The bond shared by the angel Castiel and the human hunter Dean Winchester is profound. It provides a connection that goes beyond words. And it is this connection, the wordless cry for help ringing through it, which makes the angel drop everything and fling himself towards moonlit Earth and the middle of a dense pine wood.

Touching down soundlessly, Castiel turns in a slow circle looking for the hunter. He is nowhere to be seen. The forest floor is upset, though, and under the dry needles the angel thinks he can detect a faint scent of magic that stirs a distant memory.

The distress call had been dual in nature and – as most things relating to Dean are, the angel readily acknowledges – ambiguous. Castiel clings to that knowledge now, letting it calm him, however little. For whereas Dean's soul had been permeated by a frankly panicked helphelphelp (or possibly crapcrapcrap, no actual prayer means no real words, after all), there had been an intermingling current of you've got to be fucking kiddin' me, far more exasperated than afraid. While the panic was probably responsible for flaring the bond enough for Castiel to notice it, he figures the exasperation was the foremost and acknowledged part of Dean's reactions. Also, that would explain why the human hasn't actually voiced a prayer.

Castiel refuses to consider any other possible explanations.

As the angel ventures further into the forest he casts about gently for Dean's thoughts. Though he has promised the hunter not to read his mind any more, the human's general loudness will serve perfectly as a beacon to Castiel.

Except, he is met with silence.

The sense of unease Castiel has so far managed to repress starts rearing its head again. Where is Dean? What is he doing in the middle of these woods, anyway? Is he alone, or is his brother with him?

A twig snaps under the sole of Castiel's dress shoe. A low, menacing growl erupts from the darkness somewhere to his left. Ceasing to breathe, he turns slowly and soundlessly. A pair of yellow eyes stare out from the dark. The angel adjusts his stance minutely, readying his sword just outside the plane of visibility. He holds no fear of any of his Father's creatures, but then he highly doubts any of them would actually growl at him.

The eyes leap.

Part of the dense shadow under the trees seems to turn solid, and the shape that lands in front of him is that of a large, black panther. Castiel still hasn't drawn his sword. The cat stares. The angel stares.

With a sudden clarity Castiel places the scent of the spell. He has come across it before; it is a feline transfiguration charm. It is meant to turn its target into a kitten. He catches the smile before it breaks his face in half and the only trace of it is a slight twitch of his lips.

The jaguar is looking at him calmly and, if it is possibly for a 250 lb cat, a little smugly. If Castiel didn't know better, he would say the growl had been intended to startle him, just for the fun of it. He pauses. He doesn't know better. He wonders if this particular cat knows the intent behind the transfiguration charm. It would probably entertain him, Castiel muses.

He relaxes his stance fully, and lets go of the thread of grace tied to his sword. At least he has the answer to one of his questions now.

"Where is your brother, Sam?"

The black monster huffs and twitches its tail. After staring at the angel for another second, it starts trudging back the way it came.

Castiel keeps close and lets a little more of his grace support his vessel's eyes. The moon can barely penetrate the millions of needles, and the panther is as good as invisible in the dark.

"Sam?" he prods mutedly after a while. The big cat's tail twitches in acknowledgement.

Castiel reaches out with his mind. Though neither of the brothers appreciates his ability to read thoughts, it would be convenient if he could glean something from the younger Winchester's mind right now. Of all the languages the angel speak, tail-twitching isn't one of them. He thinks Sam would be more amenable to the experiment, anyway, if he could actually ask. And get an answer.

There's silence. It is the same sort of empty void that he got when trying to listen for Dean. He suspects the witch who cast the spell tried to add some properties to hinder communication. Well, mission accomplished. He realises he has been quiet for too long, when the dark jaguar stops and looks over its shoulder at him.

"I had hoped I would be able to communicate more... efficiently with you," the cat huffs, "It does not seem to be the case, however."

Sam starts walking again.

"Do you actually know where your brother is, or are you just..." his hesitation earns him another quick glance from the golden eyes, "Are you actually tracking him by scent?"

A low growl is the only answer and for a long while there is silence. Castiel is watching his steps now, surreptitiously letting a little of his grace pillow his thread. The large predator in front of him is naturally stealthy.

They come upon a perfectly circular clearing which Sam crosses, hastening his pace. Castiel can see why. On the opposite side of the open space are more signs of struggle. Diving under the trees again, Castiel begins to see traces of blood. His breathing speeds up. His heart beats harder. (It's so very human.)

