Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean stood at the edge of the driveway, squinting at his new house like it might spontaneously combust if he stared too long. He had just bought it—sight unseen—because who wouldn’t want a freshly painted, two-story home on the outskirts of Lawrence, right? Also, his father had been the one to recommend the place (he had fixed it up a few months ago), once he’d found out Dean’s intentions to move back to Lawrence.

Well, turns out this house was a little more “fixer-upper” than “charming Victorian,” and a lot more “what was I thinking” than “investment opportunity,” like his father had said, at least that’s what he could see from the outside. The front yard looked like a toddler had gotten loose with a garden hose, and the backyard? A literal jungle of overgrown grass and what he was pretty sure were wild animals staring at him with judgmental eyes. 

“What the fuck did you make me buy, Dad?” Dean muttered the question under his breath, adjusted the sleeves of his ironed button-down shirt (he'd tried to stop wearing them, he really did), and reminded himself he was here for a fresh start. 

A fresh start he very much needed. 

Maybe. If he survived unpacking the moving boxes without accidentally breaking anything important—or worse, getting called out by old Ms.Milton (he’d been warned about her) across the street, who was already looking at him like he was about to turn her neighborhood into a war zone for some reason.

With an over-exaggerated wave, a grin at his nosy neighbor, and an internal sigh. Hoping that the inside of the house looked better than the outside, Dean locked his Escape and walked inside. 

The moving company he’d hired back in California had done an excellent job of setting up every box in the correct room. He’d also paid a small fortune to avoid most of the heavy lifting and was grateful for it when he walked into the kitchen and saw his refrigerator, microwave, dishwasher, and stove all set up. There were a few boxes in the corner where he knew all his plates and other kitchen appliances were still packed, but he’d let his family help with that when they showed up tomorrow morning. 

His father and stepmother had promised him to help with his move, both were too busy with their jobs but had taken tomorrow off to help. He’d tried to convince them to wait for the weekend. Kate had called him crazy if he thought she wasn’t going to be there when her oldest son moved back home after being away for more than 10 years. 

With another sigh, (out loud this time) Dean walked out of the kitchen and around the rest of the first floor. There was a small room on the other side of the house that he was planning on using as an office (boxes with his printer paper and other office things were in there), and a large living room where his couch and 80-inch television had been set up by the movers. 

“Nice,” he stood in front of his TV, hands on hips, and watched his reflection for a second thanking whoever had taken the care and time to set his television on the wall correctly. 

He was also glad to see some natural light coming in through the large windows on the east side of the room, illuminating the wall that was covered in boxes that he knew were filled with more books and his old collection of DVDs, cassette tapes, and records. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to unboxing all of that  by himself. 

“Consider it a clean slate, Dean.” His therapist back in California had said. “Use the move as a way to start over. New house, new job. No stress. Just take your time with it, enjoy it and take care of yourself.”

Stress. It had ruled his life for the past ten years. Keeping up with new technologies and trying to manage the Sales side of a complete company all on his own. It had been completely unrealistic, but he’d done his best to do it anyway. His old boss had expectations that no one could achieve and Dean had almost killed himself trying to impress old Mr. Sandover. 

As a result, his health had taken a major hit after he’d collapsed on the job. One too many all-nighters and skipped meals had taken its toll on his body. He’d lost so much weight the doctor at the ER had declared him extremely underweight and in an acute state of dehydration. 

After months of therapy and consciously taking better care of himself, he decided it was time to move back home. His new job should be a nice change of pace as well. Working from home with a small chance to travel every once in a while sounded like a dream come true. 

His college friend Charlie had been a godsend. She’d contacted him to ask if he knew of anyone in sales that were looking for a job. He’d been deep in denial about quitting and had actually sent a few people her way. When none of his recommendations had worked out for Charlie she’d insisted on meeting him for drinks. 

“So what’s up with you dude?” Charlie didn’t even give him the courtesy of letting him order a drink when she was already grilling him. 

“Hello to you too, Charles. I’m doing fine.” It was a complete lie and she called him out on it. She’d always had the ability to call bullshit when talking to Dean. 

“You are totally not fine. You look like you’ve lost thirty pounds since the last time I saw you. And you were already on the skinny side then.” She pointed a finger at his face. “Spill it, Winchester.” 

Dean sighed and signaled the server near their table. “Alright, fine. Can I at least get a drink first?” 

He’d ended up confessing that he’d been forced to take some weeks off of work because of health issues and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to Sandover after his medical leave was over. 

“You have to come work for me,” she instantly invited. “The atmosphere is chill and you can do all your work from home. Zero pressure.” 

“You don’t want me there, Charles,” Dean complained. “I’m a mess right now.” 

“Of course, I want you there!” she grabbed both his hands over the table and squeezed them. “You are an amazing Dean, and you deserve an opportunity to do what you love and enjoy your life at the same time.” 

He stared at her for the longest time, not saying anything. 

Charlie continued, offering him the same salary he was making with Sandover for half the work time. She assured him he was worth it and her company could afford it. 

Then Kate and Dad had found out that he might be able to relocate back home, and the rest was history. 

