Instinctive
"If a cat does something, we call it instinct; if we do the same thing, for the same reason, we call it intelligence." - William Cuppy
"Castiel? Brother, are you listening to me?"
The demanding words shook Castiel from his reverie, and the angel turned away from the open window. Beyond, the fifty-six year old man, in whose Heaven they resided, made his way slowly along the garden path. His mind had recreated the presence of his wife, and they spoke together in hushed tones.
If angels were not meant to feel no emotion, Castiel may have found the sight heartwarming. But, as it was, he did not.
"Yes, Zachariah. I am listening." Castiel clasped his hands behind his back, holding the seraph's gaze steadily.
"Good. Now, as I was saying, we have come to the agreement that your actions are what led to this rift between the Host and the Winchesters." Well, that was putting it mildly. He very much doubted that Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, had appreciated Castiel's devastating right hook.
"It was necessary," Castiel said firmly. Zachariah glanced at the young – relatively speaking – angel, and then exhaled in a sigh.
"No one doubts your word, brother," he assured him, "despite the fact that you have not said much on the subject."
Castiel's gaze shifted, clashing with Zachariah's. His eyebrows moved slightly, forming the smallest of scowls. "Gabriel is fully aware of all that transpired," he said stiffly. "If he was of the opinion that I should share it with you, he did not mention it."
Zachariah swallowed, and Castiel could see the way he struggled to keep a tight leash over his emotions. It was almost refreshing, to see the stuffy seraph so close to losing control. But an archangel's authority was absolute – even if that archangel happened to be in an 'angelic witness protection program'.
"Of course," Zachariah said smoothly. "But I digress. The Host has seen it as your fault that this rift was created – and now, you must be the one to mend it. Michael must have his vessel when the day comes."
"I do not believe I am the one-"
"But you must be! Michael is certain that you have the best chance to reestablish good relationships between us once more. Castiel," Zachariah's voice turned disapproving, "preparing the Righteous Man to be the Michael Sword is an honor. Treat it as such."
Castiel bowed his head. If Michael had truly ordered it, there was no way he could disobey. "Of course, brother," he murmured. Well, there was one.
Surely, Gabriel would help his little brother.
With the muted fluttering of Castiel's large, thick, black wings, the Angel of Thursday vanished.
When Castiel finished informing Gabriel of all that Zachariah had told him, the archangel wasted approximately one-point-three seconds in attempting to get himself under control, before bursting into peals of laughter. "Father," he giggled, exaggeratedly wiping away a tear, "that's hilarious."
"Gabriel…" the younger brother began.
"Yeah, yeah." Gabriel snapped his fingers, and then crunched happily into the chocolate bar that had appeared in his fist. He shrugged as he spoke, his mouth full of the human food; "Don't get your knickers in a twist."
Castiel sighed, and settled back against the seat of his brother's sofa. "I will not lower myself into befriending Dean Winchester again," he growled.
"Oh, please." Gabe waved away the words with a snort. "You wasted forty years in Hell to get his sorry ass outta there. It was one incident – you can't stay grumpy for eternity, bro."
"I can," Castiel insisted, crossing his arms. Father, he knew he was behaving like a fledgling, but he didn't want to stop. Surely, Castiel had the right to be angry. That emotion was acceptable – in moderation.
"Please," Gabriel scoffed. " Besides, I'm surprised you stopped him at all."
Castiel half-rose from his chair, asking, "What?"
"Ugh. Never mind. You'll find out soon enough."
Castiel narrowed his eyes, but Gabriel was immune to his glare. He'd finished the chocolate, and now sucked on an obnoxiously large, rainbow lollipop. He tried once more, but Gabe silenced him.
"Nuh-uh, Cassie. This is how I see it; you have to go back, so stop complaining. I can't help you!"
