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imnotleavinherewithoutyou · 12 years ago

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It's come to my attention that I first posted the tigerstiel snippet like eight months ago?? And I haven't touched it since like January or February, but I have something like 12k sitting on my computer, and I keep bringing it up, so I'm just gonna put the first chapter here for your viewing pleasure. (Also as incentive for me to actually get back to writing it bc I'm a slacker who slacks).

So yeah, here it is.

Chapter 1

Some people say that when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes.

Yeah, that’s a load o’ crap, because the last thing Dean sees when he’s about to die is the pair of wide, sickly-yellow eyes of the spirit he’s supposed to be hunting.

----

Dean wakes up disoriented. The sky’s this odd, pinkish color, and his head hurts like hell. He sits up, and every muscle in his body screams in protest.

And then he remembers the hunt, the spirit, the grave he’d just finished digging. He scrambles to his feet and sees that he’s right by the grave, staring down at a caved-in coffin and a set of old bones. How is he still alive? The spirit should’ve killed him while he was knocked out, or at least dragged him away.

Dean looks around and sees that the sky’s the color that it is because the sun is rising, so he doesn’t waste any time, grabbing the salt and gasoline and getting right to work.

When the bones have gone up in flames, Dean rushes off to the car. Usually they fill in the grave to make their work a little harder to notice, but it’s too bright out now, and he could easily be spotted. It’s not exactly a crime to salt and burn some bones, but Dean doesn’t have a license, and that means he could be locked up for a year or two. And man, would that piss Dad off.

So Dean gets in the Impala and beats it, packs up everything at the motel and hurries off toward Flagstaff, where he’s supposed to be rendezvousing with Dad in a few hours.

Dad’s pissed when Dean gets there, four hours late. “What kept you? I told you to be here on time.”

“Sorry, sir,” Dean says. “There was a uh, a complication.”

Dad’s eyes narrow. “What kind of complication? You told me it was a routine salt-an’-burn.”

“Well… yeah. The bitch must’ve been tethered to her bones a bit better than usual. I was about to light ‘er up, but she showed up and knocked me out.”

“Knocked you out?” Dad says, and his voice carries a note of worry, something Dean isn’t used to hearing from him. “How did it knock you out? Didn’t you have your shotgun with you?” When Dean shakes his head, Dad’s words turn angry. “How could you be so careless? You could have died.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, son.”

“What do you want from me, then? I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Don’t take that tone with me.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “Sorry.” Dad raises an eyebrow, and Dean adds belatedly, “Sir.”

Dad nods slowly, but Dean knows this is far from over.

“So uh… did you have a hunt for me?” Dean asks when Dad remains silent.

“I did.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not holding back just because I accidentally—you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“If you’re capable of making such a rookie mistake once, there’s no telling whether or not you’ll make it again,” Dad says. “Hell, you could have even made the same mistake a few times before and just gotten lucky. I don’t want to risk you dying because you’re an idiot.”

“Okay, sorry. I’ll be careful. I’ll double-check everything all the time. Will you just—”

Dad shakes his head. “No, I… give Caleb a call. Tell him to check out some disappearances in Omaha. I’m gonna call a friend.”

“Omaha? Dad, I could—”

“Call Caleb,” Dad insists, the tone of his voice brooking no argument. Then he gets to his feet and leaves the motel room, pulling his cell phone out as he walks through the doorway.

Dean grumbles nonsensically, sits down on the bed, and takes out his own cell phone, scrolling through the contacts until he gets to Caleb. The phone call is short—Caleb lives in Lincoln, so it’ll only take him about an hour to get to Omaha and check things out.

After hanging up, Dean sighs and tosses his phone on the bed beside him. He’s been hunting on his own for almost a whole year, and he’s been doing great. And then he makes one mistake—one mistake—and Dad goes back to looking at him like he’s a ten-year-old who’s just learned how to fire a shotgun and can’t be trusted with the damn thing.

He curses himself for his carelessness, because if he’d taken the time to grab his shotgun, everything would be fine, and Dad wouldn’t be passing this hunt on to Caleb instead of Dean.

A few minutes later, Dad comes back in. “You’re making a trip to Wisconsin.”

Dean frowns up at him. “Okay, why? It can’t be a hunt, because you’re apparently not coming with.”