Walking up to the second floor he found a windowed area he immediately wanted to turn into a small reading nook, a hallway, and four closed doors. Three on the left side of the hall and one on the right. He knew for a fact that the master bedroom was the farthest one on the right. Dad had raved about the renovations he’d done on the inside, promising a large closet, the best shower he’d ever had, and quote, “a very nice tub, Dean!”

When he opened the door he was pleasantly surprised to find his bed frame and memory foam mattress already set up. He could appreciate the work the movers had done for him and was thankful that he’d splurged a little on the move. 

What his dad had said about the room did not do it justice. It was big and had enough space for his king bed frame with a small area for a sofa or table near the large window. He probably would move some things around but for now just looking at his memory foam made him want to instantly throw himself on it and take a nap.

Unfortunately he did not want anyone in his room tomorrow so the unboxing of his clothes and bathroom things had to be done by himself. After spending the whole day making sure all his clothes and shoes were in order in his large closet –thanks Dad–, Dean ordered a large pizza and ate most of it sitting on his couch watching episodes of Dr. Sexy MD, that he’d missed when they had aired. (He couldn't believe there were a whole three seasons he hadn’t watched.) 

Refilling his glass of water —he hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet, sue him— he decided to sit on his front porch for a moment and enjoy the nice cool weather before he called it a night. 

Sitting on the lowest step with a groan, he took a moment to admit that his father had chosen an amazing house for him, a bedhead garden notwithstanding. Sipping his cool water he admired the night sky and was grateful for the lack of mercurial light in the area. He could see so many stars in the sky. Sitting there, watching the sky, he came to the realization that he’d missed Lawrence and he was glad to be back. 

Then something moved in the bushes to his right, scaring the living shit out of him. 

He screamed, instinctively threw his remaining water at whatever was in the bushes and jumped to his feet.”Fuck, that was scary.” He said under his breath, as he used his phone to light up the bushes and tried to see what was in there. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he watched two yellow eyes reflect the light. He didn’t dare move an inch closer until he found out what the hell the animal hiding under there was. 

What came crawling out from under the bushes a few seconds later looked exactly like a gremlin. Big ears, shiny eyes, and horrible as hell —and then it meowed. It had the cutest, squickiest meow Dean had ever heard. 

“You alright little fella?” The cat was so small Dean was sure it was very young, probably just old enough to be away from its mother. “Are you lost? Where’s your mama?” Dean looked around but he couldn’t see any other animals crawling around the area. 

After a few minutes of walking around his porch with the kitten following him around he decided he’d at least give the little guy some tuna before going to bed himself. 

“Wait here, little dude. I’ll go get you something to eat.” He carefully pushed the kitten away from him using his foot, feeling awful about it but not wanting to have an allergic reaction on his first night back. 

He quickly walked into the kitchen and opened the first box he could find that said ‘plates’, grabbed a soup plate, cleaned it in the sink, and filled it with the contents of an old can of tuna he’d carried from his last place. 

“Here you go,” he said to the kitten, once he’d placed the plate on the floor. The cat instantly started lapping at the food. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything else. I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow and get you some real grub, alright?” 

The kitten ignored him and dipped one of his small paw in liquid around the tuna, cleaning it up with cute little movements. Dean couldn’t help but stare, lamenting the fact that he was going to have to leave the kitten outside. After a few minutes, the kitten finished eating and meowed again before it ran back under the bushes. Dean pushed the plate to the edge of the bushes and stood to walk back inside. 

Just thinking of his long To-Do list for tomorrow made him shudder but fortunately, he’d have some help. 

The scent of Tuna pulled me from my hiding place before I could think. My stomach ached, and my paws felt heavy, but the promise of something to eat was too strong. The human was watching me, his eyes wide, but he didn’t chase. He just… waited. Strange. They usually try to grab. But not him. I lapped at the food quickly, just in case it was a trick.

I ate as fast as I could and ran out of there without thinking twice. I wonder if there would be more tuna tomorrow? 

The next day started bright and early. Dean took a long shower to help wake himself up and made a mental grocery list while he shampooed his hair. He ran out and bought the groceries he needed most, like: coffee, eggs, bacon, bread, and some condiments. As well as some sodas, milk, and Kate’s favorite sweet tea. He was almost to the self check out when he remembered the kitten hiding in his bushes and walked back to the pet aisle to buy a few cans of cat food hoping that the little guy liked the flavor. 

He made it back home at the same time as his parents. He opened the garage to park his Escape and walked over to where his dad was parking the Impala. He’d missed that car and was glad to see it again. Maybe Dad would let him borrow her for a short road trip sometime soon. He could only hope. 

“Dean!” Kate threw her arms around his neck and he lifted her into a bone-crushing hug!

”Look at you Ma,” he said as he let her go and gave one step back. “Looking good!” 

“Aww you charmer,” she patted his cheek with a smile. “I missed you so much.”

Kate had come into his life a few years after his mother passed. His father had met her when he’d been sent to the ER with a broken wrist by his boss at the time. Kate had been his nurse and they had hit it off right after. Dean was six years old and had a hard time accepting that there was someone else there to take care of him that wasn’t his Mom. Sammy fell in love with her right away but it took Dean almost a year to trust that she was there to stay. 

She moved in with them the summer after Sammy turned three and became their stepmother right after Dean’s eighth birthday. Nine months after that his youngest brother Adam joined the family. 

And speaking of his youngest brother. 

