Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke and co. I write for fun and fancy to please old Nancy and you would have to be insane to think anyone would want to pay me for it!
Unusual Ally
Sam sat in front of the TV idly flicking through the channels. It seemed there was nothing even remotely interesting on at this time of night, but he had no intention of going to bed until Dean came back. He still felt uneasy about Dean doing the salt and burn alone. He had no concrete reason to be concerned, which was probably why Dean had won the evening long argument they'd had on the subject, but he still worried. He glared at the leg stretched out in front of him, the ankle resting on a cushion. If it wasn't for that stupid ankle he'd be able to walk and Dean would have had no reason to leave him behind.
He stared at the television screen. He must have come full circle with the channels, he was sure he'd seen these shows before.
"Ouch!" Suddenly it seemed he was being stabbed in the leg with several pins. Was someone using voodoo on him or… oh, it was just the cat.
She was sitting there kneading him like he was bread dough or something. She'd been hanging around from the moment Sam and Dean had arrived at the motel and for some reason seemed to spend a lot of time trying to get into their room. Sam sort of liked her; it was the first time he'd had anything even remotely like a pet. Dean, on the other hand, had been suspicious of her and had insisted they check she really was a cat before they let her inside. Since the EMF meter hadn't responded to her and the holy water had elicited nothing more than an extremely pissed off look in Dean's direction she'd been near enough living with them for the past three days. At present she was curled up next to Sam, asleep until the unexpected assault on his thigh.
Sam removed the offending paw and went back to channel surfing, finally settling on a game show. The contestants were either brain dead or thought there was a fantastic prize for whoever demonstrated the most stupidity, but it was better than infomercials. Sam had watched so many of those that he though he'd puke if he heard the phrase "and that's not all!" ever again.
He was trying not to fall asleep, wondering vaguely if the reason the contestants were seated was because none of them were intelligent enough to walk and talk at the same time, when the air around him suddenly went cold. Something hissed beside him. Sam turned to see the cat standing, hair on end, back arched and teeth bared, staring at something in front of them that Sam couldn't see. The picture on the TV flickered; static pouring from the speakers. The clock had probably stopped too, Sam thought. The spirit might as well hang up a neon sign its presence was so obvious.
Unfortunately Sam's salt gun was on the other side of the room and with his badly sprained ankle he wasn't likely to get to it any time soon. The only weapons he had on him were a handgun and a knife made of steel, both about as useful for fending off a spirit as a twig would be in the same situation with a bear. There was nothing else in sight that was helpful either. Sam conceded that the only thing to do was to hope that his ankle had improved some since he sat down and try to get to that salt gun. He slowly lowered his bad foot to the floor and eased himself off the ratty two seater sofa. Pain shot through his leg as though he'd stepped on a knife. He swore loudly and fell to the ground.
Having finished turning the air a nice shade of blue to go with the drop in temperature, Sam decided he'd just have to try crawling. It was uncomfortable and he was fairly certain there were things in this carpet that he just didn't want to touch but, as long as he kept his foot from touching the ground, the pain from his ankle was bearable. The situation was ridiculous. Surely if either of them was going to get chased by a spirit tonight it should have been Dean. After all, he was the one digging up the bones of a woman who had died so pissed off with her husband that she'd hung around and made a hobby of killing every man who entered the house she'd died in. All Sam had done tonight was discover a whole knew low in terms of television programming.
He was half way across the room on his hands and knees when the spirit materialised in front of him. It was a young man who was covered in what looked like blood and carrying a large and nasty looking knife. Sam struggled wildly as it lifted him by the hair. The knife was poised to cut his throat when an enraged cry rang out. Sam didn't dare look round to see what it was but he soon knew as the cat launched itself at the spirit, claws out and mouth open as it filled the air with growls, hisses and angry screams. The spirit dropped Sam in surprise and tried to stab the cat but for some reason the knife just went straight through as though the cat was made of air. With a final cry the cat bit hard on the spirit's shoulder; sinking its teeth in as far as they could go. There was a crack and the spirit vanished, the cat dropping gently to the ground.
Finally back on the sofa, after another journey on his hands and knees, Sam stared unseeing at the TV wondering if he'd been imagining things. The cat was back in her place next to him busily washing herself as though dealing with murderous spirits was entirely normal. Satisfied that she was clean, she climbed into Sam's lap purring loudly and looked at him intently. Sam stared back then watched as she settled herself to sleep again.
Just before she closed her eyes Sam saw something he hadn't noticed before. The cat's eyes were the same shade of green as Dean's.