“I have a job to finish here,” Dad says.

“Still doesn’t answer my question. Sir.”

“You’re going to visit Dr. Carver Edlund.”

“Carver—oh, fuck,” Dean groans as he recognizes the name, ignoring the way Dad lifts an eyebrow at him. “You can’t be serious. You’re making me get a companion?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were the one who said that using a supernatural creature to hunt supernatural creatures was stupid and hypocritical and—didn’t you say that only idiots would trust them?”

“You know that’s not what I said,” Dad answers.

“Okay, so maybe you didn’t say all of that exactly, but… well, I don’t even have a license! And I know for sure you’re against licenses and all that tracker bullshit. I can’t get a companion without a license,” Dean reasons.

“You can from him.”

“He’s the lead scientist behind the companions,” Dean says, frowning. “How can he—”

“He owes me,” Dad says, and the tone of his voice means that Dean really shouldn’t press.

But of course, Dean does anyway. “Why?”

Dad gets this flinty look in his eyes and stalks past Dean to go through his bag. “Iron River is the name of the town you’ll be going to. Ask for Dr. Edlund, and if he won’t see you, tell the secretary your name is Dean Winchester.”

“Dad—”

“That’s an order.”

Dean clenches his jaw and tamps down his questions.

How could a government-employed scientist owe Dad anything? Why would Dad trust him enough to make Dean give up his real name? Dean knows how much Dad doesn’t trust the government these days, doesn’t trust the fact that in order to get a license to legally hunt the supernatural, people need to get trackers implanted into their forearms.

Dean’s read about the type of tracking device that they’re using. It’s supposedly a safety precaution, because aside from allowing the government to pinpoint location, it also monitors blood pressure, body temperature, and other life stats, so that if something goes wrong on a hunt, the nearest hunters can be notified to provide help.

It all sounds like good stuff to Dean, but Dad’s more than a little paranoid about this, and he won’t explain why. Dean is absolutely sure that it has to do with the thing that killed Mom, but he can’t imagine how the government could possibly have been involved—it was just something like eighteen years ago, back when hunters were scarce, and the general population didn’t even know about the supernatural. All Dean knows is that he can’t have a tracker implanted, which means he can’t legally hunt, yet Dad wants him to do it anyway.

And now he’s supposed to get a companion without a tracker, which should technically be impossible.

“Dad, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Dean says.

“You questioning me, now?”

“It’s just that—”

“Dean, when I give you an order, you obey. It’s that simple. Or do you not trust me anymore?”

“Of course I trust you, Dad.”

“Then you’ll do as I say and go to Dr. Edlund.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says as evenly as he can, but it’s impossible to keep the anger out of his tone. He’s not stupid, and he’s not a child anymore. He actually can process information in his own head.

Then Dad says in a softer voice, “Dean, this is for your own good.”

Dean looks up to see Dad’s eyes fixed on the wall, because Dad is terrible with this sort of stuff. Dean can probably count on his fingers the number of times Dad has tried to comfort him.

“I don’t like these companions very much,” Dad continues, “but I have to admit that they’re effective. I’ve seen the death rates, before and after the companions were developed and made available, and they get the job done. Maybe a time will come when we won’t need them anymore, and we’ll be able to get rid of them. But until that time comes…” he shakes his head, sighs. “You shouldn’t be out there alone, Dean. If Sam would hunt…”

Dad stops himself there, and Dean says, “It’s okay, Dad. I get it. You want me to have someone watching my back, and if you and Sam can’t do it, then that’s the next best option.”

It still doesn’t explain how Dad expects him to get a companion without a tracker, but Dad’s given a lot of ground today, more than he usually does, and Dean will respect his wishes. Hell, Dean almost always follows Dad’s orders, and it’s kept him alive this long, so he’s just gotta believe that this Edlund guy will be trustworthy.

“When should I leave?”

“How tired are you?”

“Uh, not very,” Dean answers—including the five-hour drive to Flagstaff, he’s only been awake about six hours since he woke up by the side of that grave.

“Leave now, then. It’s a long drive to Wisconsin.”

Dean nods and gets up. “All right. I’ll see you later then, Dad.”

“Good luck, son.”