“Hey Adam, what are you doing here?” Adam stepped out of the Impala’s black seat and grinned at his oldest brother. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

”I skipped today’s lesson to come help. I only have one class on Fridays and a friend promised to take notes for me,” Adam explained after a short hug. 

“You shouldn’t skip classes for this. School is important,” Dean chastised, but secretly he was glad to see his youngest brother. 

“It’s just one class, Dean. Your brother will be fine,” John said from behind carrying a cooler with him. Dean had no idea what was in there but hoped it was a few cold beers. 

“You never let me skip when I was in school!” Dean complained, pulling his brother towards the house with an arm around his neck.

“Of course I did,” Dad said without turning. 

“He totally didn’t,” Dean whispered to his brother who grinned at him from under his arm. 

“Sucks to be the older brother,” Adam teased and Dean took his revenge by tickling Adam and making him squirm. 

“Is Sammy coming too?” Dean asked after playfully pushing Adam to walk in front of him. He hadn’t talked with Sam in a long time, even longer than Adam. Sam’s job was even more demanding than Dean’s, so it had been hard for them to even text. 

“No, he’s handling a very important case and has been buried in work these past few weeks,” Kate said with a sad grimace. 

“I’ll call him later, then.” Dean smiled at his stepmother, trying to make that sad expression leave her face. After his own burnout from work, he was constantly worried his brother would suffer the same thing, but it seemed like Sam had a healthier work-life balance than him. 

Once inside the house, Kate went straight into the kitchen, opening the box on the very top of the pile. Dad had disappeared somewhere in the back, probably leaving the cooler on the back porch and Adam strayed to the open boxes where Dean had started sorting his movies and CDs. 

“Dean, do you have a specific plan for your kitchen things?” Kate asked. 

“Not really, Ma. Just do what you think is best.” Dean’s stomach rumbled. “I’m gonna go get groceries from the car. Haven’t had breakfast yet.” 

After preparing a quick breakfast with Kate’s help Dean joined his brother in the living room. They talked about Adam’s classes and friends, his part-time job in the university’s library, and his new girlfriend. They were almost done with the DVDs when John came in from the backyard. 

“Still carrying around all these?” John signaled to his old DVDs and CDs. “You know people use streaming apps now.” 

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed. “Says the guy driving around in a car from 1967.” 

“Hey, a classic never goes out of style," his father defended as he pulled a box full of records towards him and started sorting through them. “Also, everyone loves that car. You were probably all conceived in that car.” 

“Ugh, TMI Dad,” Adam complained. “No one needs to know that!” John let out a loud ​​contagious guffaw that left all three of them laughing uncontrollably. 

Between the three of them, the living room began to take shape quicker than Dean thought possible. The shelves were half-filled with books, the couch was pushed against one wall, and the turntable sat in its new spot by the window. The smell of cardboard lingered in the air, mixed with the soft sound of the wind moving the curtains as it blew through the open window. 

John stood near the biggest of the boxes, holding up one of the old vinyl records, inspecting the cover with a small smile. "You remember this one, don’t you?" he asked, looking over at his sons who were sitting on the couch, sorting through a box of DVDs.

Dean glanced up from the pile of DVDs he was flipping through. He grinned, recognizing the album cover. "That’s Led Zeppelin IV , right? You used to play that all the time when we were kids."

"Yeah," Dad nodded, running his fingers over the sleeve. "That one’s got Stairway to Heaven on it. I haven’t listened to this one in a while. I’ll put it on later."

Adam was hunched over a stack of DVDs, pulling out titles with an exaggerated wince. "I can’t believe you’re still holding onto all these, Dean" he teased, holding up The Good, the Bad and the Ugly like it was a fossil. "This movie’s, what, sixty years old now?"

John laughed and set the record he was holding down carefully on the shelf. " The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is a classic, Adam," he said, shaking his head. "It’s not just about the age—it’s the legend of it. You guys used to watch it with me all the time."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, and it’s probably the reason we still argue about who’s ‘the good guy’ in every movie we watch."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "You seriously think Clint Eastwood’s the ‘good guy’ in that one?" He tossed the DVD back into the box with a smirk. "He’s so far from it."

"Doesn’t matter," Dean said with a grin. "The man’s a legend. That’s the point."

John shook his head. "Okay, okay, I’ll give you that. But it’s definitely a bit more complicated than just 'good' and 'bad.'"

Adam leaned back, stretching out on the couch with a dramatic sigh. "I guess. But honestly, I was more into the Star Wars stuff. At least the good guys actually feel good." He reached into the pile of DVDs again, this time pulling out A New Hope . "Now this is a classic I’ll always be down to watch."

John rolled his eyes but was clearly amused. "You and your Star Wars obsession." He turned to Dean. "Remember when we all watched the original trilogy together every Christmas?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I miss those days. They were... simpler." He paused, looking over at his dad with a grin. "Alright, speaking of nostalgia, when was the last time any of you actually listened to one of these songs?" He picked up a second Led Zeppelin album and moved towards the record player he’d just set up. “Why wait when we can listen to it now.”

"Probably been a few months," Dad admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get busy. But you’ve got the right idea, son. There’s something about vinyl, you know? It’s not just about the music—it’s about the whole experience. The crackle before the song starts. The way you have to really sit with it. There’s nothing like it."

