Another Innocent Saved
Aug. 1st, 2015 01:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: Another Innocent Saved
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/Pairing: Dean, Sam, and a New Friend
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cozy_coffee: Weechesters, cuddling a kitten
Warning(s): Minor Character Death, John not shown in a good light
Word Count: 1,580
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
He still remembers the first time he held one of these gentle creatures. It had been another day, like most, when he and his father had been fighting, but he'd threatened to tell Sammy the truth of what was happening. He was still a kid, but with as much as their father's absence made him cry, Dean felt his kid brother had a right to know at least some of the truth. He might not be able to tell him about the monsters yet, but he could certainly tell him more than their father ever would.
They had let Sammy out to play in a park and had been watching him from the cab of his father's old truck when it had happened. John had tensed, his hand immediately gripping the nearest weapon, and Dean had also been ready to run after his brother. But no monster had come. The tiny, hungry feline was all by himself. He wasn't a trap at all, and Sammy immediately fell in love with the kitten who wanted a friend as desperately as he himself needed one.
He'd played with him for a while before carefully scooping him up and almost running back to his father and brother. "He's hungry," he'd said the moment he'd opened his door. His face looked almost as sorrowful as the kitten's as it mewed its agreement.
We're all hungry, Dean had felt like telling him, but he hadn't. The kitten was the first thing that had made his brother smile in days.
"Let him down, Sam," John had instructed. "He'll find food for himself soon enough."
"No, he won't. Daddy, look! He's all skin and bones!"
That's what they'd be, too, Dean remembers thinking, if he didn't manage to whip up some strange concoctions that, no matter how weird they were, were still edible.
Despite John's protests, Sam had crawled back into the truck and was still holding the kitten. "Dean, do we have any of that marshmallow macaroni and cheese left?"
"Sam, put that animal out of here this instant! This is no life for a cat!"
Dean turned to face his father, ignoring his brother for a moment. Anger blazed in his eyes. Sammy was happy -- actually happy --, and his father wanted to ruin it! "It's no life for little boys, either," he had stated in a low and fierce voice, low enough that Sammy wouldn't hear him from the back seat and fierce enough that John knew he wasn't about to be pushed any further.
It was one of the rare times that Dean had successfully made his father shut up. He'd let Sammy keep the kitten, and Dean had worked hard to feed all three of them every time his dad dropped them off while he went hunting. The kitten had soon grown into a cat, and Sammy was growing like a weed, too. One night, when they were alone and Dean was especially tired, the young cat had left Sammy's arms while he slept and curled up with Dean instead. Dean had tried to shoo him away, but he had refused to leave. Soon, Dean had realized just how soft his fur was, how reassuring his purr, and gentle his little paws, and he'd fallen asleep holding him.
The cat was Sammy's -- there was no question about it --, but from that night on, Dean had shared a special connection with the feline. They'd both wanted to keep Sammy happy and safe, and they both worked to do just that. That cat became almost as devoted to Sammy as Dean was.
Now, holding another teeny kitten, Dean closes his eyes against the memories flashing through his mind. Tears well in his shut eyes, but he won't let them drop. He doesn't want to remember, but he remembers nonetheless. He remembers getting back to their dingy hotel just a little too late one evening and finding Sammy under attack. The child had, of course, had no weapons, and it was a wonder he wasn't dead already. He would've been, too, if that same, little kitty hadn't stood between him and the Demon.
Dean had shot Demon without hesitation, but it had still thrown their little, furry friend. It had still killed him. Dean remembers how Sammy had wailed for days, more upset over the loss of that kitty than over the fact that monsters were real. He remembers how he himself had felt burying the kitty in a vacant lot and how he'd blamed himself both for Sammy's grief and the heroic cat's death.
The pain still seems as fresh as it was that day years ago. Dean opens his eyes, blinking against his tears, still determined not to let them fall. He looks down at the tiny bundle in his hand. Just as Sammy had with their first cat, he could feel the kitten's ribs sticking through his sticky and matted fur. The little tyke was hungry, and he was another orphan who had been thrown away by some one who hadn't wanted him.
"Dean?"
Dean's head snaps up, guilt flashing over his face. "Sam, I -- " he starts to explain, but Sammy's already walked pass him to the trunk. Dean waits, mulling over what he's going to tell his brother as he listens to Sammy shifting through the items in their trunk. Weapons clang, cans of soda and beer roll, and books slam down on each other. Finally, Sam emerges, holding a can of tune, with a triumphant grin.
"If we feed him, we'll never get rid of him," Dean warns, but Sam's already opening the can.
The kitten rolls around in Dean's cupped palms, meows urgently, and paws at the air in his eagerness to get the fish, canned and old though it may be. Sam kneels down onto the pavement, touches it, determines it's too hot, and stands again. The kitten is now kneading Dean's hands, but he hasn't released it yet. Sam puts the can in a tree's shadow that's cast over the Impala's closed trunk. He then returns for the kitten.