----

It ends up taking Dean about a day and a half, with a break in the middle to catch some sleep, to get to Iron River. The town is a lot smaller than Dean had expected, especially since the creator of companions apparently carries out most of his experiments here. But the advantage of its small size is that Dean has no trouble at all locating the headquarters.

The building looks dingy and old from the front and, just like the town, is a whole lot smaller than Dean thought it would be.

“With all the crap they say about safety, you’d think they’d spend a bit more money on their facilities,” Dean mutters as he gets out of the car.

He goes in through the front door and sees a small lobby, empty except for a young woman sitting behind a desk.

“Hello,” she says with a smile. “Do you have an appointment?”

Dean chuckles and makes a show of looking around. “Do I really need one?”

“Dr. Edlund is a very busy man,” the woman says. “He doesn’t have time for walk-ins.”

“Uh, right. Well, could you tell him that Dean Winchester is here to see him?”

“Right,” she scoffs. “Because your name will be enough to get him to see you.”

“Lady—”

“Dr. Edlund is running a series of very important experiments this week, and he really doesn’t have free time to—”

“Hey,” Dean says, cutting her off. “Just tell him I’m here. That’s all. If he says he won’t see me, I’ll be outta your hair in no time.”

He forces a smile, and the girl sighs, looking at him like he’s the biggest pain in the ass, but she picks up the phone on her desk and dials a four-digit extension, so Dean maintains that fake-ass grin for another moment before letting it fade.

“Hi, Dr. Edlund? Sorry to bother you, but—yes, I know you’re busy. There’s this guy here, says that you’ll see him if I tell you his name.”

Dean can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, because the sooner she gets on with it, the sooner he can get outta this middle-o’-nowhere town.

“Dean Winchester,” the secretary says, glancing up at Dean for confirmation. “Oh. Uh, yes. Okay. I’ll tell him. Bye.” She puts the phone back on the receiver.

“What’s the verdict?” Dean says.

“He’ll be right over,” she answers.

If Dean were a better person, he wouldn’t say anything, but he’s never thought of himself as a good person. “Well, was that so hard?”

She shoots him a dirty look but says nothing and turns her attention back to her computer monitor. Dean can’t see what she’s doing, so he moves over to one of the many vacant chairs and sits down.

Three minutes later, a short, harried-looking guy in a dirty, once-white lab coat comes rushing in. It looks like his chin has accumulated a few days’ worth of scruff, and his hair is just long enough that it looks tangled, like it could use some brushing. But he’s young, a lot younger than Dean had expected for the guy who’s supposed to have come up with the first companions.

“Dean, right?” the man—must be Dr. Edlund—says as Dean gets to his feet. He sticks a hand out for Dean to shake and continues without giving Dean time to answer, “I uh, I thought you wouldn’t be here for another day or two. Weren’t you just in Flagstaff?”

Dean shakes his hand and answers, “Didn’t wanna waste any time. So you got anything for me?”

“Of course. Follow me,” Dr. Edlund says. He spins and walks back the way he came, and Dean hurries to keep up.

They walk back past the desk and through a door that opens into a narrow hallway. Dr. Edlund walks quickly, and even though Dean’s almost a head taller than him, it’s almost hard to keep pace.

“So uh, what’s the deal with this place?” Dean asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t mean any disrespect, Dr. Edlund, but—”

The doctor laughs. “Dean, don’t call me that. Didn’t your dad tell you anything?”

Dean frowns, because he doesn’t want to admit anything to this stranger, whether or not Dad seems to trust him.

“Call me Chuck,” the doctor says when Dean doesn’t answer. “Carver Edlund’s just a name I made up.”

“Oh. Why?”

Chuck shrugs, still maintaining the same pace. “I uh, I wasn’t always a doctor. I mean, I don’t even have an actual doctorate.” Dean stares as the man starts getting flustered, but he eventually gathers himself and says, “If it weren’t for your dad… let’s just say that Carver Edlund never would’ve existed.”

“Huh,” Dean says. “So I’m guessing he saved your ass a while back.”

“Yep. Yep, that he did.”

They reach a door at the end of the hallway, and Chuck produces a keycard from his pocket. It slides open at his command, and they step into a large laboratory. Dean scans the room quickly, but Chuck just heads to the right, and Dean jogs a few steps to catch up.

“What’s the story, then?” he asks.

