Chapter Text
"Flowers grow back, even
after they are stepped on.
So will I.”
-Resilience
Most weather, Dean could mildly tolerate; he could duck his head down and just try and get on with his daily business, pretending that there wasn’t sweat dripping from every pore of his body, or that snow afflicting the ground wasn’t causing him to slip every other footstep.
Come to think of it, Dean pretty much hated any weather that caused him problems. But out of all of them, out of everything that Mother Nature fucking threw at him, there was one type of weather that Dean couldn’t deal with; cold rain slashing down with a nice added extra of strong winds that could take his head off. Dean hated it. That was unless he was cocooned in his apartment; to Dean, there was something soothing listening to the windows rattle aggressively as the rain thrashed, a constant sound that Dean could wrap himself up with and forget everything else. Almost like a hug.
But when Dean was forced into leaving his safe haven and rushing off into the storm, there was nothing else that could put Dean in more of a bad mood. Rain on its own, he could handle if needed; the wind cutting his cheeks, he could deal with. But the wet, cold mix of them together made Dean want to strangle someone. Many a time did Dean feel envious of those driving past him, but when the rain was soaking through his shoes and socks whilst the brutal winds gave him no escape route, those were the times when Dean was most jealous of drivers. Worse was when they drove by in their home away from home, splashing Dean either on purpose or because they pretended he didn’t exist.
Yeah, Dean really hated this weather. At least now he was on his way back from work, stubbornly refusing a ride from Bobby because he was in one of those idiotic moods of his where he pretended he didn’t need anyone’s help. He wasn’t too far away from home now though, a perk of living close to work. Soon, he’d be able to throw off the damp clothes that had been sticking to him in all the wrong places all day, grab a nice, warm shower and then chill out for the weekend. That shit sounded pretty good to him right now. Maybe he could even eat the leftover pie that he had waiting for him in the fridge; it was damn good pie even when all pies tasted at least a little pale in comparison to the ones he was treated to when he was a kid.
Taking the quicker route so he didn’t have to linger in the rain any longer than necessary meant Dean had to walk down the busier streets of his town. Like most of the roads, the buildings were made of old bricks; if a hurricane came through, they’d probably all crumble to the ground. Even though a stranger walking through would probably think a lot of the buildings, both shops and houses, were shabby, Dean loved them. Looking at them made him feel like home; the corner shop that had been there ever since he was a kid when he used to go spend his pocket money on candy, the house that had been abandoned for years after a fire had engulfed it, the park that he’d used to hang out in when he was a kid and then a surly teenager, lounging on the swing set like it made him and his friends cool. There were a lot of things wrong about the town, but Dean loved it all the same.
Because of the weather, the streets were pretty much empty. Only a handful of people were as unlucky as Dean, chins tucked into their jackets as they sped along without making eye contact.
The roads were still busy though; Dean had always disliked walking through the busier streets during the early evening. There was a constant rush of traffic that never seemed to let up, heightening and heightening Dean’s anxiety each time a large truck went whizzing by. It was something he wished didn’t bother him, but he couldn’t help it. Even six years later, he still felt an uncomfortable prickling on the back of his neck when a vehicle got a little too close for comfort.
Because he was so far into his own head, overthinking things and wishing he was already home as he did his best to quicken his speed as much as he could without actually running, he almost missed the noise. Which wouldn’t have been difficult with the heavy rainfall causing a racket. If he hadn’t been walking by the alley at the exact time, he would have carried on with his pity party for one and not noticed. But he had been in the right place at the right time and the noise had been unmistakeable. Dean halted his footsteps, splashing a small puddle that speckled his jeans.
Something or other had cried out.
Peering into the dark alley, Dean wondered what the hell it could have been. It was a small side alley, filled with garbage bins and shit that local stores and apartment owners had thrown there half-heartedly. Dean had definitely heard something, he was certain; a screech of some kind, or a yowl. But Dean couldn’t see anything in the darkness, just more and more garbage bags piled high and some highly suspicious looking needles dropped in the corner where someone must have crouched and shot up more of their life away.
Just as Dean was about to shake his head and conclude that he was being an idiot and hearing things, another cry filled the soggy air. This time, Dean could note what kind of thing was making the pitiful noise. Definitely a cat, Dean decided. Taking another cautious step into the suffocating alley, Dean privately wondered what the hell he was doing. For all he knew, it wasn’t a cat, but a great big stinking monster ready to eat anyone stupid enough to enter its lair.
And then it went off again, another yowl; they were getting increasingly louder and louder. Any other evening, especially ones like this where the rain felt like tiny shards of glass cutting his cheek, Dean would have ignored it and carried on with his hurry to get home. But this wasn’t the usual meows or hisses of a cat that was doing its daily business of whatever the hell cats did in their own time; this was more like a yowl, something that indicated the little creature was far from okay. And, well, Dean wasn’t completely heartless to ignore that, even if he wasn’t the biggest animal lover in the world.
Tucking his chin further into the collar of his leather jacket in the hopes that it may starve him from some of the rain, Dean pressed further into the side alley. With the constant noise and the size of the alley, it didn’t take Dean long to find the owner of the noise. Hidden next to a pile of trash bags that had been there god knows how long was a cat that looked tiny compared to its surroundings. Ginger, one eye circled by white fur, the cat barely noticed Dean’s appearance, too busy screeching as it lay there.