"But-" Castiel broke off with a frustrated groan. No, his emotions were too strong today. The angel inhaled slowly, forcing them under his control once more. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. "The Winchesters cannot stand my very presence, I am sure. As I cannot stand Dean's," he added quickly. "How can I 'befriend' them, as Michael wishes?"
There was a long moment of silence, until a brilliant smile spread onto Gabriel's face. Castiel's heart sunk just at the sight of it, as he knew his brother had thought of something either legendarily foolish, or dangerously intelligent.
"Well, Cassie, I see your problem." Gabe's grin grew wider. "How can you befriend the Winchesters, when they cannot stand your presence?" he quoted. "Oh, but the answer is simple: it mustn't be your presence then, at all."
Gabriel spun, and snapped his fingers before Castiel could even fully register his words. There was a bright flash that enveloped the room, blinding the angel. Fire enveloped his limbs, and Castiel was suddenly faced with the most exquisite agony he had ever known. Bones snapped and shuddered, his muscles deteriorating at hyper-speed, and his skin shrunk in on itself. A peculiar sensation raced up and down his body, almost as though needles were forcing themselves out of his skin.
Then came the most painful break of all. Castiel felt a giant hand take his wings and snap them, folding the black mess of feathers together and using his own grace to wrap it together in a tight bundle. Pain lanced down his spine, and the angel screamed in agony.
It was over. Castiel blinked groggily, and picked himself up from the floor. It seemed much colder than before. He could feel the loss of his wings like a physical ache. Castiel could still feel the small, powerful bundle of grace and wings – but he could not access it as he could before. A tiny, tiny thread was available to him. Castiel drew on it, absorbing the power, but it was not enough.
Suddenly, large boulders invaded his vision. Castiel felt himself being picked up by the scruff of his neck, and was brought face to face with Gabriel.
"Aw, look at the widdle puddy tat," the archangel giggled.
Castiel hissed – hissed? – and swiped out at his brother's wrist. His claws simply bounced off the angel's skin though, and Gabriel smiled. "Sorry that it hurt, bro, but this is for your own good."
Gabriel turned, cradling Castiel towards his chest as he marched to the other side of the room. The archangel reversed his grip, shoving the angel towards the reflective surface of a mirror. Castiel gasped.
With electric blue eyes – the same colour as his previous vessel's – a bright pink nose, long whiskers, fluffy, dark black fur, too-big paws, and a swishing tail, the kitten that stared back at him was shocking. Its ears flattened against its head, even as Castiel felt his own mimic the gesture.
"Aren't you adorable?" Gabriel near-squealed. "The Winchesters will not be able to resist a face like that."
Oh, Father. This was not happening.
"Get ready to meet your new family, Cassie," Gabe laughed, transferring the kitten to one hand. He winked at the black cat, whom stared back in panic. Gabriel could not be serious.
But the archangel snapped his fingers, and the world dissolved around Castiel.
Castiel blinked, slowly, as the world un-blurred around him. The ground beneath his paws was cold, wet, and uneven. Castiel stretched, and felt his claws retract as he settled into a much more relaxed position.
Father help him. Castiel would find Gabriel, and insist that he reverse the transformation.
Something trailed along the very edges of his grace, and Castiel bolted upright. The air suddenly seemed infused with lightning, and it caused his black fur to stand on end. Castiel glanced around, confused as to what had so abruptly alerted him – and why.
He was alone in a dark, supermarket parking lot. From the looks of it, the town he had arrived in was a small, dirty one, and it was very late. Louts and drunkards littered the streets, and Castiel glanced at the sky. It was just past eleven, it seemed.
The supermarket, though closed, shed light on the small parking lot, and Castiel slowly grew uneasy. What if someone saw him? The most logical human reaction would be for them to either take the kitten in, and set up signs alerting the town in case he were somebody's pet, or to take Castiel to the local pound.
Castiel didn't even want to know what would happen to him, if those whom found him were inebriated.
