Title: Return Of The Thing!
Author: kbk
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Kripke. WB. Not me.
Notes: I really didn't intend to write this. But I got talked into it. I used ideas from lj-folks sylph_ironlight and sailorhathor.
Summary: There's a Thing which should be Dean's tall little brother, and Dean isn't too happy about that.

Dean put on socks and boots and an unshredded shirt. He looked at Sam, lying in front of the laptop like a fuzzy little black wrist-rest. As if Sam could sense his attention, slit-pupilled eyes blinked open and looked back at him.

"OK. I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and you're a... cat. I'm thinking magic. I'll put in some calls, but it might take a day or two for them to get us anything, so you're gonna stay here and stay out of trouble and I'm gonna get us some food. OK?"

Dean looked at The Thing That Was Apparently His Transmogrified Brother. Sam twitched his nose and looked back. He didn't seem actively unhappy about the idea, so Dean took that as a yes. A cheeseburger, he thought, and plenty of beer.

Dean frowned. "What do kittens eat anyway? Milk?"

Sam looked up with his head on one side, then balanced himself on the laptop again.

kitten food

"Yeah, smartass, and where am I going to find cat food at this time of night?" Sam yowled and pawed at the screen. "Oh, right, kitten food, whatever." Sam rolled his eyes, and tapped at the keys again.

walmart

"Great."

Dean drained his beer, gave a satisfied sigh, and fell back on the bed. "So, hey," he said, turning his head to the side to look at his brother the kitten. "You haven't been bitten lately, or anything, and not told me, have you? It's not the full moon, but that never stopped anyone. And I know you know what the rules are about that sort of thing."

Sam stepped daintily up to Dean's face, then swiped at his nose with unsheathed claws.

"Hey! Careful. What if you infected me?" Dean rubbed his nose unhappily - he didn't seem to be bleeding, but damn, that stung!

Sam hissed, and quite pointedly turned away from Dean and lifted his tail to express his opinion of Dean's were-cat theory. The proper reaction to that indignation, on Dean's part, probably wasn't hysterical laughter, but he couldn't help it.

He gasped in a breath, and cried, "I don't wanna see that!" Sam's tail curled at the tip in a confused manner. "Dude, you're showing me your ass!"

Sam sat down very quickly. Dean just laughed harder.

Dean was having, oh, such a nice dream. Then he sneezed. He twitched irritably, and sank back into sleep.

Something brushed across his cheek. Something soft, like a feather. It wafted softly to his jaw, and then his ear. That tickled.

Dean shuddered, and opened one eye a fraction. There was nobody there. He dozed again.

Then a soft touch came at the nape of his neck, and suddenly Dean was wide awake. He bolted upright, slapping at the air around his head, because something was touching him! He scanned the room frantically, finally homing in on the one living thing in there with him.

The kitten was sitting primly just outside the reach of Dean's flailing arm, with one paw at his mouth and his little pink tongue flicking out to clean it.

Dean frowned. Sam looked perfectly innocent, and Dean knew from long experience just how suspicious that was.

He glared at Sam, then flopped back down on the bed and pulled the blanket viciously up to his chin. Sam gave a yelp as he was knocked off balance. Dean grinned to himself.

The next day, Dean spent a long few hours at the library. Two of his contacts had already panned out, and he didn't like waiting around for somebody else to solve his problems. So he checked what they had on magic - not much, unsurprisingly, and nothing he hadn't already known - and local history - just in case, but nothing jumped out at him - and disappearances - nothing extraordinary, apart from the ones accounted for by the beast they'd taken out the day before - and finally took a photocopy of the business listings for every psychic and New-Age-type in town.

It was this sort of thing that made him miss Sam, especially when Dean had been working on his own. Dean wasn't bad at research, because he knew it was necessary, but Sam actually seemed to enjoy it more often than not, picking out connections that even Dad might have missed, with a happy little smile on his face.

It was almost dark by the time Dean got back to the motel, and he was a little worried about what Sam might have done. The kitten had been fast asleep when Dean left, curled up on the chair with a paw over his nose, but he probably wouldn't have slept away the whole day, and Dean wouldn't put it past him to piss everywhere just so Dean had to clean it up.