“Hey little guy,” Dean said, though his voice was barely heard over the heavy rainfall that seemed to be relentless, though the alley provided some small relief from the harsher rain. The cat seemed to have the best of ideas, lying with its side against the wall, managing to miss most of the downpour, though there were patches that were getting wet and matted even from the shelter it had chosen for itself.
Immediately after Dean spoke, the cat seemed to notice. Automatically its attitude changed from a scared little animal to one that was threatening, ears flapping back, tail going bushy as it tried to stare Dean down. Now, this was probably the time that Dean should be hurrying off so he didn’t get his face bitten off by a feral animal that was just waiting for the chance to attack. But there was something that stopped Dean from rushing away, something in the back of his mind that was telling him he needed to fix whatever problem was going on with the tiny thing that wanted to kill him. Quickly, he realised what the problem was. While the cat obviously felt threatened - anyone with eyes could see that the cat baring its teeth was scared - it still wasn’t getting up on its feet to either launch at Dean’s jugular or stalk off before the big, scary stranger could hurt it.
Something was stopping the cat from moving.
Cautiously, Dean shuffled forward and crouched down to get a better look. The closer he got to the ginger cat, the more tense it appeared, it's fur continuing to stick out, fangs showing.
“Easy,” Dean murmured, hoping that using a calm voice might somehow help matters. He was doubtful it would; why would a cat who’d never been near him before be soothed by his voice? Strangely though, Dean’s voice stopped the cat from hissing, though it still looked more than antsy that a stranger was towering above them.
Dean’s eyes roamed over the tiny thing, trying to figure out why it still wasn’t running away. It didn’t take long for Dean to note what the problem way. The cat appeared to be fine, though a little dirty, apart from one of its hind legs. Red was seeping into the ginger fur, making it sticky if Dean had been stupid enough to try and touch it. Though Dean couldn’t spot what the actual injury was, he at least knew where it was based.
“Right, okay,” Dean carried on speaking, though he was unsure of why, “let’s get you some help, huh?” he offered, not feeling as idiotic as he perhaps ought to seeing as he was crouching in the pouring rain whilst talking to a cat that didn’t have a clue what he was saying.
After fumbling in his pockets for a good few seconds, Dean was dialling Jess’ number. If anyone knew what the hell to do in this situation, Jess did.
“Hey,” Jess answered the phone after a few rings, voice perky, telling Dean that he hadn’t caught her at a bad time. Jess was a busy lady; at college, volunteering at a vet clinic to get extra brownie points so she had more of a chance at a job in the end, not to mention she had to deal with Dean’s little brother.
“Hey Jess,” Dean said, still hovering over the cat, who seemed to be slowly getting used to Dean’s presence now that it had figured out that Dean wasn’t about to tear it apart and sell it for scraps. Dean kind of understood how the little thing felt; Dean wasn’t always welcoming to strangers either, especially those that he felt weren’t being true.
“What’s up?” Jess asked, a bustling noise under her voice, like she was multitasking as she spoke. That sounded like Jess, she was always off doing something or other. Even if there was nothing that needed to be done, Jess liked to create something to give herself something to do. Perhaps it was an only child kind of thing; she’d grown up busying herself with things whilst other kids had played with their siblings, and now that she was older, her wish to be busy had stuck.
“Is Melbourne open at the moment?” Dean raked his eyes over the cat once more to see if there were any other injuries it was harbouring that Dean hadn’t noticed yet. Besides the grumpy face, Dean couldn’t see anything else wrong with the poor thing. It was getting increasingly more pitiful as the time passed though; the situation had switched and now it was looking at Dean like he might be its saviour.
“Er,” Jess hummed, now sounding confused, “no. It’s too late. It shuts at 6. I should know, I helped close up today.”
Frustrated, Dean ran a hand through his hair, causing tiny, angry droplets to splash around like he was a wet dog shaking his fur, “Well, what the hell are people supposed to do if their pet is dying or something? Wait until tomorrow?”
Now Jess sounded amused, probably wondering why Dean was getting worked up about a veterinary clinic’s closing times, “There’s an emergency animal hospital you can go to out of hours. It’s on the other side of town,” she explained.
“Oh, right,” Dean scratched his chin, feeling slightly idiotic for not coming to that conclusion on his own. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“Dean,” Jess said slowly, curiosity piquing, “why are you asking about what time Melbourne shuts?”
“Uh,” Dean looked down at the cat that had stopped yowling and was now just pathetically mewling, “I’m going to kinda need your help with something.”
After what felt like hours of cat scratches, gauze, and an awful lot of baby talk from grown adults, Jess was finally pulling up to a terraced house on the outskirts of town. Because the town was small, the outskirts wasn’t exactly far from the middle of the town itself; the house they were heading to was only an hour and a half walk away from Dean’s, if that. It was one of the things that Dean was thankful for; everything was an easy walking distance for him if he had no choice but to use his own two feet.
Unlike Dean’s usual ways, he’d opted to sit in the back of the car with the cat, who was currently curled up on Dean’s jacket next to him. The cat was half asleep in the way that cats sometimes did, very much aware of their surroundings and ready to pounce. Even though the poor thing was extremely displeased about recent events (if Dean had thought the cat didn’t like him, jesus, the cat really hated the vets), she looked like she was ready to drop because of the medication pumping through her. There was no need for Dean to sit in the back and keep watch of her, but he chose to anyway. Oddly, he felt responsible for the little animal now. At least until she was returned to her owner.
