Sometimes Castiel wondered how it happened, even now observing it with his own blue eyes he could barely believe it. He told people, other people in the scientific community even, showed them his findings and they called him a fraud. Castiel was damned if he even knew why he kept studying the creature. It seemed no amount of evidence was enough to prove its existence and yet he kept at it, like Sisyphus rolling that damned boulder for all of eternity. As far as boulders went though, his was certainly pretty. Cough. Pretty puzzling, that's what Cas meant, he's sure of it.
It might have been easier to prove the beast's existence if Castiel was willing show it to someone directly, for surely they would believe what they could see with their own eyes, potentially touch with their own hands. Castiel didn't want to though. He didn't think he could trust them. What if they took it away from him, worse than that what if they touched it, coveted what was his alone. No wait, not that last bit, Castiel had no idea where that came from. What he meant was he didn't want the creature exhibited like some sort of freak show, poked at like an animal in a zoo.
How had it happened? Castiel's own brother, Gabriel had found the beast on a hunting trip once and told his nerdy biologist brother, Castiel. Like so many after him, Castiel had refused to believe such a thing existed. Gabe, said "Fine, Cassie, come see for yourself. I think I found its den last time." Castiel had gone and when he had seen it, he'd gone back better prepared, with a tranquilizer gun. He'd knocked it out, dragged it into the back of his truck and set it up in the habitat he'd prepared in his lab after firing his assistants. Like he said, Castiel just didn't trust other people around the creature, barely trusted himself.
I mean the thing was beyond beautiful, beautifully striking that is. The first time Castiel beheld its form in the gloom of that cave, he'd been breathless, spellbound, completely enthralled. Oh how Gabriel had teased him, on the way back. "What's the matter, Cas? Catboy got your tongue? Although you look like you'd enjoy that. Hot for kitty, Cassie?" Castiel hadn't dignified any of that with a response. It was ridiculous. It was hardly a catboy after all, more of a catman. A tawny, well-muscled catman with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. It had ears and a tail swishing above its very nude and pert looking ass. Pert is a technical term, there was really no other way to describe those luscious cheeks. It was big too, tall and absolutely ripped, Castiel had a hell of a time dragging it back to the lab. But oh boy was it worth it.
Castiel called it Dean. It had taken a week or two for the beast to recognize its name. Now when it feels like it, it comes when Cas calls it. It's not a dog after all, it doesn't come every time Castiel calls it, just when it wants to. And then when Dean's feeling particularly affectionate, he will rub his face against Castiel's hand and purr. That sound is pure unadulterated aural sex. Castiel tries to pretend he doesn't, that's he's a cold empirical scientist, but the minute Dean starts purring, it goes straight to Castiel's dick and he'll be hard and panting. Sometimes Cas thinks Dean knows, knows what that sound does to him and makes that sound on purpose, just to mess with him. But in the six months Castiel's studied Dean, tried to teach Dean, Dean's never proven understanding of human behaviours or human speech beyond his own name and the word "food."
Half the time Castiel's supposed to be paying attention to Dean, studying Dean, he's lost wondering how Dean got this way. Was he born this way and if so how? Did some lady lie down with a lion in the biblical sense? Did some Dr. Frank N. Furter type decide to make a catman with tawny fur and a tan to relieve his tension? Is Dean an experiment gone wrong or some kind of warped evolution? These thoughts sometimes keep Castiel up at night wondering what it would take for a blonde catman to relieve some of his tension.
Ever since he started working with Dean, Castiel's been wound tighter than a guitar string. All the pressure's building and there's no release. He hasn't done anything, hasn't made a move, but oh he's thought about it. Sometimes he can think of nothing else, just that soft silky fur and the languidly sensual way Dean stretches. Castiel can't do anything about it though, that would be sick and very unethical, he's supposed to be a scientist after all. He's not some demented primatologist feeling up the monkeys. He's got morals, a sense of decency and some shame. It's so wrong to be contemplating kissing those perfectly shaped lips when Castiel's lifting them out of the way so he can measure Dean's teeth. Which of course leads to thoughts of those sharp fangs scraping against his throat...
At times like those, when his thoughts are generating their own steam heat, Castiel takes a couple deep calming breaths and steps outside for a breather. He likes to head out back and mentally recite the Hippocratic oath while he smokes which is so hypocritical and counter-intuitive that it almost always works. Almost always. Whenever his deranged coping strategy fails him, Castiel just goes home and takes a cold shower. The feelings he has for his charge though never vanish completely, he just buries them as best as he can.