Dean stands and carries the kitten himself to the Impala. He watches both Sammy and the kitten through eyes narrowed with suspicion. He's far pass grown weary of losing those for whom he dares to care. He doesn't want to add another soul to that ever growing list. But Sam's eyes are alight as he watches the kitten, and soon Dean forgets to watch Sam and is melting inside as he watches the kitten instead.
The kitten is starving and makes short work of the can. He then looks up at Dean, licking the juice off of his tiny, cute face. Dean's had almost all he can take. But the kitten meows, still looking at him. He dashes over the trunk's lid and begins pushing at Dean's hands with his little head. Dean raises a hand and slowly begins to pet him again.
The little guy is so cute, and he's not apt to make it out here in the city alone. But he's also not apt to make it with them. "This is no life for a cat," he repeats his father's earlier words and tenses inside. He hates sounding like John Winchester!
Sam evenly meets his worried gaze. He waves a hand at the crowded parking lot. "This is no life for a kitten, either, Dean."
Dean pauses. "What about . . . "
"Scruffy," Sam supplies without hesitation. "His name was Scruffy, and he was a hero and one of the best friends we ever had." Tears are misting in his eyes, and unlike Dean, he doesn't bother to push them away. "He saved me that night, Dean."
"I know," Dean admits, his own voice gruff with emotion. "But . . . "
"But what if they kill him, too? We're older now, better. We can protect him like Scruffy protected me back then. Besides, if we leave him here, he's going to die. He'll probably be run over if something doesn't grab him for a snack."
"We could take him to the Pound."
"To the Pound? Really? You remember what that place was like when you were a dog?"
"Yeah." It was a terrible place full of sorrow, pain, and death.
"Three days."
Dean's eyes flick up from the kitten to Sammy in question.
"Three days is all they give them. I think we can do him better than that."
Dean looks back down to the kitten, who is now licking his fingers not out of hunger but out of love. He's claiming him as his, and just like Dean and Sam were when they had Scruffy and still are now, he has no one else and nowhere else to go. He looks up into his eyes, his own eyes so big for his small body, shining, and begging. "Mew?" he pleads.
Dean sighs. His head hangs. "Fine," he finally caves to which the kitty mews excitedly and Sam beams, "but you're changing the litter pans this time."
"Sure," Sam's quick to agree. "I'll go buy one now." He darts off, leaving Dean and the kitten alone again.
Left alone, with no one watching but the kitten, Dean picks the little animal back up and looks at him face to face. "You better be a fighter," he tells him. A paw swings for his nose. Dean chuckles. "Them, not me." But he's grinning widely when he slips back into the Impala's driver's seat, a newly saved life cupped safely in his hands.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/Pairing: Dean, Sam, and a New Friend
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt:
comment_fic: cozy_coffee: Weechesters, cuddling a kittenWarning(s): Minor Character Death, John not shown in a good light
Word Count: 1,580
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
He still remembers the first time he held one of these gentle creatures. It had been another day, like most, when he and his father had been fighting, but he'd threatened to tell Sammy the truth of what was happening. He was still a kid, but with as much as their father's absence made him cry, Dean felt his kid brother had a right to know at least some of the truth. He might not be able to tell him about the monsters yet, but he could certainly tell him more than their father ever would.
They had let Sammy out to play in a park and had been watching him from the cab of his father's old truck when it had happened. John had tensed, his hand immediately gripping the nearest weapon, and Dean had also been ready to run after his brother. But no monster had come. The tiny, hungry feline was all by himself. He wasn't a trap at all, and Sammy immediately fell in love with the kitten who wanted a friend as desperately as he himself needed one.
He'd played with him for a while before carefully scooping him up and almost running back to his father and brother. "He's hungry," he'd said the moment he'd opened his door. His face looked almost as sorrowful as the kitten's as it mewed its agreement.
We're all hungry, Dean had felt like telling him, but he hadn't. The kitten was the first thing that had made his brother smile in days.
"Let him down, Sam," John had instructed. "He'll find food for himself soon enough."
"No, he won't. Daddy, look! He's all skin and bones!"
That's what they'd be, too, Dean remembers thinking, if he didn't manage to whip up some strange concoctions that, no matter how weird they were, were still edible.
Despite John's protests, Sam had crawled back into the truck and was still holding the kitten. "Dean, do we have any of that marshmallow macaroni and cheese left?"
"Sam, put that animal out of here this instant! This is no life for a cat!"
Dean turned to face his father, ignoring his brother for a moment. Anger blazed in his eyes. Sammy was happy -- actually happy --, and his father wanted to ruin it! "It's no life for little boys, either," he had stated in a low and fierce voice, low enough that Sammy wouldn't hear him from the back seat and fierce enough that John knew he wasn't about to be pushed any further.
It was one of the rare times that Dean had successfully made his father shut up. He'd let Sammy keep the kitten, and Dean had worked hard to feed all three of them every time his dad dropped them off while he went hunting. The kitten had soon grown into a cat, and Sammy was growing like a weed, too. One night, when they were alone and Dean was especially tired, the young cat had left Sammy's arms while he slept and curled up with Dean instead. Dean had tried to shoo him away, but he had refused to leave. Soon, Dean had realized just how soft his fur was, how reassuring his purr, and gentle his little paws, and he'd fallen asleep holding him.