“I hope the owner appreciates all of this, Dean,” Jess said, parking the car steadily in a way that re-reminded Dean as to why he trusted her to drive him places. Though the trust had taken years to be achieved, Dean was glad it had happened eventually.
“I’m sure they will,” Dean replied, peering out of the rain stained windows. The rain was starting to come back full force, typical really as Dean was about to have to go out and brave it. As he prepared to leave the car, he went to hike up his jacket collar, but his fingers found his plaid shirt, another reminder that he’d given his damp jacket to a certain little cat to use as a blanket.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Jess shrugged, tapping her short nails against the steering wheel. “What matters is the little kitty is okay,” she cooed, turning her head to smile warmly at the poor cat. If Dean had ever doubted that Jess was cut out for being a veterinary nurse, today would have quashed it. The way she had so carefully dealt with the abusive cat, how she had spoken to the veterinary nurses at the emergency animal hospital - yeah, Jess was definitely supposed to be in this career.
“You could have let the hospital call the owner up though. The, uh,” Jess’ nose scrunched as she tried to remember the unusual name, “Cas Novak person,” she opted for the shorter version of the first name; both of them had lightly argued about the correct way to say Castiel, but the fight couldn’t be resolved until Dean spoke to the person and found out how it was really said from the horse’s mouth.
“I wanted to bring her back myself,” Dean muttered, feeling a strange urge to reach over and tickle the cat’s ears. He knew it was a dumb thing to do though; he would be practically inviting the cat to bite his finger off. The cat might have started to get used to his presence, but that didn’t mean she’d let him touch her.
For some reason, even though the cat clearly wanted to be away from him as soon as possible from the moment they met, Dean had felt the need to take the cat back to its owner rather than let the hospital make them come to collect the cat themselves. Dean had no clue why he felt the insatiable urge, but he did. And he was sticking with it.
“You want me to come to the door with you?” Jess offered.
“No, it’s okay.” Dean shook his head, figuring it would make sense that only one of them should brave the rain; while Jess had better people skills, Dean wanted to do this himself, “I’ll go.” He undid his seatbelt, shuffling to the door to get out. “You can leave me here with the thing once I know that they’re at home.”
“Okay.” Jess’ face pulled into a frown. “If you’re sure,” she said, clearly uncertain about the whole thing; none of Dean’s family ever liked to take him places and then not take him home, even if Dean told them it was fine. Dean understood why they wouldn’t particularly like it; if the shoe was on the other foot, he’d demand to stick around so he could drive them home. But because it was him, someone who hated using and abusing his family for something as dumb as getting a car ride, Dean always tried not to ask for it unless he absolutely needed to.
“Oh,” Jess added as an afterthought, frown turning into an amused smirk, “but maybe don’t call the cat a thing in front of the owner though. Don’t think that the Cas person would appreciate it.”
After thinking about it for barely a second, Dean nodded. Jess was definitely correct on this one. “Right,” he grinned as he imagined the owner yelling at him when he called their injured pet a thing, “I’ll be back in a second, don’t go anywhere,” he warned, though he knew the chances of Jess leaving was less likely than a meteor dropping on his head.
“Good luck!” Jess chimed as Dean slid out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind him so he wouldn’t wake the cat up. The cat hadn’t taken a great liking to Jess and Dean didn’t think it was a good idea to have a highly medicated cat be awake whilst stuck in a small space with her. While the thought of Jess fighting a cat might be slightly humorous, the reality of it was anything but.
The rain was still at it, hammering against the top of Dean’s head and rolling down his cheeks, but it wasn’t quite as heavy as beforehand. It didn’t help matters that he was still damp from his earlier walk; his shirt was sticking to him and his jeans felt ten pounds heavier than they should. Hell, his cursed bow leggedness was probably at an all-time high right about now.
Now that he was actually outside, Dean paid more attention to the neighbourhood he was in and the house he was walking to. The neighbourhood was decent, a little rough around the edges, but there wasn’t an ominous feeling that he was about to get stabbed. Which was a bonus. There were a few areas of the town that made you feel that way; like someone was out to get you because their life was shit and they thought getting at you would somehow make their life better. Whenever Dean saw something on the news about a kid barely out of diapers robbing someone at knife point so they could score, he would always wonder if that would have been him if his parents had brought him up on the other side of town. He never liked to think about it too much.
Actually, the more Dean looked around, the more he was sure that Garth, one of his old high school buddies, lived around the area; it felt familiar somehow. Rarely did Dean come this far out of the main town, there was no reason for him to, but he was sure he’d been around here at some point.
The houses were small, two bedroom at most, as they were squashed together in solidarity. There were no front yards, just a few steps up from the sidewalk to the house. Dean squinted from the rain as he double checked that the house he wanted was the house he thought it was; 1809 was painted to the side of the door, telling Dean he could carry on forward.
1809 had hanging baskets on either side of the front door, unlike many of the other bare houses that surrounded it. Because they were still in the darkness of winter, Dean was surprised to find that there were a few flowers littered in the greenery; the person who owned the house clearly knew their plants. As well as that, small plant pots were wired to the banisters that were there to help you up the stairs. Unlike the hanging baskets, the plant pots weren’t filled, like they’d only been placed there and the owner was trying to figure out what to put in them. There were a few on either side of the stairs, tiny terracotta plant pots that were waiting to be filled.