He darted into the shadows, flicking his tail as the ground disappeared beneath his feet much, much slower than he was used to. Oh, Castiel was still fast – well, as fast as a kitten could be – but there was nothing in this universe faster than the flight of an angel.
Something tugged at Castiel's paws, and he turned almost automatically to the left. After a moment, he recognized it as his grace. It was… leading him? But where? Why? And to whom?
His grace prompted him once more, and Castiel trotted forward. A long, dark alley stretched before him, and the kitten meowed pitifully. He was too weak in this form, and alleyways were dangerous.
You're an angel, you ass, his mind snapped. Hurry up!
Reluctantly, he moved forward once more. It was dark, and smelly, and some foul liquid pooled to the left side. Castiel's nose twitched, and he identified it a moment later as urine. He scuttled away from it, lifting his paws from the dirty ground as far as he could.
Once he was free of the dark tunnel, Castiel ran to cover. His fur blended almost perfectly, a slightly too-dark shadow, but it was as good as he could have hoped for.
Castiel really did not want to be found. Not like this.
His grace nudged him down the street, and Castiel succumbed. He was interested, and a little confused, on where it wanted to take him. Gabriel had done his work well, and the little kitten could only access a tiny thread of his once vast grace. As he walked, Castiel made an attempt to look around. His eyes were sharper than Jimmy's had been, and they saw much better in the dark.
It appeared his grace had led him from the semi-respectable part of town to the seething underbelly. He was almost a little shocked that they were not further apart – what if a child were to wander, unsupervised, to one of these unholy dens of iniquity? Strip clubs and bars were plentiful in the streets, each one smelling of alcohol, leather, and sweat.
Wait. Of course. Castiel seethed with rage. Father help him – he knew where his grace was leading him. Where Gabriel was leading him. Because, where else could the tiny kitten find refuge? Where else could Castiel trust to be taken care of, until the time as he could transform himself back? Where else, in fact, had he been ordered to go?
The tiny black kitten was shaking in fury. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Gabriel was right.
And Gabriel was leading him to none other than Dean Winchester.
It was half an hour later when Castiel finally arrived at the bar where, inside, he knew the Winchesters would be. The road – busy for the late hour – had taken the kitten much courage to cross. The feat that would have been simple as an angel, had taken him more than twenty minutes as a kitten. It seemed this vessel had strong instincts, and none of them were willing to walk into oncoming traffic.
The Recovery Room was the name of the bar that his grace had led him to, and Castiel flicked his tail in disapproval as he passed. He could already smell its occupants, and the name seemed somewhat misleading.
Castiel crept slowly through the open door. Loud noises attacked his ears, and he flattened them in fright. His tail bristled automatically, and a hiss slipped from his lips before he could catch it. Castiel bit off the sound quickly, but it appeared no one had noticed.
His grace nudged at his side, and Castiel moved further into the dirty bar. Shadows were plentiful, and he crept along them, following the trail. Booths lined the walls, their leather seats cracked, with legs pressing firmly into the ground. He dashed beneath them, careful to keep his paws relaxed and the claws retracted; else they click along the wooden floorboards.
There, his grace whispered. Castiel lifted his gaze.
Across the room, staring intently into a dimmed computer screen, was Sam. Castiel felt relief flood through him at the sight – finally, someone whom could help him!
He scampered across the dirty floor. But the bar was crowded, and Castiel still unused to having four limbs – he slipped and tumbled, crashing into a smooth, long pair of legs.
Castiel glanced up, just as the woman glanced down. Bright red heels were attached to her legs, which led up over curvy hips, a flat stomach, and an overflowing chest. The angel thought that her shirt was a little too tight.
The woman smiled, and bent down to scoop up the small kitten. Her long nails pressed uncomfortably into his ribs, and Castiel hissed. She simply cooed, and cradled the kitten to her chest. She murmured nonsensical words of comfort into his ears, dragging her hand along the thick fur of his back.