“Oh. Well, uh,” Chuck pauses to open another door and steps through into another hallway, this one shorter than the last, “it was a shapeshifter. The thing killed my agent and—”

“Your agent?”

“Right,” Chuck says, and Dean catches a dull flush rising on the back of Chuck’s neck. “I was a uh, a pulp fiction writer?” he says, voice lilting up at the end so that it sounds like a question. “Anyway, the shapeshifter killed Becky and took her place, and it was gonna kill me next, but your dad came, shot it with a silver bullet, and that was the end of it.”

“Okay, and how does ‘Carver Edlund’ figure into any of this, then?”

They stop at the end of this hallway. “Well, I was a biology major. Huge into genetics, and did a fair share of research back in college. When I found out about shapeshifters, I asked your dad for more information about the supernatural, and well… one thing led to another, but eventually he was catching skinwalkers for me.”

Dean nods—everyone knows that the first companions were created by breeding skinwalkers with other types of animals to hopefully make them more obedient. It’s probably only been a little over a decade since the first companions were made, but the knowledge in the field has already expanded to the point that companions are genetically engineered to be obedient.

“Anyway, uh. You got any specific species in mind?” Chuck asks.

“Nope.”

“All right, then.” Chuck moves to press his keycard to the pad beside this door, but Dean grabs his hand, stopping him.

“Just—one thing,” he says. “I’m not… registered.”

Chuck blinks at him before breaking into a wide smile and shaking his head. “Your dad really told you nothing. Wow. I guess—yeah, that sounds like your dad. Uh, that’s no problem. Your dad saved my life, and he was an unregistered hunter. If he doesn’t want the government to put a tracker in you or your companion, that’s fine by me.”

“Chuck, you don’t by any chance happen to know why exactly my dad…”

“…is such a paranoid guy?” Chuck finishes. “Not the faintest.” After a pause, Chuck says, “So you ready to take a look?”

Dean nods and tries to muster up a bit more enthusiasm. He just doesn’t like the idea that Dad thinks he needs a freaking guardian to watch over him. Because sure, they’re called companions, but hell, most of the companions Dean’s seen are pretty much guard dogs—or cats, rather. Felines are more popular than canines because they��re supposedly quieter on the job.

Chuck pushes the door open and leads them into a room that’s completely empty of any furnishing or decoration. One wall is made completely of glass, and behind it is a huge room filled with animals—some winged, some not, but all obviously companions—making it clear that this is a viewing room. Dean is surprised that he didn’t see it from outside, because this enclosure looks freaking state-of-the-art.

Dean’s only been in the viewing room for about five seconds when he spots it and just knows that if he’s gotta have one of these stupid companions, it’ll be that one. The creature is standing at the far end of the pen, a massive tiger with vibrant, red-orange fur striped with lines of pitch-black. It turns its head in the direction of the viewing pen for a moment before turning away and prowling along the far end of its prison, but in that brief moment Dean’s able to catch that its eyes are impossibly blue.

Dean starts paying attention and realizes that Chuck’s been talking while he was staring at the tiger, something about which types of creatures that are good for particular types of hunts. Dean didn’t even know that the types of hunts would factor into his decision.

“I want the tiger,” Dean says, cutting the man off.

Chuck huffs a laugh. “Well, of course you want him. Everyone does.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s beautiful,” Chuck says, looking at Dean like he’s an idiot. “I mean, just look at that coat. Who wouldn’t want him? But uh, there’s something different about him. I’m still trying to figure out what went wrong.”

“What’s so different about him?” Dean asks.

Chuck glances at Dean. “Have you seen companions before?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And how would you describe them around their owners?”

Dean shrugs. “Obedient. Quiet.”

“Right. But this tiger won’t imprint on anyone. I tried to sell him off once even without imprinting because the guy offered such a high price, but he ran away and came right back here.”

“So he’s probably imprinted to you, then,” Dean says, and he can’t help or explain the low ache of disappointment in his chest.

But Chuck shakes his head. “Nope. Won’t listen to a thing I say. He won’t even change back to his human form so that we can have a proper conversation. I’ve tried talking to him before, but… well. I haven’t seen him in human form since he was maybe three months old.”