Oddly, it made Dean a little whimsical, wondering what the place looked like when the sun was blooming rather than shying away. Would the plants match the forest green door or would they be something else entirely? Blues and yellows and pinks to help guide the owner home in the dark.
Giving the car one last glance, rolling his eyes when he saw Jess giving him a cheesy thumbs up, Dean took the few steps up to the house. This close, he could see how the paint was crumbling on the front door, little flecks of the plain wood coming through. Fighting the urge to peel off some, Dean knocked the door, his wet knuckles rattling the wood.
It wasn’t until the door opened that Dean realised he’d been expecting a woman. Or a house full to the brim with kids and exhausted looking parents who were struggling and having to worry about a missing cat on top of everything else. Behind the door, Dean found neither of those things.
A man, a little shorter than Dean but not by much, stood in the doorway, clinging to the door like he was ready to perhaps slam it shut again if the visitor was trouble. Even though Dean always had trouble guessing people’s ages, he figured the stranger was around his age, maybe a year or two older. His brown hair was a little messy, either because the guy had been in the middle of taking a nap that had involved a lot of toss and turning, or because the guy’s hair was always like that. Strands sticking out in different sections that made him look like he’d ran his hands through his hair fifty billion times. Or someone else had been doing it for him.
It wasn’t the oversized, slightly ratty sweater, the crinkles developing at the top of his straight nose, or the defined jaw and pink lips that caught Dean’s attention, it was the bright blue eyes that were transfixed on his own for far too long than Dean was comfortable with. Didn’t the guy know that you weren’t supposed to stare so deeply into a stranger like he was doing to Dean? Even though the staring made him uncomfortable, Dean couldn’t help but think the blue eyes seemed kind; there weren’t signs of anything bad in the ring of blue, except perhaps mistrust.
Feeling nervous all of a sudden, Dean scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he tried to appear as casual as possible, “Uh, hey.” He attempted a smile, wondering how the hell he was going to explain what had happened without either sounding like some kind of weirdo or that he was the one who’d hurt the damn cat and was now feeling guilty about it. Perhaps he should have let Jess come and do the talking instead after all. Or Dean should have prepared some kind of fucking speech.
“Hello?” the guy asked, still staring at Dean utterly so, but the confusion was starting to seep into the downturn of lips. The deepness of the guy’s voice surprised Dean; someone wearing a grey sweater where the sleeves covered their knuckles shouldn’t have a voice that sounded like he’d been gargling gravel for breakfast each morning.
“Uh, this is gonna sound weird, but I think I found your cat?” His anxiety made him pose it as a question, blinking harshly when a drop of rain hit him bang in the eye.
The guy’s eyes widened. “You found Ariel?”
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, sighing in relief when he realised he had the right house after all, “I was walking in town and I heard something. Found her in one of the alley ways. I can go get her if you want, bring her in?” He used his thumb to point at the car behind him, already knowing the answer to the question before he even finished it.
“Please.” The guy nodded eagerly, looking one step away from rocking on the balls of his feet if Dean didn’t hurry the hell up and get his cat, which was apparently called Ariel of all things.
“I’ll be right back.” Dean smiled, pleased that the story had ended happy at least. For all he knew, he could have got there and found that the owner was a piece of shit who didn’t deserve a cat. And then Dean would have been stuck with an animal that hated him and then what the hell would he have done? Living with a cat that wanted to tear out his eyeballs wouldn’t have been the greatest of lives.
“Okay,” the guy who Dean assumed must be Castiel said, continuing to nod.
Hurriedly, part because of the rain, part because of the shiny excitement in the stranger’s eyes, Dean rushed to the car. Quickly, he opened the door to reach the cat, who peeled her eyes open so she was squarely looking at Dean, as if she was urging him to even try and touch her.
“Is the guy okay?” Jess asked, peeking her head between the driver and passenger seat. Her eagerness just proved to Dean that she’d been watching every interaction that he and Castiel had had. Jesus, she could be nosey when she wanted to be, always wanting to know what was going on and when. In some respects, she was exactly like Sam; Dean loved his little brother but sometimes he liked to put his nose in every bit of Dean’s business. True, it was only because he wanted to try and help, but the shit got annoying sometimes.
“Yeah, he seems like an alright guy.” Dean scratched the back of his head, more than slightly distracted as he tried to think of a way to pick up the cat without being scratched or bitten. “He nearly collapsed when I said I’d found his cat. She’s called freaking Ariel.” He pulled a face, somewhat because of the choice of name, but mainly due to the fact he was getting ready for an attack as he reached over and scooped up his jacket with the cat bundled on top.
“Aw,” Jess hummed, grinning sweetly, “that’s a cute name! Are you ready to go back to your owner, Ariel?” she asked, safely away from the claws as she spoke to the cat who did not look like she was enjoying herself. The poor thing had had quite a day, Dean supposed.
“I best get her back before the guy has a heart attack,” Dean said, holding the cat close to his chest whilst making sure none of him was actually touching the cat itself - he had a feeling that might cause a paw to the eye. On top of that, he knew that Ariel was frightened. She’d hurt herself, been manhandled by strangers all day as well as drugged; if Dean could do anything to try and ease her worries even the slightest, he was going to do it.