Emerging into a smaller clearing, Castiel notices several things at once. This clearing looks like a natural break in the trees. It has two paths leading from it. At the end of one, he can just make out the looming form of a wooden cottage. A few steps down the other is a body.

The angel guesses that it is the witch responsible for the most badly executed kitten-spell, he has ever seen. The hair is a horrible, dyed red that somehow only accentuates the blood which covers most of the woman's face and chest. Her throat is ripped out, as though by a feral beast. That idea is only reinforced as a low growl suddenly ripples out next to him. Sam's predator senses has caught another presence before Castiel's angelic ones.

From the trees next to the witch's body another cat emerges and Sam quiets. Logic immediately tells Castiel that this is Dean. He is as much of a kitten as his little brother. Less, even. Though the jaguar at Castiel's side is big for its species, the golden cat in front of him is taller, longer, and altogether bigger. He would guess Dean has 100 lb, may 150 lb on his brother right now.

And the lion is magnificent. His golden fur lies smoothly over the contours of strong muscle, pliant as the big cat watches, but with potential that even his relaxed stance cannot quite conceal. The long tail is still and the paws show no traces of the deadly claws Castiel knows they hide. His mane is a few shades darker than his fur and covers his neck as well as his shoulders and chest, providing protection from competitors he will never meet in this forest. His eyes are brilliant, more golden than green now, but no less fascinating to the angel. They seem to glow, offset by the vibrant red. It is only then that Castiel really notices; the lion's muzzle is covered in the witch's blood.

Dean's hunted and killed the witch. It turned out even more messy than normally.

Castiel represses an exasperated sigh. Having the witch alive would have been good. Considering how badly she messed up the spell he is slightly worried about the repercussions to his ability to reverse it on grace alone.

The lion finally trudges over to him. It glances shortly at the black cat at his side, then resumes staring at Castiel. The angel presses two fingers to the lion's head, and the cat closes its eyes.

This time Castiel sighs. He was right. Nothing happens.

The lion huffs and nudges him with its large head. Castiel figures it would have toppled him, had he been human.

"Sorry, Dean. This is not something I can undo easily."

The lion grumbles. The black panther lets out a sound somewhere between a hiss and an actual meow. Dean stares at Sam. Castiel decides the sound was probably inquisitive.

"If the spell had been cast properly, reversing it would have been simple."

Both the large cats stare at him. Castiel stares back. After a while Dean tilts his head. Sam copies him. Castiel represses the urge to laugh uncontrollably. That would probably scare the brothers. Inquisitive. Right.

"Best I can tell, the witch," he nods towards the broken body of the woman and Dean tenses; Castiel wonders whether with ire or guilt, "Well, she tried to cast a feline transfiguration charm." More tilted heads. "She tried to turn you into kittens."

Turns out, cats can laugh.

Castiel smiles indulgently as the two oversized felines that are his best friends huff out weird bursts of air. As they calm down, the smallest trace of his amusement lingers in the slight twist of his lips. Dean nudges him again.

"She did something to block communication, too. Could be that that is what messed up the spell. I can't hear your thoughts, even if I listen for them."

Dean makes a movement with one shoulder, before he nods his head once. Castiel just looks at him.

"I can't read your body language when you are human, Dean."

Sam manages a snort. Castiel thinks the expression on Dean's face is offended. Annoyed. Exasperated. Yeah, something along those lines.

"Standing around here all night will not be very productive. I could take you back to your motel? But I don't know where you are staying. I suppose I could look for the Impala when in flight..." Dean is staring at him, and Castiel feels as though there is something he is missing. "In this kind of situation I would assume you would want to do some research for possible solutions?" Castiel cannot help the tentative tone that creeps into his voice. There is definitely something he is missing.

Dean actually shakes his head at him, before he, seemingly deliberately, shakes his entire body in a slow, travelling wave. He then promptly proceeds to pat Sam harshly on the head with his massive paw. Sam snarls and swipes at his brother, claws only almost sheathed. Castiel feels foolish when he realises what Dean is saying.

"You cannot research in your current forms, of course. You probably should not return to your motel, either."

Dean gives him a look that even Castiel can translate to well, duh.

"I suppose I shall have to find a way to restore you. But we should probably find somewhere for you to stay meanwhile." Castiel ponders this. Though the cats are hunters rather than actual predators, he doesn't think letting them near civilisation is a very good idea.

Sam makes a noise. The angel spares him a glance, but his whiskered face hasn't become more expressive over the last few seconds.