Dean grinned at his father, he’d learned all he knew about vinyl and classic rock from him after all. Now his collection –and obsession– had surpassed John’s. 

Adam leaned back on the couch, looking thoughtful. "I get it. It's... almost nostalgic. Kind of like these DVDs." He held up The Princess Bride and made a face. "Still one of the best movies."

"You know you love that movie. I caught you watching it at least once a week when we were kids." Dean snorted. “You kept saying ‘As you wish’ whenever Ma asked you to do something. Little 8-year-old Adam being all regal was hilarious.”

Those were one of the last memories he had of his brother. He’d left for college soon after and had never lived in his parents’ home for more than a few weeks during breaks after that. Never mind when he started working for Sandover, he’d rarely taken any vacations then. 

"Shut up." Adam rolled his eyes but grinned. "I admit it, okay? But it’s just a feel-good classic. It’s like... I don’t know. Comfort food for your soul."

John laughed, the sound deep and hearty. "I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I get what you mean. Some things just stick with you."

Dean moved to the turntable, setting the needle down on the record. The room filled with the unmistakable sound of Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog riffing through the speakers. The hard, bluesy riff reverberated through the walls, and the room seemed to take on a new energy. He looked at his dad, shaking his head with a smile. "You’re right. It’s a whole experience. And you’re lucky I’m here and letting you enjoy music the right way."

Adam smirked and tossed a DVD at Dean’s head. "Speak for yourself. I’m here for the free meat Dad’s gonna grill later."

John chuckled, shaking his head as he settled into an armchair. "Alright, alright. Let’s just get this place done. Then we’ll join Kate in the kitchen for a quick lunch, and we can all sit down and watch a movie while we do so. Maybe The Princess Bride , Adam."

Adam grinned. "Now you're talking."

As the record played on, filling the room with the unmistakable pulse of Led Zeppelin’s heavy, soulful sound, the three of them settled into their roles—John carefully unpacking Dean’s cherished albums, Dean making sure everything was in its place, and Adam adding a bit of lighthearted teasing to the mix. 

Dean looked at his dad and brother with a quiet, calm smile. He was glad he’d decided to move back to Lawrence. Just sitting in this room with his family made all his worries about the move start to disappear.  The house wasn’t just being sorted; it was being filled with memories, with laughter, and with a sense of home. The process wasn’t just about getting settled—it was about connecting with the past and making the space his own. Together with his family. 

I could smell tuna again. It was faint but still there. There was also a new human. I watched them from under the bushes, their voice a low rumble as they talked to each other. The man that geve him tuna was there. He was different. Not like the others. He smelled like something warm—like home, and more tuna maybe. 

He is kind and safe. I want to stay here. With him. With Tuna. 

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the street, and the quiet evening had settled around Dean’s new home as he and John sat on the porch, nursing their beers. 

The day had been long—moving boxes, lugging furniture, and getting the last of the details in place for his new home. Kate and Adam were still inside putting away the last of the dishes they had used after an amazing grilled dinner, if Dean said so himself. John had been excused from dinner clean-up after he had grumbled about his aching back one too many times during the day, but that didn’t stop him from showing up to help, as he always did. Dean was grateful he’d been excused as well. Grateful when Kate pulled Adam away to help her before he could complain even once. 

Now, with the hard work behind them, Dean and John sat side by side, comfortably silent, each lost in their own thoughts as the evening unfolded. The air was warm, and the hum of crickets filled the background like a natural soundtrack. The only sound that interrupted the stillness was the occasional clink of beer bottles and the neighbors driving around. 

John took a long sip, his eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “You know, I used to be able to work hard like this every day and still wake up feeling fresh. No aches, no pains… nothing.”

“Yeah, well, now you work like that, and your back’s sending you a cease and desist letter the next morning,” Dean said, with a grin as he looked over at his dad. 

John groaned dramatically, rubbing his lower back. “My back's got its own weather system these days. One minute it’s sunny, the next it’s a full-blown hurricane. Hasn’t made business any easier, let me tell you.”

John was the owner of a local construction company that he’d started when he’d married Kate more than 20 years ago. It was self-sufficient now, which meant his dad was almost as good as retired. He was just too stubborn to let go of the management of his company completely. 

“And when you get up from a chair, it sounds like you're trying to start a lawnmower that hasn’t been used in twenty years.” Dean chuckled, although he had to admit his own knees were getting very squeaky as well. 

“Tell me about it,” John muttered, taking another sip of beer. “I make noises now that shouldn’t be possible for a human being.”

They both laughed, the shared moment of humor breaking the quiet that had settled between them. It was a familiar, comfortable silence—a reminder of the many nights they’d spent like this, talking about nothing and everything all at once. Dean missed those nights, they hadn’t happened at all in the 10 years he’d been living away, and was glad to enjoy quiet times with his dad again. 

Then, out of nowhere, a rustling sound came from the bushes near the porch. John paused mid-sip, his attention snapping toward the noise. “Did you hear that?” he asked, squinting into the darkening shrubbery. “Those shrubs are out of control, I promise to send you some people to help with your front and back gardens tomorrow.”