“You can go if you want,” he told Jess with a small smile, holding the jacket and cat steady in his arms.
Jess bit her lip. “You sure?” she asked, still looking unhappy with the idea of leaving Dean in a random ass place.
“Yeah,” Dean reassured her, squinting when a rain droplet was teetering on his eyebrow, “Else Sammy’s gonna think I’ve kidnapped you or something,” he joked with a wink, which Jess dramatically rolled her eyes at. “Thanks for driving me though,” he added, nearly jumping when Ariel’s paw stretched out. Apparently she was only doing it to get comfortable though, not to try and gouge out Dean’s spleen. Phew.
“You’re welcome.” Jess smiled that sunshine smile of hers that made everyone cheer up, no matter the scenario; it was definitely a talent of hers. “Now go give that poor little kitty back to her owner.” She paused, laughing as she shook her head. “God, I can’t wait to tell Sam that his big, bad brother was out there today saving little kitties.”
“Oh, shut up, you.” Dean rolled his eyes, cheeks feeling an awful lot like they were heating up, even in the bitter air.
“See you later Dean,” Jess called as Dean shut the door, forcing her into the warmth of the car, rather than the biting cold.
Shielding Ariel from the worst of the rain, Dean made his way back to the house. Castiel was standing at the doorway, hugging himself, apparently uncaring of the fact that he was getting wet. Careful not to jostle Ariel too much, or worse, drop her, Dean thudded up the stairs.
“Ariel,” the guy exclaimed, completely ignoring Dean as he waved his hands over the cat’s body, eyes glued on the bandage that was wrapped around her hind leg. Dean frowned; the cat’s name had sounded a little different then. Maybe Dean was mishearing and she wasn’t called Ariel after all.
“Um, she kind of hurt herself,” Dean said lamely, wishing that he’d mentioned that beforehand so Castiel could have prepared himself for it or something.
Castiel’s hands reached out to take the cat but he quickly changed his mind, dropping them to his side as he instead led Dean into the small house. “Bring her in,” Castiel told him gravely, nearly walking into the wall as kept his gaze squarely on the cat. Jesus, the guy’s obsession with giving direct eye contact seemed to extend to furry animals with whiskers too.
Like the outside, the interior of the house was nothing spectacular. The furniture was used, clearly so. The coffee table was a little battered with more coffee cup rings ingrained than what one person could have done alone. There was a rickety looking bookcase in the far corner of the room piled up with tattered books; Dean kind of wanted to inspect further, especially to see whether they had that precious old book smell.
A few cat toys littered the old, exposed wooden floor here and there, which seemed to be the only new things in the room. A little pathetically, it made Dean’s heart warm that the guy who obviously didn’t have all that much was spending it on a little cat.
“You can place her down here.” Castiel gestured towards the couch which, too, was threadbare, though comfy looking. With a few too many cushions, Dean kind of wanted to throw himself on there and take a long nap. Instead, he simply put the half asleep cat on the couch, still curled up on Dean’s jacket, though a little less defensively now that she was home.
Ignoring Dean, Castiel sidestepped in front of him so he could kneel down on the floor, running a gentle hand through Ariel’s matted fur as he leant forward to press a barely there kiss between her ears. At the movement, Ariel’s eyes opened into slits, ready to attack even with her injured leg. As soon as she saw it was her owner and not Dean or the scary veterinarians, she relaxed, pushing her head up to Castiel’s chin to get further contact.
“It’s okay, Ariel,” Castiel’s voice rumbled, again the name sounding weird to Dean; he was second guessing whether it was Ariel or some weird hybrid of Anna and Ariel, “You’re safe now.”
Weirdly touched by the scene, Dean just stood there, forgetting about his soggy, heavy jeans and damp socks. None of it really seemed to matter now that he could see how relieved Castiel was for having his cat back. Dean had never been a cat person, or an animal person at all for that matter, but seeing a guy be that ecstatic to see his cat again made Dean realise that perhaps animals weren’t that bad after all.
“What happened to her?” Castiel asked, deep voice wavering when he forced himself to look away from his pet to instead gaze up at Dean.
“Er, the vet said she may have fallen funny or something; hit her leg against something she shouldn’t have,” Dean explained, hoping that he correctly remembered all the information that had been relayed to him; perhaps, again, he should have asked Jess to stay for this bit. “She hasn’t broken anything,” Dean reassured Castiel as soon as he saw his eyes start to go worryingly round. At the news, Castiel’s shoulders sunk in relief, though he placed a gentle, protective hand on Ariel’s back. As Dean watched, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened to his own fingers if he’d tried that with the cat.
Dean’s voice softened as he added, with a hopefully comforting smile, “I think she got a little over adventurous, got hurt, and then couldn’t find her way back to you.”
Castiel’s eyes warmed as he smiled up with so much gratitude that it nearly blinded Dean. “But you found her and brought her back to me.”
“It’s not a big deal. I did what anyone would have done.” Dean shrugged, cheeks colouring at the fact he felt like he was being praised for something so damn small. It wasn’t like he’d pressed the cat’s chest up and down until she started breathing again. He’d just took her to the damn vets. The appreciation pouring from Castiel was making him more than a little overwhelmed. Dean wasn’t used to this sort of shit.
“You found her in an alley way, I’m sure a lot of people walked past there and didn’t help her,” Castiel replied with a downturned mouth, his fingers protectively running through Ariel’s fur, lulling her to sleep.