Castiel squirmed, panicking. Where was Sam when you need him? But then, the man behind the bar looked up. "Hey, lady," he called, scowling. "You can't bring pets in here!"
"Oh, she's not mine," the woman giggled. 'She?'? Castiel may not have had a gender, but the vessel was male. He hissed again, and tried to leap from her grip. Humans were strong, though, and the female shook him lightly. "She just wandered in here, I guess."
"Well, get her out of here," the barman answered distrustfully. He tipped his head towards the open door. "We have a strict policy."
"No!" Castiel cried, but the sound came out as an indignant yowl.
The scene had attracted some attention, and as the woman marched down the bar, several people turned to catch a glimpse of the small kitten. Castiel tried, once again, to squirm free of her grip, but it was useless.
Just as he was tossed onto the street, Castiel turned and glanced back into the bar. His piercing blue gaze clashed with a familiar green, and the angelic kitten tried to rush back in. Unfortunately, the woman closed the door just in time, and his nose bumped into the hardened wood.
Castiel settled back onto his two back paws, and tried scratching at the door. He tipped his head back and meowed pitifully. There was no response. Indignant anger pounded through the small kitten's body. He was an angel of the Lord! He deserved their respect!
Castiel let slip a final hiss, before turning on one paw and trotting into the car park. One fact was glaringly obvious – he was powerless in this form, and needed outside help. And the closest form of that was currently locked behind those big, wooden doors.
But not for long.
Castiel spotted the '67 Chevy Impala almost too easily. It stood out in stark contrast to the other, more modern cars, and he trotted towards it on light paws. He had been planning on curling up besides its front wheels and waiting for the Winchesters to arrive – but as the cold air threaded unwelcoming fingers through his thick fur, he quickly changed his mind. The passenger window was partially open, and the car beside it had a low hood.
Castiel jumped up nimbly, his claws lightly scratching the red paint. He shot a glance towards the window, and bunched his muscles before leaping between the small gap.
His tiny, kitten body only just squeezed through, and Castiel tumbled painfully onto the gear stick. A small meow slipped from his mouth, and Castiel quickly scrambled into the nearest seat, his right side pounding painfully.
Slowly, his grace wrapped around his injured flank. It sank deep comfort into his skin, relieving the pain and working to remove the bruises. Castiel had healed much more quickly in his human vessel, but he knew that the pain and bruises would be gone by morning.
Castiel curled up on the leather seat, tucking his furry head between his two paws. It was still cold, but the car blocked the cold wind, and for that the angel was grateful. His eyes blinked, but now that he was resting, he could feel the weariness of his small kitten body. Slowly, his body heat began to warm up the leather seat, and Castiel relaxed even further.
It was fifteen minutes before Castiel succumbed, slipping into an untroubled slumber. Angels did not usually sleep, but this vessel had surprisingly strong instincts. Castiel was soon breathing slowly and quietly, his mind lost in dreams of his siblings and their far-away home.
And when Sam and Dean Winchester finally returned, that was how they found him.
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! This is my first Supernatural fanfic, and so any tips and/or constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. However, since this is the first chapter, I have a few house-keeping issues I need to deal with.
Firstly - and I'm honestly sorry for this - I have no idea how often this can be updated. The second chapter is already well under way, but I'm hoping to at least have chapter three ready before the next one is uploaded. This will, most likely, have occurred by next week - but no promises!
Secondly, I know that the beginning of this chapter was probably confusing for you. That's all right - I intended it to be! Because while this might look like your typical, fluffy kitten!Castiel fic, I promise I have some tricks stashed up my sleeve. Don't worry though, there will be plenty of fluff. Perhaps, also, a tiny teaspoon of angst. Just a little one. :) Everything will be cleared up in good time.
Thirdly, I do not have any claim to the cover image of this story. Unfortunately, I could not find the artist, but if you know whom it is, please drop me a line! I will be glad to give them credit for such an amazing image.
Lastly, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you thought! :)