Dean, not even looking up, shrugged. “Don’t worry about it too much, Dad. It’s probably just a squirrel. Or a raccoon. There seems to be a small wildlife zoo around here.”

But then the rustling grew louder, more frantic, and John leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “That’s not a squirrel,” he muttered. “Sounds like… something smaller?”

Before Dean could respond, a small, scruffy kitten emerged from the bushes, shaking itself off like it had just walked through a storm. It stopped in its tracks, blinking up at both men with wide, confused eyes.  

“Well, I’ll be…” the father said, his voice thick with amusement. “Is that the same kitten you were talking about this morning?”

Dean startled for a second, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s him. I saw him hanging around yesterday, looked like he was hungry, so I gave him some tuna last night and bought him cat food when I got myself groceries this morning.” He pointed to the porch, where a half-empty can of cat food sat. “Figured I’d do a good deed.”

The kitten, apparently not one for subtlety, walked directly up to the porch and clumsily climbed right into Dean’s lap as if it had been invited. Dean froze, blinking in disbelief. 

“Okay, this is new,” he said slowly, his hands still hovering uncertainly over the kitten now curled up comfortably in his lap. “I wasn’t expecting this .”

John took another long sip from his beer. “You’ve been chosen, son. Looks like you’re the new caretaker. This has ‘cat distribution system’ written all over it.”

Dean, still stunned, looked down at the tiny furball in his lap. It seemed utterly at home, kneading the fabric of his jeans as if it had done this a thousand times. 

“I swear, this cat’s got better moves than I do,” Dean muttered. “He’s already got me wrapped around his ugly little paw.” The kitten was even dirtier than the day before, leaves and dirt were clumped on his fur, making his bright yellow eyes stand out when he looked up at Dean.

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about being alone in this house anymore.” The kitten gave an exaggerated yawn, stretched out, and settled in for what looked like a very long nap, completely uninterested in anything but its new domain.

“It’s disappointing that he’s going to have to stay outside, though,” Dean sighed, hands still in the air,

“What do you mean?” John asked after taking a sip of his beer. 

“What do you mean, ‘What do I mean’?” Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I am allergic to cats. That’s why we never had one growing up, right?”

John grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, you were allergic. That’s the story I told you, wasn’t it?”

“You did,” Dean confirmed, then turned back to stare accusingly at his Dad. “Are you saying I’m not?”

John leaned over to whisper conspiratorially. “I totally made it up.”

“What the hell Dad.” Dean pushed John away and then looked down at the kitten finally giving in to the urge to pet him. “You know, I’ve always had some doubts. I mean, I’d never actually broken out in hives or anything... But hey, I trusted you. You told me I’d get all sneezy and itchy, so I just... well, I avoided cats.”

John let out a deep laugh, almost snorting into his beer. “Oh, come on. You weren’t allergic—I just didn’t want to deal with a cat. You were like, what? Eight? I couldn’t have you getting attached to some cat and then suddenly the thing becomes the ruler of the house. So I made up the allergy story.”

Dean stared at his father, jaw dropping slightly. “Wait, what? So I spent my whole life thinking I was allergic to cats because you didn’t want one in the house?! That’s a crap reason to lie to your oldest son.”

John’s grin widened, and he shrugged. “Hey, I was just trying to keep my own sanity. And look at you now. You’re the one with the kitten in your lap. No allergic reaction, no sneezing. Just a whole lotta cat love.”

Dean stared at the kitten, which was now happily purring and stretching out across his lap, clearly in charge of the situation. “You know, I’m going to be honest with you, Dad,” Dean said slowly, shaking his head. “I think you owe me, like, a whole lot of allergy medicine. And maybe some new furniture when this thing claws everything to shreds.”

John chuckled. “Maybe. But I gotta say, I’m pretty proud of you for being so brave. You’re handling all this a lot better than I did when I was your age.” 

Dean wasn’t sure if John was talking about moving back to Lawrence and starting over when he was in his thirties, or instantly being adopted by a kitten but he’d take the sentiment either way. Looking down at the kitten, who was now curled up and completely at peace. Dean raised his beer bottle, his expression a mix of resignation and amusement.

“Well, if I’m gonna be stuck with this little gremlin, at least I’m not sneezing my head off.”

John raised his beer too, clinking it gently against his son’s. “To the kitten. And to you, for finally realizing you weren’t allergic... to cats at least.”

Dean smiled, shaking his head. “To the kitten.” As if that was the only thing he was grateful for at that moment.

And so, with the evening slipping into night, father and son sat back in their chairs, the tiny conqueror in Dean’s lap purring contentedly. It was clear that the house—and the Dean’s life—had just gained a new tenant, and this one wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Chapter Text

I had made a grave mistake. The ground shook. The air filled with a deafening roar. I froze. Something was out there. I ran. Didn’t know where Tuna was. Where safety was.  I just ran away from the roar.

The green place—my hiding place—was no longer safe. Giant metal beasts tore through it, spitting sharp scents, ripping apart the earth. Leaves and dirt swirled around me as I bolted, heart hammering.

Too loud. Too big. Too close.

I dove somewhere under, pressing myself into the cool, dark space. My ears rang. My paws trembled. I curled up tight, tail wrapped around me, waiting for the world to stop shaking. 

I don’t know how long I stayed hidden. The roaring never stopped. Then I ran again.

