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fanfic-scribbles · 7 years ago

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Cat’s Cradle

A/N: Apparently I have a thing for cheering up sad angels. Cas, Cat, and fluff. This miiiiiight have a part two (very, very big ‘maybe’) but ultimately stands alone.

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: A Cas fluff drabble about stopping to smell the roses. Or stopping to pet a cat. And no, that’s not a euphemism.

Quick facts: Romance (pre-relationship) – Castiel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, cute cat, possible overuse of super unoriginal cat name

Words: 1252

The wind is blowing cool, not cold, and the music is actually at a tolerable level today. You’re sharing the backseat of the Impala but even with that, and Sam and Dean bickering off and on, there isn’t anything that can bring you down. Cas is on the other side of the car seemingly lost in thought and you don’t mind the chance to spend time with him, even if it’s not especially productive.

You like Cas– more than you want to admit, actually. He’s a little cool and closed off but he always takes the time to greet you, even if he just pops in for a second, and whenever Dean asks him to have your back on a hunt Cas does it without complaint, or even the eye roll that he does almost every single time he talks to Dean. You smile at the thought. You almost feel bad for Cas having to waste his time on things so small, but for you there’s nothing like having angelic righteousness in your back pocket when things get hairy.

“You two alive back there?” Dean calls and turns his head to look at you. He winks and you laugh.

“Eyes on the road, Casanova,” you say and shift. Dean’s pulling into a gas station and you groan in relief. Finally; a chance to stretch your legs.

“Agreed,” Sam huffs as he exits the car.

You start to follow when you notice Cas squinting in confusion. “You need to get out and walk around, Cas? Dean always takes a while to fill up this gas hog.”

“Hey! Don’t you talk shit about my baby,” Dean grumbles as he starts the pump.

“No, I will be fine,” Cas says. You shrug and head around the back to go to the bathroom.

When you’re coming out after finishing your business, there’s some movement within a nearby pile of crates. Instinct has you put your hand to your weapon tucked in your waistband, but as soon as you see a furry black and white face you let your arm fall to your side.

“Oh, hey there cutie,” you say. The cat meows and slides out of its hovel, immediately rubbing against your legs. You chuckle and get down, balancing on the balls of your feet so the stray can sniff your foodless fingers. Unbothered by your lack of offering, he immediately starts petting himself on your curled knuckles. “Friendly little baby. I bet you get all kinds of treats.”

You stay for a little bit, petting the animal you have creatively named ‘Mister Cat,’ even when footsteps come up behind you. “(y/n), what are you– oh.”

You look back at him and your new furry friend goes to give Cas a cursory sniff before rubbing all over his legs as well. Fair weather, indeed, but it’s almost worth it just for Cas’s utter bafflement and Mister Cat’s continued, increasingly insistent, demand for his love. The cat goes to sit right in front of Cas, tail swishing madly in frustration. “Mow!”

Cas looks at you helplessly. “What do I…?”

You laugh and walk over to the crates, shaking out your legs on the way. You hold your hand above a crate at waist level. “Kitty!” You click your tongue and, when you have Mister Cat’s attention, you snap your fingers over the box. Mister Cat comes immediately and hops up to get pet.

“Come here, Cas,” you say before the angel can sneak off. Cas approaches slowly, watching the cat curiously. You stifle a laugh. “You see how I’m petting him?” Cas nods so you take your hand away. Mister Cat is not pleased and meows again. “You try.”

Cas reaches but, for whatever reason, hesitates. “Here,” you say and take his hand, guiding it over. Cas is still frozen but Mister Cat takes it from there, purring and petting himself on fingertips and knuckles and even the base of Cas’s palm where it meets his wrist– basically, any part of Cas he can reach. Cas gets into it and starts to move his hand, scratching between Mister Cat’s ears, much to the audible pleasure of your feline friend.

Cas smiles, but even more than that, Cas relaxes. You watch him as stress begins to unravel from his entire being. It’s amazing– yes, Cas is stiff and formal and sometimes a little uncomfortable, but you had never realized just how much of the world he seemed to carry on his back. Right now, he looks as pure and calm as you’ve ever seen him.

“I…think I see why humans value animal companionship so much,” Cas says. “This is very enjoyable.”

“Yeah.” You check your watch. “Too bad we can’t take him with us.”

“Why can’t we?” Cas asks.

“Dean’s allergic.”

“Ah,” Cas says and sighs. He leans down to look Mister Cat right in the eyes. “I am sorry, Cat, but it appears we cannot be friends.”

Mister Cat sits and meows.

“I know. I, too, find it regrettable,” Cas says, sounding genuinely sorry. “However I will cherish our meeting nonetheless.”

You cover your smile with one hand and swallow your laughter, but it feels like your heart just grew three sizes, especially when Mister Cat pushes his face against Cas’s chin and Cas has a face like he’s not sure what’s happening. Luckily, Sam doesn’t turn the corner until after their, um, conversation. “Oh, geeze. This is what you’ve been doing? (y/n), you know how Dean is about cats.”

“Yeah, sorry; couldn’t help myself.” You manage to tear your eyes away to give Sam an apologetic smile and you start digging in your pocket. “Here,” you say, shoving a twenty and a few extra bills into his hands. “Buy some Benadryl and a lint roller. Make Dean take the medicine and give us a few minutes with the roller; I’ll make sure we’re cat hair free before we get back in the car.”

“Can I keep the change for having to deal with Dean bitching about you two stopping to pet a cat?” Sam says, but his smile at Cas betrays him. You wonder if he knows what’s getting Cas so down and make a mental note to ask later.

“Knock yourself out; get an Abba-Zaba or something else fun,” you say and start scratching just above Mister Cat’s tail.

“Oh, he likes that,” Cas says in wonder as Mister Cat arches his butt all the way up.

“Gently scratch behind his ears,” you say. Cas does and Mister Cat turns into a Goddamn motor. “Aw yeah; kitty heaven.”

Cas snorts but some heaviness returns to his eyes. “If only he knew,” the angel murmurs. You wince and decide to keep your mouth shut. Soon Sam comes back with the lint roller and, after Cas sneakily summons a few chicken treats, Mister Cat saunters back into his hidey hole, sated. Keeping your word, you meticulously make sure you and Cas are clear of all hair before you both scrub down like surgeons and go back to the car.

Dean bitches but doesn’t even sneeze, and Cas seems a lot more content to watch the road pass by as he leans back in his seat. You smile and give yourself a small pat on the back, before you allow yourself to do that same.

And if an hour or so into your drive a bump in the road causes Cas’s hand to accidentally land on yours and he doesn’t take it back, you’re not going to complain.

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