He opened the door cautiously, and sniffed the air before he went in. Then he stumbled and nearly fell over as he tried to avoid stepping on the black streak that flashed past his ankles.

Dean swore. Quite a lot.

He dumped his pile of crap in the room, got a flashlight from the car, and started to investigate the bushes that ran alongside the parking lot, hoping that The Thing hadn't run any farther than that.

"Get back inside or I'll leave you out here all night, I swear!" Dean called quietly, hoping his brother would just do as he was told for once. Never mind all the things they knew lurked in the dark, if a big dog came along then The Thing wouldn't be much more than a mouthful.

He crouched to shine the light under the bushes, seeing shadows that could easily hide a black kitten. The wavering light made him doubt his own eyes, but no matter what he said, he couldn't just leave Sam out here. "Stop messing around, man." Dean sighed, and tipped forward onto his knees. He crawled slowly along the edge of the bushes. "You realise I'm gonna make you clean these jeans, because you are pissing me off."

He grabbed at a thing, but it was just another shadow, and he managed to stick himself with a twig in the process. He was definitely getting pissed off. "Come on, Sammy, stupid cat, don't do this to me."

"They don't let you keep animals here," a female voice told him. Dean winced. He clambered to his feet and turned to face her; she was college age, not too tall and not too pretty but with nice tits, and she was obviously close to laughing at him.

"Yeah, it's... just a stray I saw." Dean didn't need her thinking he was crazy, or going to someone on staff to get him thrown out for breaking the rules.

"But you've named him already," she pointed out, crossing her arms.

Crap, thought Dean. His brain worked furiously. "Oh, no, it's... When I was little, we, uh, we had a cat called Sammy, and I thought his name was Cat and the, uh, the animal was a Sammy. It's one of those stories my folks just keep telling."

The girl was looking at him skeptically, though she was still smiling. "That's cute," she said.

Dean ducked his head, hoping she wouldn't see his grimace. "Yeah, well..." He turned away from her and knelt again, and this time he was lucky: a flash of glowing eyes reflected the light he shone.

"Come on, now," Dean murmured. He stretched his arm under the bush; Sam was just out of reach. He wiggled his fingers, and was surprised when the tactic worked, and Sam jumped at them. He wasn't so surprised that he didn't take advantage, and a few seconds later he was pushing himself to his feet with The Thing firmly held in his hand. It was scratching him, fighting to get away, and yowling pathetically, but Dean wasn't about to lose him.

The girl stepped forward. "Oh, he's tiny!" she said, her voice slipping up by about an octave. "Someone must be missing you, sweetness." She held her fingers out in front of Sammy's nose, and he seemed to calm a little. "Oh, that's right." She moved closer to Dean and started to pet the kitten's head, the side of her hand resting on Dean's.

Dean tried not to look down her top. Really, he did, but with the angle he had, he couldn't really avoid it. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, looks like I'll be in town a couple of days, so I thought I'd set him up in my car for now, then if no-one claims him, I guess a rescue place." He figured that sounded responsible, but not too concerned. He had an image to protect, after all.

Sam started to yowl again.

"Oh, sweetie, don't," the girl crooned. "Can I?" she asked, looking up at Dean, and Dean - who had trouble saying no to a lady - mutely handed the kitten over.

She baby-talked to The Thing, and Dean watched her closely. "I, uh, take it you like cats," he said, somewhat lamely.

She flashed a grin at him. "Yeah. You too, I guess."

"Well, yeah. They're... self-sufficient."

"Selfish and contrary. They're great."

The Thing mewled, and turned in her hands, looking up at her curiously. Then it took a small step, and then another, and then it was standing with its front paws planted squarely on the lush flesh of her breasts. It twisted to look at Dean, and if Dean had been worried that Sam was forgetting himself, well, he wasn't any more, because the smirk written all over that little feline face was a Baby Brother Special. He narrowed his eyes at Sammy, and nearly missed the next thing the girl said.