Ran away. 

Lost.

Days passed and Dean settled into his new home pretty quickly. He wasn’t due to start his new job until the following month, so that gave him a few more weeks to settle into his new life back in Lawrence. Summer was on its last dregs as mid-September arrived, making it the best weather Dean had enjoyed in a while. 

He settled into a new workout routine, keeping his body in shape was one of the things he’d missed the most before, and finding a new running route for his daily 5k had kept him distracted this past couple of days. 

The gardeners his father had promised had shown up and made a complete mess of his garden, scaring away every living thing in the area with the noise they’d made. The kitten that had adopted him the night before was unfortunately included in that. 

Dean had not seen him in days. 

He’d tried bringing him in the house on that first night but the little gremlin had run away and hidden in the bushes. Dean had tried everything to bring him back out but had given up when midnight had arrived and the little kitten was nowhere to be found. 

Leaving food and water out for the little guy seemed like a good compromise at the time. Unfortunately, he’d been woken up by the noise of the gardening crew early the next morning and by the time he’d run out there in his hot dog pajama pants, it was too late. The noise had been deafening and probably scared every animal in the neighborhood away.

He still left food out but it hadn’t been touched in at least a week. 

Squirrels and other animals had started returning; trees and bushes now under control gave critters around the area a nice place to build a home, but the little kitten had not shown his ugly gremlin face yet. 

To say that Dean was disappointed (and worried) was an understatement. He spent more time than he was willing to admit walking around his backyard and the neighboring houses looking for the little gremlin. 

“Come on, where are you, buddy?” he muttered to himself, slowing from his light  run to a walk. He scanned the street and trees, like he’d been doing for the last few days hoping but not expecting to find anything. 

And then he saw it.

The kitten was lying in the bushes near his front steps, its tiny body crumpled awkwardly. Dean’s stomach dropped. He rushed over, his heart pounding. He carefully knelt beside the kitten, afraid it was too late.

“Hey, little guy. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” The little thing’s eyes fluttered open, and it let out a soft, pitiful meow.

Dean exhaled in relief. The cat was alive. But something was wrong. “Oh, man. Are you okay?”

The kitten’s left paw was twisted at an odd angle, clearly injured.

“Man, your paw is looking rough.” Dean immediately scooped it up, cradling it to his chest but being extra careful.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. His usual tough exterior had cracked wide open, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

Dean didn’t know much about cats, but one thing he did know was when something was seriously wrong. The kitten’s paw was bleeding, and it was obvious it wasn’t going to heal on its own. He walked slowly into his home not caring about all the dirt and leaves he was bringing into his living room. 

Walking to the kitchen Dean stood there, gently cradling the tiny kitten against his chest and looking around. He hesitated for a minute, not knowing what to do next. The kitten was nestled against him, its tiny body trembling slightly, but it wasn’t struggling. In fact, it was almost too still.

“It must hurt a lot for you to be this quiet and still, right little gremlin?” Dean had seen enough of this kitten to know that something was very wrong, and something about the way the kitten was laying there in his arms, quieter than he’d ever seen it before, made his gut tighten.

He gently set the kitten down on the kitchen counter, carefully looking over the injured paw. The little guy’s fur was matted, especially around his side where another animal had probably attacked him. 

“What were you up to out there little guy?” Dean asked the kitten as he found a dark patch of fur that looked like it might be another injury. The front paw didn’t look as bad in here but there was still blood making the injury look worse than anything Dean could deal with on his own. 

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath. His hand hovered above the small paw, unsure whether to move it or leave it alone.

The kitten was still watching him, its big, wide eyes blinking slowly. It was the saddest thing Dean had ever seen. At that moment, he knew what had to be done.

“Alright, I’m not any good with cats,” he muttered, though his voice was a little too tight. “But you’re not gonna die on me, okay? Just hang tight.”

Dean didn’t waste any more time. He grabbed his car keys from the bowl by the front door and gently scooped the kitten back into his arms. The little thing let out a soft, pitiful mew but didn’t resist. Dean could feel the way it was trembling as it cuddled against him. It was like the kitten trusted him to make things better.

Pain. Something was wrong. I couldn’t move anymore. Couldn’t hide. My paw hurt too much, and the world was too loud. I curled into myself, hoping the ground would swallow me up. Then—warmth. A steady heartbeat. A voice, deep and unsure, but not unkind. I blinked up at the human, trying to focus. His scent was familiar. Tuna. Safety. I let myself sink into it.

Dean parked and jumped out of the SUV, holding the kitten close to his chest as he dashed inside a quaint looking veterinary clinic he’d found nearby. The person sitting in the reception area was an older woman named Mildred, as identified by her nametag. She looked up in surprise as Dean rushed toward the counter. “Sir, can I help you?”

“Yeah. This little guy needs help,” Dean said, his voice tight with urgency. “He—he’s hurt. I think he’s got a broken paw or something, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

Mildred’s face softened immediately, and she stood up, her eyes flicking between the kitten and Dean. “Come right in. We’ll get him checked out.”

Dean followed her down a narrow hallway, trying to keep calm, even though his heart was thudding in his chest. He was trying to convince himself it was just a sprained paw. But the way the kitten was holding it—half limp, half curled up—made him fear the worst.

