The Restoration of Thursday

[blualbino]

Title: The Restoration of Thursday
Author: Blu (blualbino )
Rating: T/PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Thursday
Disclaimer: Kripke’s, not mine
Summary: The first time Dean saw the damn cat, he decided it was possessed.

The first time Dean saw the damn cat, he decided it was possessed.

“It’s just a cat, Dean.” Sam said, cradling it to his chest. He had a weakness towards small fluffy things.

“Look at the way it’s staring at me!” Dean retorted, and Sam had to admit he had a point. Ever since Sam opened the door to the cat pawing at it from the other side, the cat had been staring unabashedly at Dean, it’s head cocked slightly to the side, tail flicking back and forth idly. Even after Sam had picked it up it was still staring.

“Maybe it’s challenging you to a fight.” Sam said.

“What?” Dean asked, revealing how little he knew about cats. Sam rolled his eyes. “Creepy little bastard,” the older Winchester muttered. It gave Sam a bad idea.

“Kinda reminds me of Cas.” He said, smirking. Dean started, looked up at Sam, then back down to the fuzzball he was holding.

“You’re right.”
___
Sam decided to name the cat Thursday. Dean had two major problems with that. One, naming the cat implies keeping the cat. Although, after Sam fed the thing leftover sweet and sour chicken, then cut a water bottle in half for it to drink out of, Dean had a pretty good idea of where this was going.
   
His second problem: “Who the hell names something after a day of the week?” Sam just stared at him, scratching the top of the cat’s head.
   
“He looks just like Cas.” He said, as if that made any sense whatsoever.
   
“And?” Sam rolled his eyes again.
   
“Trust me on this Dean, it fits.”
   
Thursday it was.
___
Despite the fact that Sam was definitely nicer to Thursday then Dean was, Thursday liked him more. Sam fed, watered and petted the cat every day, but Dean was the one who woke up with it curled up in bed next to him. Hell, he even referred to the cat as ‘it’, in his head at least, lest Sam go off into an animal rights huff.
   
Sam liked to pick Thursday up and set him on his lap, petting him and trying not to let Dean hear the baby talk voice he was using. Dean tried to pretend he couldn’t hear.
   
Dean liked to glare at the little fuzzball when it curled up on his chest. Thursday glared back. At least Dean thought it was a glare. The thing never blinked much either way.
___
About a month after they had ‘adopted’ (Sam’s word, not his) the little mongrel, who had sat still in the back seat of the Impala during impossibly long car rides, Dean started to not mind so much when he woke up to a little warm animal sharing his bed. In fact, though he would never admit to it, after a few particularly gruesome hell flashbacks, he was glad the fuzzball was there. Something soft and breathing lying near his side for him to take comfort in. Not that he was getting sappy or anything, the stupid cat was just growing on him.
___
On off days, when Dean really didn’t have anything to do but stay in the motel and watch TV, Thursday always followed him around the like a puppy dog. At least he finally got it through the damn thing’s skull that the bathroom was off limits to creatures under  five feet in height.
___
“What?” Dean asked. Okay, maybe he talked to the cat, but not often, only when Sam wasn’t around. Thursday crawled onto his lap, purring loudly and nuzzling his chin. Dean sighed and wearily patted the top of it’s head a few times. That didn’t really stop it.
   
“What do you want?” Dean asked louder. Thursday only sat still, head cocked to one side, grey eyes staring at him. The stupid fuzzball.
   
Dean’s eyes shifted back and forth over the room, and out the window. No one was around. Especially not Sam, who was at the library researching a case. Good.
   
Dean leaned forward and pressed a reluctant kiss on the top of the stupid adorable cat’s head.
   
And then things got interesting.
   
Because one second he had a tiny black cat named Thursday in his lap, then the next he had a not-so-tiny angel named Castiel in his lap.
   
“Hello Dean,” he said. Dean’s lips were still touching his forehead.
   
“AH! Cas? What the hell?” Dean spluttered.
   
“I was cursed into that form,” Castiel deadpanned, seemingly unaware that he was on Dean’s freaking lap of all places. “It was only to be fixed when someone would let me eat off their plate, drink from their glass, sleep in their bed and kiss me.”
   
“Okay…” Dean said, still having a few concentration issues, with very freaking good reason, he might add. Cas didn’t seem to be moving anytime soon, still staring at Dean with that confused kitten look on his face. “Dude,” Dean finally said. “Off.”
   
Castiel finally understood the awkwardness of the moment and climbed off him.
   
“So, uh, you’ve been my cat for this whole time?” Dean asked, still trying to catch up a bit in the current events standing.
   
“Yes.” Castiel said, apparently finding nothing odd about that. Dean, remembering all the times in the first few weeks that Thursday had followed him into the shower, or stared at him while he was changing, had a very different opinion.
   
“Oh.” Was all he said. But, come on, you had to gave him a break. You try coming up with a witty comeback when you’ve just found out that your pet is actually a supernatural being. He was just about to say something to Castiel, when he forgot the principle rule when talking to angels. Don’t blink. Cas was gone.
___
That night, after dinner and a very long explanation to Sam on why their cat was missing, Dean was in the midst of a bad hell dream. One of the worst yet. In his sleep he reached out for the comforting little ball of fur that was normally right next to him. Instead, his hand came into contact with a very human arm.
   
Dean’s eyes snapped open to see Castiel staring at him, laying in the same spot he occupied as Thursday.
   
“Wha…” Dean said, awake but still confused. Cas, for once, looked away from his eyes, his gaze settling around the level of Dean’s chest. It took him a minute to realize that the angel was embarrassed.
   
“I thought…” he said, still not looking in his eyes. “You might need me.” Dean had nothing to say to that. “I apologize.” Castiel said, and Dean felt him start to slip away. Dean tightened his grip on the angel’s arm, which he had, for some reason, been holding on to.
   
Castiel’s eyes moved back up to his own. They held his gaze. Neither said anything, but it was clear that the angel would be there when he woke up.