"You're not really going to leave him in your car, are you? Because I could take him..." The slight hope on her face died almost immediately.

"No!" Dean snapped. She wasn't taking his brother away! But she seemed nice enough, and he was being rude, and, crap. "I've got stuff for him. Inside. Where I should put him before he runs away again." He held out his hand and waited for her to say goodbye and hand The Thing over. "Thanks," he said, not wanting to be a total jerk, and then he walked quickly into their room, closing the door firmly behind him before he set Sam down.

The last of Dean's calls was returned, and while Charlie didn't know anything useful, he did have the name and address of a bona-fide witch right there in town who might be able to help. The next morning found Dean in white-fenced suburbia, peering at the numbers on the houses.

At first glance, the witch's house didn't look any different to its neighbours, but there was a pentagram in an upper window, and Dean recognised a few interesting herbs in the borders. He crunched up the gravel path and leaned briefly on the bell.

The woman who answered the door looked tired and vaguely harrassed, and her sloppy sweats told Dean she didn't want company. "What?" she said, the tart edge to her voice suggesting he get straight to business.

"My brother needs your help," Dean told her.

"Where is he?"

Dean pulled open his jacket pocket, and let her peek inside to see Sam, curled up asleep and periodically letting out the tiniest of snores.

"You'd better come in." She stepped back and watched Dean cross the threshold. "Call me Sarah." She locked the door behind him and then led the way into the front room.

They talked for a while, Dean explaining what it was that he and Sam did, and how he knew to come to her - "goddamn Charlie," she muttered, "all the way in San Fran and he's still messing with me." They discussed a few theories. Eventually, Sam woke up and clawed his way out of Dean's pocket.

"Just put him on the floor," Sarah said, "I don't mind if he runs around a bit." Sam nuzzled her hand, then yowled when Dean wasn't quick enough in setting him down. The sound drew a shriek from another room, followed by the sound of small running feet.

A young girl ran into the room, and squealed, "Kitty! Mommy, you got a kitty?!"

"No, kiddo," Sarah said, frowning. "The cat belongs to Mr Dean, here, he's just visiting." The little girl pouted, and Sam trotted over to her feet. "You might be able to play with him for a little while, if you ask nicely."

Dean had to smile when the girl turned to him, drew in a big breath, and said, "Please Mr Dean may I please play with your kitty please?"

"Of course you may," he replied, and watched her face light up, before she plopped down onto the floor and pulled Sam onto her lap.

Dean and Sarah resumed their conversation, but there was something nagging at Dean's brain, something he couldn't quite figure out, and when Sarah left to get a couple of books from her bedroom, he was glad of the opportunity to think. Something about the girl, and Sam's transformation, and the shrieks of children playing...

"Cute kid," Dean said when Sarah returned, keeping his eyes on the girl cuddling a long-suffering Sam. "Does she go to Oaktree Elementary?"

Sarah paused where she stood. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Dean looked up at her with an apologetic frown. "We were there on Thursday afternoon. Sam changed a few hours later."

He could see the idea dawning in her eyes, and in the way she turned to her daughter.

"Kid. Look at me."

The girl's guilty expression was practically a signed confession.

Dean and Sam left the house side by side, though - since Dean had been forced to run to the car and rummage for spare clothes - Sam was barefoot and hobbled slightly on the gravel.

"Opposable thumbs," Sam said, adding to his litany of grievances. "I so deserve payback for two days without opposable thumbs."

"What can you do? The kid wanted a cat," Dean said, grinning up at his little brother.

Sam smiled back. Then he frowned again. "But why me?"

Dean put on his most obnoxious grin. "You're just that lucky."

Sam paused by the car, glaring at his brother. Dean chuckled, and walked round to the driver's door. He looked across to his brother to share another comment, then paused.

Sam was licking his hand. Then he rubbed it over his bangs a couple of times. The action seemed completely unconscious.

"Well, shit," said Dean.

"Hmm?" Sam looked up with guileless eyes.

"Never mind."

Everything was just fine.

THE END And I mean it this time!