Once they were in the exam room, Mildred gently took the kitten from Dean’s arms and set him on the examination table. The kitten’s golden eyes blinked up at her, and he let out another soft mewl, but didn’t fight.

“Hey little guy, let’s take a look,” Mildred murmured, carefully inspecting the paw. She clicked her tongue, her face growing serious. “It’s definitely injured. We’ll need to take an X-ray to know for sure, but it looks like a fracture. And it’s been healing for a little while. We’ll need to splint it and put him on antibiotics to prevent infection.”

Dean felt a strange weight lift off his chest. The kitten wasn’t in immediate danger, but it was clear this little guy had been through hell before Dean had found him.

“Will he be okay?” Dean asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He didn’t know why he cared so much—he wasn’t the kind of guy who fussed over animals—but this one had a way of getting under his skin. Maybe it was the fact that the kitten had trusted him, or that it seemed so helpless, but something told him this wasn’t just some random stray. This was his responsibility now.

Mildred smiled reassuringly. “He’s going to be fine, but he’ll need some time to heal. I’ll get him patched up, and then you can take him home with some medication and instructions. He’ll need rest, but I think he’ll bounce back quickly. He’s young, so he’s resilient.”

Dean nodded, feeling a weight in his chest that he hadn’t realized was there lift. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was relieved . The kitten wasn’t in immediate danger, but it was still going to need care. And Dean had already decided—whatever it took, he was going to make sure it was okay.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low.

“Absolutely. We’ve got this under control.” Mildred patted the kitten’s head gently before turning back to Dean. “You did the right thing bringing him in so quickly. A few more days, and we might not have been able to save the paw.”

“I’m glad I found him when I did.” He kept an eye on Mildred and the kitten. 

“He’s not yours, then?” the woman asked. 

“Technically he’s not,” Dean confirmed. “I’d seen him around my front yard a couple of times, but when I tried to bring him inside he ran away. Then the gardeners scared him off and he disappeared on me for a few days. Just found him again before I brought him in.”

“He’s probably one of the kittens from that breeding farm that was discovered and dismantled a few weeks ago,” Mildred explained as she moved around, getting the kitten set up for the x-ray, Dean sat down in the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t stop looking at the tiny gremlin. Despite its injuries, the kitten’s golden eyes were still as bright and full of life as ever.

“A breeding farm?” Dean asked. 

“Yes. Most of the cats in it were recovered and a few shelters have been trying to find good homes for them.” Mildred was now cleaning the kitten the best she could. “I think this little guy ran away before they could grab him. It’s a good thing you found him.”

“More like, he found me.” Dean smiled at the kitten. “It looks like we’re stuck with each other now, huh?” Dean muttered under his breath, feeling a strange sort of connection to the little guy.

The kitten, as if on cue, let out a soft meow followed by a purr.

Dean grinned. He wasn’t sure what had led him to this moment, but he felt an overwhelming sense of determination settle in his chest. He wasn’t just taking care of a kitten. He was taking care of a creature that had been left behind, forgotten, and he wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“We’ll just be a few minutes,” Mildred said as she picked up the little gremlin. “I’ll make sure to check for any more injuries when I clean him up in the back. You can wait here if you don’t mind, or go back to the lobby and wait out there. 

“I’ll wait here,” Dean said and settled for an unknown amount of time. 

—

When Mildred came back with the kitten all bandaged up, and ready to go, Dean stood up quickly, eager to get the little guy home and settled in.

“He’s not staying overnight, right?” Dean asked. He was sure she had mentioned the possibility and was mentally preparing himself.

”No, his injuries are not as bad as we thought. After a warm bath, I decided that he’s allowed to go home with you. As long as you follow my instructions to take care of his paw and bring him back in a week or so for a check-up.”

“Thanks, I promise,” he said, his voice gruff. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mildred smiled warmly, handing the kitten back to him. “You did the hard part. Now it’s just about recovery.”

“Hey, you’re all clean now little gremlin,” Dean said as he took the first look at the small kitten. He had shorter hair than Dean had imagined and his ears looked bigger now that his fur was clean. “Any idea what breed he is? He doesn’t look like the regular short-haired cats you normally find on the streets.” Dean asked Mildred. 

“He’s an Abyssinian,” Mildred said. “The breeding farm was focused on that breed.”

“An Aby–what now?” Dean asked. 

He stood in the bright, sterile exam room, eyes squinted in question as he glanced between the tiny, wide-eyed Abyssinian kitten in his arms and the very experienced-looking vet standing across from him. The kitten, still a little groggy from its recent treatment, tried his best to nestle against him, its soft fur warm against his belly. Dean suddenly realized he had no idea what he was doing. Not really.

He’d never had a pet before. Hell, he barely even understood the whole concept of a "pet." He'd grown up in a world where studying and sports were the priority—first high school, then college. After that, the job was his main focus. So much so that he’d neglected his own health. 

Pets were... not on the list of priorities. And now, here he was, sitting in a veterinary clinic with a kitten that had somehow managed to worm its way into his life—and, for reasons Dean still couldn’t fully comprehend, into his heart.

Mildred smiled at him gently, noticing the subtle signs of panic in his posture. "It’s okay. We’ll take it slow. You’re doing just fine."