Dean frowns. Figures that the only one he’s interested in would be dysfunctional. He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly huge, ebony wings are unfurling from the air above the tiger, wings that Dean somehow hadn’t even noticed. He spares a glance at Chuck and sees that the scientist is smiling.

But Dean can’t keep his eyes from shifting right back to the tiger, watching as it takes off into the air with a few great flaps of its wings. He’s always known that feline companions are graceful on the ground, perfect for almost any sort of hunt, but he’s never felt like they’d look so great in flight. This tiger is proving him so wrong—even from so far away, he can see how its fur ripples as it flies, as though the stripes on its back are shifting, changing patterns. The smaller companions stay out of its way as it makes a circuit around the top of the glass dome.

Then it’s coming back down, and Chuck says in a reverent voice, “He hasn’t done that in a long time. Beautiful wings, though.”

“Yeah,” is all Dean can think to say.

And then the tiger is landing a few yards away from the glass wall, staring right at them. It folds its wings at its back, and when Dean blinks, they’re gone.

“W-What—” Dean begins.

“Like I said. Different,” Chuck says, but he sounds smug now. The tiger approaches the glass and places a giant paw on it.

“What is he doing?”

“I like to think it’s his way of saying hi. It definitely doesn’t happen often,” Chuck says with a small smile. Then he side-eyes Dean again. “It’s never happened with a stranger around, come to think of it. I always thought Cas was too shy.”

“Cas?”

“Oh, yeah,” Chuck says, cheeks flushing. “I uh, I normally don’t name companions because it’s supposed to be the owner’s right, but I figured… since Cas wasn’t imprinting on anyone, and he seems to like it enough…” Chuck breaks off into a nervous laugh.

Dean looks back to see that the tiger is focused on him now, large, blue eyes fixed on him unblinkingly. “Shit,” he breathes, surprised.

“Wow,” Chuck says, and his voice sounds a little shaky. “This uh, this hasn’t ever happened before. You… wanna meet him?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I do.”

Chuck takes a deep breath and holds his keycard to a side door that Dean hadn’t noticed when he stepped into the viewing room. “Okay, then. I’ll see if I can get him out. Just uh, stay here.” The doctor exits the room, and the door swings shut behind him.

When Dean turns his attention back to the cage, he notes that the tiger—Cas—is turning to the side. Chuck enters Dean’s field of vision, making shooing gestures at these two domestic-looking ginger cats that are weaving around his legs. Dean doesn’t bother holding back his laugh, and judging from Chuck’s lack of reaction, the scientist can’t hear him.

The cats eventually get the point and scamper off together, and Chuck starts to beckon Cas to come closer, but he doesn’t get a reaction. Dean steps closer to the glass, and even though he can’t hear anything, he’s amused by the way Chuck is pleading with the big cat.

Finally, Chuck seems to get fed up and turns around, disappears from Dean’s sight. Dean looks back at Cas and is surprised to see that he’s moving in the same direction, following Chuck.

A minute later, Chuck opens the door a crack. “Promise me you’re not gonna freak out, okay? Because there was this time a guy said he wanted a lion, but as soon as he was in the same room with it, he freaked out, and the lion freaked out too, and it was just—”

“Dude. It’s fine,” Dean says. “I’m not gonna freak out.”

“Okay,” Chuck says. He pushes the door open and steps back into the viewing room.

Cas follows a few seconds later, taking slow, measured steps. His eyes—so blue, so, so fucking blue—are trained on Dean, and Dean can’t look away. The tiger continues to advance, and Dean finds himself backing up without ever intending to do so.

“Uh, don’t startle him,” a voice—right, Chuck’s voice—says.

Dean’s back hits a wall, and Cas stops about a foot away from him, lifting his head so that their eye contact doesn’t break, and Jesus Christ, does he ever blink?

Abruptly, Cas rears up, and Dean tries to shy away, except that he can’t, because his back is already up against a wall, and holy shit, if this is how he dies, Dad is gonna be pissed. Two giant paws land against the wall on either side of Dean’s head, and Dean swallows hard, eyes still locked with Cas because maybe if he wins the staring contest, Cas won’t bite his head off.

“Just—just don’t make any sudden movements,” Chuck is saying in a panicked voice.

“I wasn’t moving,” Dean hisses back.