Dean coughed. “Anyway,” he swiftly changed the subject, uncomfortable with the current one and the way Castiel’s bright eyes were looking a little too reverent, “the vet said she just needs to chill out and not go out for a few days. And you should try and stop her if she tries to go too crazy and starts racing around and jumping on things. Oh, and she has some pain medication.” Dean rummaged in the surprisingly deep back pocket of his jeans to grab the small bottle of medication. “Here.” He handed it over to a kneeling Castiel, who took it from him and squinted at the label, making Dean wonder whether the guy needed glasses.
“She has to take it with her food every morning for the next five days. It has it all on the packaging of how to do it and stuff. After the five days are up, I guess you can take the bandage off and she’s free to go wild again.” Dean shrugged, hands slotting into his pockets.
Nodding, Castiel stood up, carefully placing the medication onto the used coffee table before staring intently at Dean. “How much did it cost?”
Surprised at the turn of conversation and the way Cas was staring him out, Dean ended up looking like an idiot as he shook his head, stuttering, “It doesn’t matter, I don’t—”
“How much?” Castiel reiterated, “I’ll-“ he frowned, looking downtrodden, “I’ll write you a cheque or give you cash, depending on how much it was.” He lifted his chin. “She’s my responsibility, I can’t have you paying for her. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Feeling a little like he would be stealing candy from a baby, Dean wanted to say no. This guy, in his tattered house in one of the rougher parts of town, clearly didn’t have a wad load of cash to burn on bills. But Dean knew that if Cas was as stubborn as Dean could be when it came to getting help, the guy wasn’t going to relent.
“It was 120 bucks,” Dean sighed. “It was higher than normal because she was an emergency appointment.”
“Okay. Let me—“ Castiel rushed over to the armchair, gently bumping Dean out the way so he could get past. “Let me find my wallet.” He rummaged in the coat that was strewn over the chair, looking slightly damp from the rain. Dean could relate to that. He was caught off guard when he realised with a narrow of his eyes that it was a trench coat of all thing; jesus, the guy had a weird dress sense.
After a moment of rooting around in his wallet, Castiel changed his mind and moved over to the bookcase, reaching up to grab a little bird ornament off the top shelf. Dean quickly realised that it was a money box as Castiel turned it over and pulled the bottom seal off. Silently, Dean watched Castiel count out the money with a barely there movement of his pink lips, adding the money to the cash he’d found in his wallet. The more Dean watched, the more his heart felt heavy that this guy was jumping into his savings to pay Dean back.
“Here,” Castiel said, gathering up the notes, “take the extra twenty as a thank you.”
Dean’s eyes widened at the gesture. “No,” he bit back, far more forcibly than he intended to.
Castiel thrust the notes into Dean’s chest. “Please,” he reiterated, voice deepening as he begged.
“Nu-uh, not gonna happen buddy.” Dean shook his head, ready to win the argument, “I’ll take the 120, but that’s it,” he finalised. Truthfully, he didn’t even want to take the 120 off him, not from a guy who clearly didn’t have that kind of cash at hand easily. Dean was definitely not going to take any more from the guy than necessary, no fucking way. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wished he’d lied and took a few twenties off the vet bill when he’d told Castiel the price.
After a beat of silence, Castiel relented with a huff, “Fine.” He removed the extra twenty and only then did Dean take the cash from him, shoving it in his back pocket where the medication had once been. He just hoped the notes didn’t get too damp on his way home. Deep down, Dean knew he’d made the right decision not to take the extra cash, even though Castiel looked sulky that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Castiel would be grateful for it in the end, even if he never admitted it, not even to himself.
“I’m Dean by the way. Dean Winchester,” Dean added with a grin, only just realising that he hadn’t introduced himself yet. He was standing in someone’s living room, dripping onto their wooden floor as he took cash from them, but had somehow forgotten not to say his fucking name. Well done, Winchester.
“Oh.” Castiel blinked in recognition of their shared faux pas. “Yes. I’m Castiel.”
“Yeah, I know. Wasn’t sure how to pronounce it though,” Dean admitted as he tried to ignore how wet and cold his feet were starting to get. Dean wasn’t exactly used to going around new people’s houses, not anymore, but he at least knew that it wasn’t considered appropriate to ask to borrow their shower and some clothes. Even though Dean really wanted both of those things right now.
Castiel nodded, fingers curling over the long sleeves of his sweater. “It is a rather unusual name I suppose.”
“Understatement,” Dean snorted, automatically feeling shitty that he was making fun of someone’s name. Not just anyone, but a stranger who had just handed over 120 bucks. Desperate to change the subject, Dean looked around the room, fixating on the cat rather than one of the few pieces of furniture. Ariel was completely dead to the world. God if cats could snore (could they snore?), she would be right now.
“So, strange name for a cat,” Dean hummed, trying not to feel too self-conscious about his previous minor insult, “but I guess she does have a bit of ginger in her.”
At Castiel’s inquisitive glance, Dean added awkwardly, “You know, Ariel the mermaid?”
Even still, Castiel looked confused, looking at Dean like a second head had just sprouted from his neck. Like it was Dean in the wrong and not Cas being a total weirdo for not knowing who Ariel the damn mermaid was.
“She’s called Aniel, not Ariel,” Castiel explained. “Like Ariel, but with an N." He sat down next to Aniel, who didn’t even stir.
