was sprawled across the floor.
"Sam!" Dean barked, gun up, safety off, ready to blow the bitch to hell right the fuck now. At his feet, the cat meowed loudly and tried to climb his leg. "Sonuvabitch!"
The woman laughed. "Language."
Dean cursed again, shaking the cat off so he could aim his gun. Sam was too close to the witch for Dean to have a clear shot. "I'll say whatever the hell I want to."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," she replied smugly, stroking over Sam's hair and lingering behind his ear. Sam seemed to be purring — or trying to — and rubbed his cheek against her hand. Dean would've laughed if he wasn't so scared.
"OK. How 'bout we trade? I'll keep it G rated if you give me back my brother."
The witch laughed again, shifting enough to make Sam glare up at her. Dean gritted his teeth and eased the death-grip he had on his gun. "I can't give you something you already have."
The cat chose that moment to launch itself up the length of Dean's body, landing on his shoulder and perching there. Its weight threw off Dean's aim, and he stumbled. The cat hissed and spat. Dean got a face full of bottlebrush tail when he turned his head.
"Now, I'm afraid I have to go. It's time for din-din," the witch confided. Sam's head shot up at the word "din-din," and the witch spent a moment cooing in ridiculously high baby-talk at him. When she turned back to Dean, her eyes were sharp and cold. "I wouldn't follow me. My babies and I don't like to be disturbed."
Dean cursed and tried to get a clear shot. The cat spat and dug its claws into Dean's shoulder. And the witch disappeared. Sam vanished along with her.
3.
Dean lurched toward the witch in a fruitless attempt to stop her. He was forced to stop by the twenty razor sharp claws digging in to him.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean spat, trying to dislodge his passenger without doing more damage to his already torn skin. "Get off me, asshole."
By the time Dean got free, the witch could already be in California, his shirt was spotted with holes and blood, and the cat had calmed down a bit. The little monster was now curled up quite happily on Dean's boots. Only the steady thump thump of tail on leather let Dean know it was alive.
Dean took a deep, shaky breath as he tucked his gun into the back of his waistband. Sam was gone, in the clutches of some psychotic bitch, who would do God knew what to him. Dean was on his own until he could find Sam. He really didn't like the sound of that alone part. Dean didn't do alone well.
"Well, at least I have you, tiger," he muttered unhappily as he stared down at his feline companion. Again, he wondered why he was talking to the animal. It's not like it understood what he was saying.
With a heavy sigh, Dean jerked his foot free and slumped down the stairs. Once outside the house, he looked back up at the dark, blank windows. His teeth ground together as he silently made Sam and the witch a promise. He would get Sam back, he would stop the bitch, and he would happily salt and burn her bones — multiple times.
Dean was just climbing into the Impala, his butt almost touching the seat, when a loud thump sounded and he sensed a warm body behind and beneath him. Glancing down quickly, he saw the cat had jumped into the car and was sitting on the seat. Looking at him.
Dean wobbled, unbalanced with only one foot on solid ground and one foot in the car. He gripped the roof desperately to keep himself upright. Then he glared down at the cat.
"I can't take you with me," he said bluntly. "I ride alone, and I don't do pets."
The cat gave him a look that said, very definitely, that Dean was an idiot and he should shut up now. When Dean was opening his mouth to retort, the cat calmly stood up and walked to the passenger seat. It sat down again and turned disapproving yellow eyes on Dean.
Dean really wanted to yell at the cat, tell it to scram, but something stopped him. He crossed his arms and stared suspiciously at his unwelcome passenger. This cat was not normal, he could tell. There was just something . . . un-cat like about it. In Dean's mind, that could mean two things: one, that it was some kind of spy sent by the witch to keep tabs on Dean; or two, the cat was a victim of one of the witch's spells. Dean really hoped it was door number two. He had to find Sam. He had to save his brother.
Sighing and grumbling under his breath, Dean got in the car — this time without a furry seat cushion. He put the key in the ignition and looked at the cat. "OK, fuzzball. Here's the deal. You can come with me, but you don't shed, and you don't put holes in the seats. All right?"
The cat blinked and lowered its head in a solemn almost-nod. Dean treated the animal to the full force of his suspicious glare for a long moment before he finally started the car up and pulled away from the curb.
The cat curled up on the seat, closed its eyes, and tucked its paws under its chest. It was the poster child for feline contentment. Dean snorted and drove carefully down the deserted streets. He hated cats.
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Format Note: The numbers between sections show which day I wrote this, so 1 means the first day's chapter, 2 is the second day's, and so on. I've smooshed the original updates into larger chapters to make reading and posting easier.