Cas leans in to sniff at Dean, giant blue eyes finally sliding shut, and Dean quickly turns his head to the side, away from the questing snout. Whiskers tickle his jaw, and then a wet nose comes into contact with his bared neck. Fuck, his life could end right this second. Then Cas makes this loud, rumbling sound that doesn’t seem at all threatening, pulls back, and drops down onto all fours again.

Dean lets out the breath he’s been holding, staring wide-eyed at Chuck. “What the hell just happened?”

Cas’s head is about level with Dean’s waist when he’s on the ground, and the tiger steps forward now, nudging at Dean’s hand. Chuck, meanwhile, looks pretty friggin’ clueless, for a professional.

But then he says, “Cas is… he’s imprinting, Dean.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I know, but… you’ve obviously got his attention.”

Cas nudges Dean’s hand again, and Dean looks down at him. “What am I s’posed to do?” he asks Chuck.

“Pet him. If you want to keep him, you have to show him that you accept him.”

Dean nods, lifts his hand and runs it through the soft—so soft, holy shit—fur on Cas’s head, and Cas makes that deep, growly sound again. And then Dean realizes what it is—fuck, the giant tiger is purring. Cas tilts his head into Dean’s touch.

“See if he’ll listen to you,” Chuck says.

“Uh, what do you want me to say?”

Chuck shrugs. “I don’t know. Give him a command.”

“Um. Cas, sit?” Dean says uncertainly.

Cas backs up a step and tilts his head up, and the look in his eyes clearly spells out, You’re an idiot.

“Okay, great. I’m pretty sure Cas thinks I’m a moron,” he says to Chuck before looking back down at Cas. “Aren’t you supposed to follow orders?”

Dean never knew tigers could arch their eyebrows, but apparently Cas has no problem with it, because he lifts one brow before slowly sitting down, tail flicking back and forth lazily.

“Oh, wow,” Chuck murmurs, and Dean glances over to see that the scientist looks freakin’ thrilled. “Tell him to take human form.”

At these words, Cas lets out a low warning growl.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dean says.

“But he’s gonna have to be able to talk to you. I can’t let him go with you if you guys can’t communicate.”

Dean drops into a crouch, bringing himself to eye level with Cas, who stares levelly back at him. Dean has no clue what the tiger is thinking, but he’s pretty sure he sees something human in there, looking back at him defiantly. “I don’t know, Chuck. You said that you sold him to someone before,” Dean points out.

“Right.”

Dean tears his eyes away from Cas’s to look up at Chuck again. “What, is this different because I’m not paying you however much the other guy did?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I wouldn’t make you or your dad pay for anything. Without him, I’d be dead,” Chuck says hastily. “It’s just… Cas is finally responding, and I just…”

“You want to study him,” Dean says flatly.

“I… yeah,” Chuck admits. “He’s one-of-a-kind! I’ve never seen a companion like him before, and I’ve never been able to figure out what makes him different.”

“Maybe not every supernatural thing can be explained away by science,” Dean says.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Chuck says. He sighs. “All right, looks like he’s going with you. There’s a uh, two week period during which you can introduce your family to him. He’ll accept them and protect them as much as he’ll protect you.”

“Okay, and what if he doesn’t meet them in the first two weeks?”

“Then he won’t recognize them as family. They’ll be friends at best, so he won’t be obligated to protect them.”

Dean instantly starts mentally charting a course for Stanford. He’s in Wisconsin, so on the way he could stop by Bobby’s, and even the Roadhouse… “Is there a limit to the number of family members he’ll recognize?”

“The fewer the better, honestly,” Chuck says. “So don’t get any ideas about introducing all your friends as family. Otherwise the effect just gets sort of watered down.”

“Okay. Is that it?”

Chuck considers it for a moment. “Oh, I need to put a collar on him.”

Cas growls again, and Dean reaches out without thinking to soothe him. It’s only when his hand is already buried in the lush fur at the back of Cas’s neck that Dean realizes he just risked getting his hand bitten off by an angry tiger. But Cas arches into the contact, shifts to lay down on his belly.

“It’s the collar for a tracker,” Chuck explains when he sees that Cas is calm. “I won’t actually put a tracker in, but it’ll be extremely noticeable if you’re walking around with a collarless companion.”

“That sound okay to you, Cas?” Dean asks.

