Dean and the kitten Chapter 3
Sam awoke to the familiar crunch of gravel as they pulled up to the auto shop at Bobby's.
"I don't think he's gonna want a cat in his house, Dean."
"Yeah, well.. He can drink and get over it. 'Sides, he invited us, so, he can't turn us away now."
Parking the Impala, Dean reached into the back seat and grabbed the kitten's tub and, lifting her from his lap, placed her inside. He adjusted the pillowcase, pressing it snug against the sides, and stepped out of the car. He stood for a moment, letting the kitten survey her new surroundings, standing with front paws on the rim of the tub. She blinked sleepily, and turned to look up into Dean's eyes, immediately erupting into purrs.
"You're so weird." He smiled down fleetingly as Sam appeared out of the corner of his eye, heading for Bobby's house. Bobby, having heard the roar of a motor, met them at the door before they could knock.
"Aw, hell." Bobby locked gaze with the small furry mass, and stepped back with a sigh of annoyance, letting the boys and their purring bounty pass into the kitchen. They dumped their duffels on the table and found their way into the room where the only conceivably comfortable chairs in the whole house were; Bobby's study. Dean sat and rested the kitten, still in her box, on his lap, watching her breathe. She had already fallen back asleep since they had entered the house. Sam sat down in the chair across from him with a soft thump, causing Dean to look up just as Bobby entered the room.
"Hope you boys got your rocksalt handy."
Dean lets a low-volume "Finally." ride out on a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. Bobby slumps down into the chair behind his desk, picking through the printed articles explaining the death of one Jackson Reins, forty-two, single, and, up until a week ago, very much alive, and not burned to a crisp in his one-bedroom apartment.
"Vengeful Spirit?" Sam asks, with an honestly curious tone to his voice. He doesn't usually pine after getting a hunt, but it's been weeks.
"Yep. Man caught fire in his apartment, doors and windows locked." He spoke as if he'd said it hundreds of times, which he had. Sometimes it seemed like ghosts had no creativity. It got tedious, but that's the life. Sam inspected the papers.
Dean's morale suddenly felt stunted. "His shirtsleeve coulda just caught on an over flame or somethin'.." At this, Sam huffed a short laugh.
"You'd have to be pretty out of it not to notice you were burning alive." Dean mouths "Bitch." and Sam quickly follows the custom, softly chuckling to himself as he sees Bobby roll his eyes at the two idjits.
Bobby began to go over where they were to go, if any of the local fuzz had any "ideas", and Sam listened intently, as usual. Dean, however, had tuned out, inspecting the kitten's teeth. Sam would recap all of the normal info later in the car, anyway. He ran his index finger underneath her sharp front incisors, and noticed an extra prick behind the left one. Lifting her head gently, he pressed her lip upwards, revealing a mutated double-tooth.
Looks like we've all got problems.
Dean is brought back to reality, seeing Sam and Bobby pass him by, heading back into the kitchen. He jumps up from the chair, kitten in hand. It's now or never.
"Hey, Bobby, I was wonderin' if-"
"No. I ain't no babysitter. Take it with you."
"It's only for the hunt! You won't even know she's here." Dean's voice is firm, and he stands still, watching Bobby. He's got no good reason not to do this for them. Bobby stares at the kitten for a second, and huffs an aggravated sigh of defeat. He turns and throws his hands up in the air.
"Fine! But it ain't getting' no five-star treatment." Sam smiles at Dean behind the man's back.
Sam loads the kitten's necessities into the near-empty extra bedroom upstairs. He and Dean had stayed in this room when they were younger, when John had hunts that Sam was too young for, and Dean still too inexperienced. He would drop them off with Uncle Bobby for what should've been only a few nights, that, once, he remembers, stretched on for an entire month. John had caught scent of another case while finishing up the original, and then another after that. Sam smiles. Thought the memory has a slight bitter taste, the majority had been alright. Bobby let he and Dean do whatever they pleased, within reason. Where John would've had Dean practicing gun maintenance, Bobby had him take his little brother outside to play amongst the heaps of metal, battered and unloved scraps that he and Dean would some day have to search through for parts, rather than to settle their game of Tag or Hide And Go Seek.
Sam breathes loudly in the otherwise quiet room, pouring the kitten chow and filling the water bowl. He checks, as Dean had made sure to tell him to do, for ant holes she could get caught in, anything precariously placed that she could knock over. This bedroom had a bed, yes, though it was really only a mattress on the floor, with no frame. An old, moth-eaten blanket lay strewn across it, wrinkled, dusty, but somehow inviting. He doesn't think Bobby ever touched it after the last time they had had to stay when they were children. He can almost see his brother roll out from beneath the blanket to leave it just the way it appeared to him now.
The heavy tread of boots climbing the stairs bring him back to reality, and he turns just as Dean appears in the doorway, kitten and tub in hand. His brother stares past him at the bed for a moment, remembering all that Sam had just been thinking about, and his voice is soft, as though he's trying not to wake his young, invisible, sleeping self of all those years ago.
"The car's ready."
Sam nods and moves silently out of the room, leaving Dean to place the kitten on the mattress, giving her room a quick once-over. He places her in front of her food and she begins eating, and he steps silently backwards out of the door, shutting it to keep her in. He follows Sam down and out of the house, a quick goodbye as they pass Bobby. The engine rumbles, the gravel crunches, and a kitten begins to mew.