The cat was Sammy's -- there was no question about it --, but from that night on, Dean had shared a special connection with the feline. They'd both wanted to keep Sammy happy and safe, and they both worked to do just that. That cat became almost as devoted to Sammy as Dean was.
Now, holding another teeny kitten, Dean closes his eyes against the memories flashing through his mind. Tears well in his shut eyes, but he won't let them drop. He doesn't want to remember, but he remembers nonetheless. He remembers getting back to their dingy hotel just a little too late one evening and finding Sammy under attack. The child had, of course, had no weapons, and it was a wonder he wasn't dead already. He would've been, too, if that same, little kitty hadn't stood between him and the Demon.
Dean had shot Demon without hesitation, but it had still thrown their little, furry friend. It had still killed him. Dean remembers how Sammy had wailed for days, more upset over the loss of that kitty than over the fact that monsters were real. He remembers how he himself had felt burying the kitty in a vacant lot and how he'd blamed himself both for Sammy's grief and the heroic cat's death.
The pain still seems as fresh as it was that day years ago. Dean opens his eyes, blinking against his tears, still determined not to let them fall. He looks down at the tiny bundle in his hand. Just as Sammy had with their first cat, he could feel the kitten's ribs sticking through his sticky and matted fur. The little tyke was hungry, and he was another orphan who had been thrown away by some one who hadn't wanted him.
"Dean?"
Dean's head snaps up, guilt flashing over his face. "Sam, I -- " he starts to explain, but Sammy's already walked pass him to the trunk. Dean waits, mulling over what he's going to tell his brother as he listens to Sammy shifting through the items in their trunk. Weapons clang, cans of soda and beer roll, and books slam down on each other. Finally, Sam emerges, holding a can of tune, with a triumphant grin.
"If we feed him, we'll never get rid of him," Dean warns, but Sam's already opening the can.
The kitten rolls around in Dean's cupped palms, meows urgently, and paws at the air in his eagerness to get the fish, canned and old though it may be. Sam kneels down onto the pavement, touches it, determines it's too hot, and stands again. The kitten is now kneading Dean's hands, but he hasn't released it yet. Sam puts the can in a tree's shadow that's cast over the Impala's closed trunk. He then returns for the kitten.
Dean stands and carries the kitten himself to the Impala. He watches both Sammy and the kitten through eyes narrowed with suspicion. He's far pass grown weary of losing those for whom he dares to care. He doesn't want to add another soul to that ever growing list. But Sam's eyes are alight as he watches the kitten, and soon Dean forgets to watch Sam and is melting inside as he watches the kitten instead.
The kitten is starving and makes short work of the can. He then looks up at Dean, licking the juice off of his tiny, cute face. Dean's had almost all he can take. But the kitten meows, still looking at him. He dashes over the trunk's lid and begins pushing at Dean's hands with his little head. Dean raises a hand and slowly begins to pet him again.
The little guy is so cute, and he's not apt to make it out here in the city alone. But he's also not apt to make it with them. "This is no life for a cat," he repeats his father's earlier words and tenses inside. He hates sounding like John Winchester!
Sam evenly meets his worried gaze. He waves a hand at the crowded parking lot. "This is no life for a kitten, either, Dean."
Dean pauses. "What about . . . "
"Scruffy," Sam supplies without hesitation. "His name was Scruffy, and he was a hero and one of the best friends we ever had." Tears are misting in his eyes, and unlike Dean, he doesn't bother to push them away. "He saved me that night, Dean."
"I know," Dean admits, his own voice gruff with emotion. "But . . . "
"But what if they kill him, too? We're older now, better. We can protect him like Scruffy protected me back then. Besides, if we leave him here, he's going to die. He'll probably be run over if something doesn't grab him for a snack."
"We could take him to the Pound."
"To the Pound? Really? You remember what that place was like when you were a dog?"
"Yeah." It was a terrible place full of sorrow, pain, and death.
"Three days."
Dean's eyes flick up from the kitten to Sammy in question.
"Three days is all they give them. I think we can do him better than that."
Dean looks back down to the kitten, who is now licking his fingers not out of hunger but out of love. He's claiming him as his, and just like Dean and Sam were when they had Scruffy and still are now, he has no one else and nowhere else to go. He looks up into his eyes, his own eyes so big for his small body, shining, and begging. "Mew?" he pleads.
Dean sighs. His head hangs. "Fine," he finally caves to which the kitty mews excitedly and Sam beams, "but you're changing the litter pans this time."
"Sure," Sam's quick to agree. "I'll go buy one now." He darts off, leaving Dean and the kitten alone again.
Left alone, with no one watching but the kitten, Dean picks the little animal back up and looks at him face to face. "You better be a fighter," he tells him. A paw swings for his nose. Dean chuckles. "Them, not me." But he's grinning widely when he slips back into the Impala's driver's seat, a newly saved life cupped safely in his hands.
The End