“Here, come with me. I’ll take you to get him a collar, and then you guys can head out,” Chuck says.

Dean follows Chuck out of the room, and Cas walks to his right, stays about half a step behind him. They go back through the lab that they’d passed by on the way in, but Chuck stops halfway down the first hallway and opens a door.

“Come in,” he says, and they enter a small room lined with cabinets on all the walls.

“Oh, god,” Dean can’t help muttering.

“Yeah, I know. It’s like Kamaji’s boiler room.”

“Uh.”

“Okay, never mind. You don’t look like you would’ve watched that movie,” Chuck says, looking embarrassed. He clears his throat. “Anyway, collar.” He moves across the room and tries a few drawers before opening one and letting out a sigh of relief. “Dean, come here and pick one.”

“Anything black is fine.”

“Okay, then.” Chuck takes out a nondescript black collar and passes it over to Dean. “You’re gonna have to put it on him yourself. I get this feeling he’d maul me if I tried.”

Dean turns back to Cas and sees that the tiger looks torn between bolting out of the room and standing his ground. Dean moves toward him slowly and takes a knee. Cas remains tense, eyes fixed on the collar. “You sure Cas didn’t suffer any abuse or something?” Dean asks. “I really don’t think this is something that’s just genetics.”

Chuck shakes his head. “No. He’s only left the facility that one time, and he came back pretty much the next day.”

Dean pets Cas with the hand that’s not holding the collar, and those bright, sapphire eyes finally shift away from the collar. “Hey,” Dean says, giving the tiger—his tiger, now—a hopefully reassuring smile. “This is just a safety precaution. For me. If you don’t have one, I could get into some big trouble.”

The tiger’s eyes are doubtful, but his stance is much more relaxed, and he leans into Dean’s touch. Dean then holds the edge of the collar to Cas’s neck, making sure to move slowly so that his intent is clear. Cas eyes him warily but doesn’t move, holds still as Dean puts the leather around his neck and shifts forward so that he can clasp it.

As soon as the collar is in place, Cas shifts uncomfortably, growls low in his throat, and tosses his head. Dean pulls his hands back, holds them in front of himself with his palms facing out, waits for Cas to settle. The sound changes to something suspiciously like a whine, and then Cas is pressing the top of his head to Dean’s right palm.

“Wow,” Chuck breathes. “You’re a natural. There’s no way you’d stick around as an intern, is there?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Nope, no way.” He rubs Cas’s head before getting to his feet and going back out into the hallway. Chuck follows, and Cas brings up the rear. “Thanks for everything,” Dean says as they go back out into the lobby.

“No, thank you for dropping by. And check in every now and then. I’d love to hear how Cas does out there,” Chuck says.

“Sure, sure,” Dean says, nodding.

Chuck smiles. “Good luck, Dean.”

Dean exits the building and walks toward the Impala, noting that the sky is a pinkish color—the sun is setting. He turns back to look at Cas and frowns. “Okay, I know you don’t wanna turn human, but this here’s my baby, and I don’t want you shedding all over her,” he says.

Cas just blinks up at him.

“You gonna shift or what?”

Nothing.

“Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me,” Dean groans.

He unlocks the door and goes to open one of the back doors for Cas, but when he turns, Cas’s huge wings have manifested again, and he looks like he’s ready to lift off.

“Wait—hey. Where do you think you’re going?”

Cas gives him the same look from before, when Dean had told him to sit. And Dean realizes that Cas intends to follow the car.

“Wings are friggin’ awesome,” he says, grinning, and Cas makes a huffing sound before taking off into the air.

Dean watches him fly for a moment, and it looks like he really enjoys the freedom. Then Dean gets into the Impala and drives off, checking for Cas every now and then.

He really is gonna have to figure out a way to convince Cas to shift though, because they’re gonna have to talk out loud at some point… aren’t they?

----

It’s dark when Dean shows up on Bobby’s doorstep. “Hey yo, Bobby! Open up—it’s Dean!” he calls. He looks back and gestures for Cas to join him—the great tiger is still standing beside the Impala, looking around at all the junk cars mistrustfully.

Then the front door opens. “Dean,” he says, smiling warmly. “‘S been a long time since you last dropped by, boy. I was wonderin’ when I’d see ya again.”

“Well, I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d stop by.”