Taking that as some kind of invitation, Dean chose to sit on the edge of the armchair that was facing the couch Cas had placed himself. Careful not to put too much of his ass on it else he’d soak the damn thing through, Dean asked with a wrinkled brow, “Ann-Aniel?”
“Yes.” Castiel nodded with a small smile, little crinkles forming in the corner of his eyes as he looked down at the peaceful cat at his side. “Most of the time, I just call her Anna.”
“Huh.” Dean hummed. If he’d thought Ariel was a weird fucking name then Aniel took the fucking cake. “Have you had her since she was a kitten?” he asked politely, though he quickly realised he was actually interested in the answer rather than pretending to give a shit.
“No.” Castiel ran a hand through his dark hair, making it even messier, promptly causing Dean’s fingers to twitch as they begged to leap over and sort out the tufts. “She was never technically my cat.”
Dean blinked. “What?” He looked from Castiel to the cat, wondering whether he’d made some big mistake bringing the cat to the house or something. Maybe the microchip had been wrong. But Castiel had been happy to see her and knew her name. Okay, what the hell?
Ducking his chin down to smile as he noticed Dean’s confusion, Castiel explained, “I moved here to this state and town a month and a half ago. Aniel was hanging around the back yard.” He turned his gaze to the cat, running feather-like fingers across the cat’s spine. “She was a lot scruffier back then, thinner too. I gave her some water. I didn’t have any food to give her at the time, none that I knew would be safe for her, but she kept coming back anyway. She’s not feral.” Castiel looked up at Dean. “She’s too friendly to humans to have been feral.”
“Friendly?” Dean raised an eyebrow, because one word he would not use to explain that damn cat was friendly. Brutal, maybe. One who inflicts pain? Definitely. But friendly?
“Ah, yes.” Castiel smiled. “She can have an attitude sometimes. But she didn’t seem feral. Actually, I think she might have been owned by the people who lived in this house before me. It would make sense as to why she kept coming back.” He looked troubled. “I don’t know why they wouldn’t have taken her with them though.”
“If you’re right, they’re fuckheads.” Dean’s hands turned into fists as he thought of the audacity of someone being cruel, not only to any old animal, but to their own pet. “At least she has you now though,” he smiled, quickly realising that Castiel was most definitely a stand-up guy. Rescuing little kittens in his backyard? Yep, Castiel was definitely good people.
Castiel’s gaze turned from Dean, making Dean slowly realise that the guy either stared at you so hard it felt like he was looking into your damn soul, or he looked away from you entirely as he spoke. “When she kept coming back, I quickly realised I should microchip her and let her have a once over by a vet. I thought if anything were to happen, I would be contacted and I would do everything to make sure she was well again. So now she’s unofficially officially mine.” The corners of his lips tilted upwards fondly. “Though she forgets that sometimes. She can go missing for a few days, like she’s forgotten me. But she’d been gone for a while this time and it’s not like her. I was worried something had happened,” his strong voice wobbled. “And apparently I was right.”
At Cas’ heartbroken expression, Dean didn’t waste any time in standing up to sit next to him on the couch instead, squeezing his shoulder, “Hey, she’s gonna be okay,” he comforted; Dean hated seeing anyone upset, it made him feel helpless, wishing he could have the pain instead of the other person. Even if it was a stranger like Castiel.
Surprised, Castiel peered down at Dean’s hand like it was a foreign object. Like he didn’t expect anyone to try and cheer him up. It made Dean uncertain as to where to go from there. What sort of a person didn’t expect someone to console them? Perhaps a guy living in a barely furnished house whose only company seemed to be a cat that he’d adopted and was willing to spend all of his savings on its vet bill, that’s who. Somehow, that didn’t seem fair to Dean, not one fucking bit. Weren’t people like Cas supposed to be the ones who were looked after? Who got the good end of the deal? But then again, Dean had long stopped thinking that people got what they deserved.
For some reason, Castiel’s eyes were widening and he was grabbing Dean’s wrist to keep his arm there so he could inspect it. “She scratched you.”
Dean fought the urge to snatch his hand back. He liked contact, sometimes even craved it, but only by people he knew and cared for. Whilst Castiel seemed like a stand-up guy, Dean wasn’t quite in that stage with him yet. Especially not contact he wasn’t prepared for. But when he realised the reason behind Castiel reaching for him, Dean relaxed.
“Only a couple of times. By the end of it all, she kinda liked me,” Dean joked, hoping to hide how uncomfortable he was.
Still looking very concerned, Castiel asked as he slowly let go of Dean’s wrist like it was made of glass, “Have you cleaned the cuts yet?”
“Uh, no?” Dean phrased it as a question, having not even considered that. Shit, he was supposed to have cleaned them, wasn’t he? Cats got up to all sorts of shit and now he had that shit deep in his skin. God, Dean could be an idiot sometimes. If his arm fell off, it would be his own damn fault.
Almost like he could hear Dean’s thoughts, Castiel murmured, “Here, let me.”
Without waiting for a reply, Castiel stood up, gesturing for Dean to do the same. As soon as Dean was on his feet, Castiel reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, guiding him to the small kitchen. Even though the hand was unnecessary— Dean could see where the kitchen was with his own eyes thank you very much—Dean actually thought it was kind of sweet of the guy to be so fretful about the whole thing. The dude obviously wasn’t used to visitors as much as Dean wasn’t used to being the visitor.
