Happy birthday, awabubbles! merindab suggested we co-op on a gifty for you. This is my half! Looks like Sam’s picked up a stray, who just wants to touch the pecs.
And awabubbles here is my half:
Rain pattered somewhere in the distance. Sam, all six plus feet of him, lay sprawled on the bed, propped against the pillows as he watched TV on his tablet. Gillian Anderson is still hot, he thought to himself. Suddenly loud purring interrupted him and an insistent paw grabbed the edge of his tablet, demanding attention. Sam smiled and rubbed the cat. The calico was small, even as far as cats went. But when they’d had to leave that last town in a hurry, she’d turned up in the back of the Impala as if she’d belonged there all along.
“No pets, dude,” Dean growled as a small mew came from the back seat before nudging against his elbow and climbing into Sam’s lap.
“She’s been in a fight,” said Sam, noticing some matted fur. He grabbed some water and a cloth and gently cleaned the wound. The cat let him, not even hissing or scratching, though he could feel sharp claws lightly flexing. He could feel how thin she was. “Hungry too.”
“We’re not keeping a cat,” repeated Dean, before glancing over at his brother. He sighed, knowing the battle was already lost. “I think there’s some tuna in with the groceries.”
Sam gave a tiny smile and pulled out the tin, glad it was one with a pop top. The cat ate like it had been weeks since a good meal. “I don’t think we have a choice, Dean, I think she’s keeping us.”
Dean grumbled. “How do we know she’s not really a demon or something?”
Sam chuckled. “I think all cats are part demon. If it makes you feel any better that was holy water I just used to clean her up.”
“Our lives are weird,” muttered Dean, but he let it go and after a while the cat had gone to sleep in Sam’s lap for the rest of the ride.
Dean complained about a tuna smell in the car for the next week.
The cat headbutted Sam to bring his attention back to the present. He hadn’t brought himself to name her, as if afraid if he did so it would only cause problems. But as he looked into her eyes he knew that wasn’t fair. “Tatiana? Is that a good name for you?”
“How about Gwen?” asked Dean, leaning against the door frame and watching Sam. Springsteen played somewhere down the hall.
The cat jumped down and wound itself between Dean’s legs. Sam smiled. “I think she likes it.”