Castiel supposes he could (should?) ask Bobby Singer for assistance. But the older hunter's house is angel-proofed and if he were to take the large cats anywhere, he does not want to land somewhere even remotely public. Or accessible at all. The Winchesters have their fair share of enemies as well, some of which at least, would be able to take advantage of the brothers' altered state.

Sam's making more noises now. There's something that's not quite hissing, and something that's almost a clicking in his throat and he stands and moves a few paces across the clearing. Castiel has absolutely no idea what he is trying to say.

But Dean gets up to follow, only to stop a little before he reaches Sam's side. He is looking at something through the trees. Then the lion looks over at Castiel, and the angel is convinced that both cats want something from him. He still doesn't know what.

Dean seems to realise this and trudges over in a relaxed jog that makes Castiel marvel at the work of the muscles under the predator's skin. His fur is still stained red. Castiel is transfixed, and only turns his gaze as Dean moves past him. Blinking once, he starts to turn towards the lion now behind him, and the movement allows Dean to actually push him a few steps forward, as he bumps his head into Castiel's back.

Move. That's what the cats want. Okay, he can do that.

Castiel starts walking towards Sam. As he catches up, Sam starts moving down the path from the clearing which leads to the little cottage. Dean passes Castiel to walk in front with his brother. The jaguar looks over at the lion, and it is clear something passes between them. It seems as though Dean raises one shoulder a little, still without breaking stride, and huffs out a sound that has a definite exasperated tinge. Sam shakes his head lightly.

"I wonder if you understand each other because you are used to communicate silently, or if it is because you both are cats," Castiel muses out loud. He has the vague sense that that most people would feel weird addressing animals like this. But he is not human, and he is not talking to cats, anyway.

Both cats are regarding him. Dean bobs his head once.

"Yes? But 'yes' to which part?"

Even as a predator not relying on speed, Dean's patience doesn't seem much improved. He bobs his head once, waits a second, and then bobs it twice in quick succession. Then he gives Castiel a stare, which the angel is almost sure would come with raised eyebrows if he had still been human.

"Oh."

Dean bobs his head once again.

"First option. You are able to understand each other because you know each other that well." Castiel thinks he understands now. He is kind off proud.

The lion purrs. The angel and the jaguar both stop and stare at him. The lion growls. The jaguar starts moving again, and the angel feels oddly reassured, too. A growling Dean makes more sense than a purring one. But he'll take it as affirmation.

Both cats stop just before they leave the cover of the tress to eye the cottage warily. Castiel has no trouble understanding that reaction – if for no other reason that it is identical to his own. Dean is scenting the air, but he isn't getting anything definitive if his lack of movement is anything to go by. The moon breaks free from the clouds and momentarily illuminates the wooden structure with a ghostly light. Castiel thinks it is a good thing that the Winchesters are hunters. He knows enough about humans to recognise how eerie a sight the little building makes for.

Of course, anyone but a hunter would probably be too busy freaking out over having been turned into a cat (no matter the size), to pay much attention to the sights.

When the hunters remain unmoving, Castiel extends his grace towards the cottage. When he is with the Winchesters he is used to take the back seat both literally and figuratively. He wants to help, but he rarely takes the initiative. For this particular hunt (or quest more like) he figures he will have to. He's the only one with opposable thumbs, after all. They're not even his own.

"It's empty," he's met with two sets of reflective predator eyes, "There are no life forces inside. Well, none that are large enough to constitute a human, anyway. Or anything, ah, humanoid."

Dean nods at him once, then crosses the open space between the trees and the veranda. Sam follows. Eventually, so does Castiel.

There is something in the forest. It's too far away for him to tell what yet; it's pure luck that he even noticed. But it's definitely there. Still not human, the angel thinks. But... Humanoid? Possibly. He should probably mention it to the brothers.

When Castiel makes it onto the porch, Dean is giving opening the door a valiant attempt. It's a turn knob, and his paws are much too large for it. Their being paws, and thus not meant to operate that kind of contraption, aside, Sam would probably have better luck simply because of the size difference.

Sam for his part looks mostly entertained. (He would probably be laughing hard, if he was human, Castiel muses. It's the only explanation the angel can come up with for why the cat's expression is clear enough for him to understand.)

"Let me?" Dean growls a little at him, but removes his paw. He doesn't step back, though, and the lion is a menacing presence. It is truly a magnificent predator.

But Castiel is not exactly a small being himself, vessel notwithstanding. "Could you move? Please?" he huffs slightly, bodily pushing the lion aside. Dean lets him, but remains a warm precense against his side.