“I have some antiseptic wipes that can clean the cuts. Anna sometimes scratches me and they always work then,” Castiel said as he reached up to look in one of the cupboards above the counters.
Disinterested in watching Cas rummage around a cupboard, Dean looked away, putting his attention on his surroundings instead. The kitchen was much the same as the living room: empty looking, one of the cupboard doors hanging on loosely, which made Dean want to speak up and offer to fix it. Unsure of whether that would be seriously crossing a line that should not be crossed, Dean kept quiet, instead focussing on the various novelty mugs Castiel had in a neat row on the counter.
Without much time, Castiel was standing a little too close to Dean as he ripped open the packaging to get to an antiseptic wipe. Just as the wipe was about the touch Dean’s skin, Cas carefully holding Dean’s wrist to keep it still again, Castiel stopped, looking up at Dean with a concentrated expression. “This might hurt.”
Pulling a face, Dean sarcastically said, “I think I’ll be—“ the wipe made contact with the scratches and Dean felt like he was having his arm amputated. “Oh jesus fucking christ,” Dean swore, gritting his teeth as he fought the incredible urge to punch Castiel in the face, even though it wasn’t the guy’s fault.
“I told you it might hurt.” Cas bit back a smile as he continued to wipe at the cuts embedded into Dean’s skin.
“Okay, Mr Know It All,” Dean grumbled, though he couldn’t help but grin when he said it. He liked the fact that Cas had a good sense of humour that could bite the other person on the ass. Someone like Castiel who lived in a house like he did needed a bite.
After another two antiseptic wipes, Castiel was finished. “All done,” he smiled far too innocently. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Oh it was fucking perfect,” Dean retorted with a roll of his eyes, smiling widely so as to further the sarcasm.
Still trying to hide his laughter, Castiel concealed his face as he threw the spoiled wipes in the trash can before he washed his hands. With nothing else to do, Dean watched him, noting that there was dirt ingrained into the lines of Cas’ hands, under his fingernails too. For a moment, Dean wondered whether Cas’ nice guy act was indeed an act and really he was some raging psychopath that dug up people’s graves in the night. The thought was instantly severed when Castiel looked over at him and smiled.
“Anyway,” Dean said, realising that he perhaps might have overstayed his welcome and that he also really needed to go home and get to bed seeing as he was making up weirdo conspiracies in his head, “I should be heading back home.” He thumbed towards where the peeling front door was.
“Oh.” Castiel nodded. “Yes. I suppose so. Do you want me to drive you? Your friend left…” he trailed off.
“No, it’s fine,” Dean reassured him with a shake of his head and an easy smile that he had perfected over the years, “I can walk,” he said, shutting it down as quickly as possible. It was always easier that way.
“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be a problem,” Castiel continued, taking a step forward, back to the staring thing he did. Seriously, how did Cas get away with this continuing staring out in the real world without getting punched in the face?
“Seriously, it’ll be okay.” Dean peered through the dark window to his left. “It’s stopped raining out anyway, so it’ll be a nice walk. Besides,” Dean thought aloud, “you should probably keep an eye on Anna,” Dean chose the easier name, as he knew he’d screw up the other one, “make sure she doesn’t try and do anything too strenuous,” he added. He had a very good feeling that a cat like Aniel wouldn’t try and follow the rules like she was supposed to. And by doing that, she’d given Dean a perfect excuse for Castiel not to give him a ride.
“Oh,” Castiel worded slowly, “yes, I guess so,” he said, following Dean back into the living room.
Dean suddenly had a thought as he looked down at Anna’s sleeping frame, “Um, could you maybe drop my coat off at my apartment? I’ve got a feeling that if I try and take it off her, she’s going to go for the throat. And I don’t really want to wake her up. She kind of deserves the rest after the long day she’s had.”
It was only then that Castiel seemed to realise that Aniel was on Dean’s jacket, “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, privately hoping that the rain would stay off for the next hour so he wouldn’t get wet. Again. But without a jacket this time.
“I’ve got my phone and keys and stuff in my pocket,” Dean told him, patting his jeans to further the point, “so it’s just the coat your cat has stolen,” he grinned toothily. “Let me give you my number and then we can arrange a time or whatever for you to come to my apartment and hand it back.”
It took mere minutes for them to swap numbers, Castiel carefully typing ‘Dean Winchester’ in his old Nokia phone that looked like the size and heaviness of a brick. Simply, Dean wrote the guy down as ‘Cas’ in his contacts list.
“Goodbye Dean,” Castiel said when they got to the front door, his arms coming up to hug himself again when he felt the cool air. The ratty sweater probably wasn’t warming him up as much as it should. “And thank you. Again. You have no idea how thankful I am.”
“You’re welcome, buddy,” Dean said, gruffness in his tone; he really wasn’t used to someone talking to him like that, jesus. “I’ll catch you later.”
“Yes,” Castiel nodded in agreement, “I’ll call you.”
“See you, Cas,” Dean called, waving at Cas with his back turned as he started to walk down the few steps from Castiel’s house to the pavement, the empty plant pots on either side of him filling with dirty rain water, some of them overfilling.
Without looking back, Dean heard the worn door shut behind him. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Dean started to walk. Five minutes in, the rain started to hammer back down again, soaking Dean to the bone.