“Come on in, then.”

Dean pauses, looks back at Cas, and says, “I uh, I’ve got a friend with me.”

Bobby follows his line of sight and whistles. “That a companion you got travelin’ with you, Dean?”

“Yep. I went and got myself one.”

Bobby frowns. “So I guess John finally cashed in on that favor with Chuck.”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t even know if it’d only be one favor,” he says. “From the way Chuck was talking, sounded like the guy thought he owed Dad everything.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be wrong,” Bobby answers. “Lotta people owe their lives to your daddy. ‘S nice to know some of them actually appreciate it.” After a pause, he says, “Well, what’re you waitin’ for? Bring it in. Might as well get it acquainted with Sharon, anyway.”

“Right,” Dean says, frowning at Cas as Bobby disappears into the house. “Cas, get over here,” he says.

The tiger turns to face him, eyes defiant. But before Dean can say anything else, Cas moves toward him, and he’s so graceful it looks like he’s not walking, but gliding. Cas walks past Dean and into the house, but he stiffens two steps into the living room.

“What?” Dean says, bumping into Cas when he enters. He pushes the door closed.

“It’s normal for companions to be uncomfortable in each other’s space when they first meet,” Bobby explains.

Dean nods. “Okay yeah, that makes sense.”

Then Sharon walks in—tall, with long, dark hair and glittering green eyes—and it’s not often that Dean gets to see her in human form, so he smiles and gives a little wave.

“Dean,” Sharon says with a small smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, and he notices that Cas is not-so-subtly staying in front of Dean, between him and Sharon, like he’s trying to protect him, which—right, companion. Makes sense.

“Who is this?” Sharon asks, looking first at Cas, then at Dean.

“Dean got a companion,” Bobby answers.

Sharon frowns down at Cas. “He’s hostile. Wild, almost. Where did you find him?”

Dean looks over to Bobby, unsure what he’s supposed to say, but Bobby’s also looking at him, clearly interested. “I got him from Chuck, okay? The doc said he was different, but he imprinted on me, so I took him.”

Sharon reaches a hand up to her neck, and Dean notices the dark brown leather fitted snugly at the base. Without warning, she shifts, and Cas tenses up even more. When she’s done, there’s a good-sized—but small compared to Cas—black Rottweiler in her place. Dean will never get over the huge disconnect between the sleek, delicate look that Sharon maintains when she’s human and the rough look she takes on when she’s shifted.

She barks once at Cas, a short, yipping sound, and Cas lets out a low growl. Then Sharon’s moving toward Cas, and Bobby looks like he’s trying to hide his nerves.

“Sharon, easy,” he says.

Sharon ignores him and steadily walks until she’s right in front of Cas, and then she lies down on the ground, tilting her head up to look at him. Cas huffs out a short breath and bends to sniff at the Rottweiler, and Dean edges around his tiger to go stand by Bobby.

“Uh, so is that normal, too?” he asks.

Bobby shakes his head. “Nope. Usually they go human and talk these things out. What’s this Sharon’s saying about your companion being wild, Dean?”

“I just came from Chuck’s, I swear.”

Then Cas is in front of them, but his gaze is fixed on Bobby instead of Dean. He nudges at Bobby’s hand, and Dean recognizes the gesture.

“Uh, means you’re supposed to pet him,” he supplies.

Bobby looks distinctly uncomfortable, and Dean tries to focus on that instead of the irrational surge of jealousy that comes with the sight of Bobby’s hand running through Cas’s fur. Cas rumbles, making a sound that Dean now recognizes as pleased, and backs away, looking over to Sharon. She barks again and trots away. Cas takes a few steps in that direction, then turns his head back to look at Dean.

“Go on,” Dean says, and Cas follows Sharon out of the room.

“Well,” Bobby says, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see a jungle cat in my living room. I don’t know about you, boy, but I need a drink.”

Dean laughs. “You know I’m always up for a beer,” he says, following Bobby into the kitchen.

#thebipolarangel #garrisonbabe #vhanstiel #lemonrow #tigerstiel #i think there were more people who asked to be tagged but only the first five show up #so #sorryyyyyyy #also pls pls pls don't be disappointed #//wallows in a puddle of insecurity #deancas #my fic #eliza is a slacker who slacks

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