Cat Scratch Fever


If anyone had asked Sam what animal his brother was -- totem, spirit guide, anima soul, whatever -- he would have said any of a half dozen things. A sheep dog, usually, or if he was feeling a bit annoyed he'd say his brother was a squawking parrot. A lion, sometimes, or a huge draft horse.

Something strong, though. Something masculine. Something...reliable.

Very definitely not a kitten. Small enough to fit in Sam's hand with room left over for two more just like him. His eyes were blue-green -- and Sam didn't know how or why Dean had become a baby cat, instead of at least an old, ornery tomcat.

The kitten in Sam's hand mewed, looking around. Sam sat down quickly, not wanting Dean to try walking off the end of Sam's hand and falling several feet to the floor. Dean wobbled with the motion, but when Sam held his hand to the floor, he just sniffed once at the carpet then turned and began working his way up Sam's arm.

If Sam hadn't actually witnessed the transformation, he would have called it a clever if juvenile prank of his brother's, and simply named the cat 'Dean' to piss his brother off.

But he'd watched -- horrified, fascinated -- as his brother's skin had changed, light brown fur sprouting over his entire body, then, somehow, shrinking down, disappearing in the pile of clothes. Sam had dived frantically for him only to find, caught up in the folds of Dean's T-shirt, this same, miniature kitten that was even now climbing his way up Sam's arm with the determination of a Winchester.

Sam watched, trying to hide his delight at the scowl on the kitten's face. Dean's claws could barely get a hold in Sam's shirt sleeves, and more than once Dean would wobble, nearly losing his balance before managing to get better purchase.

Waiting until Dean had got to his shoulder, Sam then reached down and plucked Dean off and cradled him in his hand again. The tiny mew was incredibly pissed, and Sam could practically hear his brother calling him a jackass.

Sam rubbed Dean's head, amazed at the sheer softness of the fur, and blinked in shock as Dean's entire body began rumbling with a loud purr.

Dean looked a little embarrassed. Sam brought him up, feeling Dean's sides with two fingers. "You've got to tell me how you do that, when we get you changed back," Sam said. Then he realised that, really, he couldn't not, and he rubbed his nose against Dean's.

He felt tiny teeth biting his nose, and Sam just laughed, dodging back the necessary half inch to get away from Dean's swiping paw.

"You're so cute," Sam said, and Dean's kitten-blue eyes scowled at him before sliding into a smug expression. Dean mewed again, and preened -- and fell over in Sam's hand, because cocky as he might be, his body had all the coordination of a newborn kitten.

Dean blinked, and gave Sam a look that said he'd actually planned that move. He licked at a paw, and Sam rubbed behind Dean's ear, rewarded with another bout of purring.

When Dean fell asleep in Sam's hand, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone number the witch had given him. Easy as pie to turn him back, she'd said. Just need to nip down to the store and get a few things. Call me when you're ready, she'd said.

Sam folded up the paper and slipped it back into his pocket.

Maybe he'd be ready tomorrow.