Dean nodded quickly, his heart racing. “Yeah, well… you say that, but I’ve never had a pet before. I’ve never even owned anything besides a car and, like, clothes and sh-tuff.”

Mildred chuckled softly. “I understand. Many first-time cat owners feel that way. But the good news is, an Abyssinian is actually a pretty easy breed to care for once you get to know them. And don't worry—we’ll walk through everything step by step. I’m here to help."

Dean shifted the kitten into his arms, trying to make himself comfortable with the tiny creature that seemed so fragile and trusting. It was a far cry from the sterile world he’d been used to. "Alright, so what am I supposed to do with this little guy? He's a... what again? Abyssinian?”

“That’s right,” Mildred confirmed, pulling up a chair next to Dean and setting her clipboard down. “Abyssinians are known for being active, intelligent, and a bit independent. They’re curious and playful, which is great because you’ll want to engage with him a lot. But also—don’t be surprised if he’s not the cuddliest cat on the block. They’re not the kind to sit on your lap for hours, but they’ll want to be near you. He’ll follow you from room to room, watch what you’re doing, and interact with you when he feels like it. But they’re more like... companions, not lap cats.”

Dean was trying to focus, but his thoughts were scattered. He had never been a “cat person.” Thinking he’d been allergic his whole life had helped him ignore most of what people usually knew about them. He had always assumed that cats were either aloof creatures who ignored you completely or ones who clawed your furniture and made your life miserable. But this kitten—this little Abyssinian—was so small and vulnerable, his little eyes looking up at Dean like he was the one thing in the world the kitten could rely on.

"Alright," Dean said, his voice a little unsteady. "So... how do I, uh, not mess this up? Like, where do I even start?"

Mildred gave him a reassuring smile. “The first thing you’ll want to do is make sure he feels safe and secure in his new home. Start with a designated space for him—maybe a quiet room or a corner where he can retreat when he needs some alone time. But also—lots of stimulation . "

Dean nodded, trying to keep track of all the details. “Stimulation?”

“Yep. These guys are smart, and they get bored easily,” Mildred explained. “Abyssinians love toys—feather wands, balls, anything they can chase and bat around. They’ll need regular playtime, or they’ll find their own ways to entertain themselves... which may involve knocking things off shelves, exploring areas you wish they hadn’t, and getting into places they shouldn’t be."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "So, they're troublemakers?"

“They’re clever troublemakers,” she clarified with a laugh. "But in a fun way. They’re naturally active, and they’ll need a lot of exercise. Just keep a few toys around, especially ones that let them stalk and pounce, like feather wands or laser pointers. They'll enjoy the challenge. But be prepared to play with him regularly—he's going to want that engagement."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Right. So, I’ve got to be, like, the cat’s personal entertainer.”

Mildred nodded, her expression patient. "Pretty much, yes. They’re very social, and they bond closely with their people, so keep him involved. That means attention, play, and sometimes... training."

"Training?" Dean repeated, blinking. “Like a dog?”

“Exactly. Many people don't realize that cats can be trained. Abyssinians are smart, so you can teach them tricks like ‘sit,’ ‘come,’ or even ‘fetch’. But you’ll need to start with small things and be consistent. Just don’t expect them to sit still for long periods of time. They’ll get bored if you’re too repetitive.”

Dean grinned slightly. "Okay, now you’re messing with me. Fetch? Really?"

Mildred chuckled. “It’s true! Abyssinians are very playful, and they love interaction. You might be surprised at how easily they can learn ‘fetch’—or even how much they’ll want to be involved in your daily activities. But, be warned: they can get a little too interested. They’ll try to get into everything. If you don’t want him in your cabinets or drawers, you’ll need to keep those closed. They’re natural climbers and escape artists.”

Dean let out a small sigh. “Great. So, not only is this little gremlin going to be bouncing off the walls, but now I’ve got to hide all the important stuff, too.”

“It’s all part of the fun,” Mildred said with a playful wink. "But don't worry. They’re also really smart about knowing boundaries. With time, you'll teach him what's off-limits. If you're consistent with your rules, he’ll learn quickly."

Dean glanced down at the kitten, who had been curiously pawing at the edge of his shirt, its bright golden eyes focused on Dean's face. “He’s got a lot of energy for someone so small.”

“They do," Mildred agreed. "But it's all manageable, especially if you keep him engaged. Don’t forget about the basics, too—regular feeding, keeping his litter box clean, and making sure he gets enough sleep."

“Litter box... right," Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, yeah. So, what else? Anything else I need to know?"

Mildred paused, then smiled. “Just remember, Abyssinians can be a little bit high-strung. They’ll get overstimulated if you push them too hard. So, let him have his space when he needs it. They don’t always like being picked up or held for too long—unless they’ve come to trust you and are in the mood to snuggle. It’s all about reading their cues.”

Dean nodded, a little more at ease now. "Got it. Don’t force the snuggles, and don’t let him destroy my furniture."

"Exactly," Mildred said with a reassuring nod. "And if you're ever in doubt, give me a call. I can always help guide you through it. It's a learning process, but you'll figure it out as you go. Cats—especially Abyssinians—are great companions once you understand them."

Dean exhaled slowly. "Alright. I think I can do this."

"You’ll do great,” Mildred said warmly. "And remember—Abyssinians are highly social. He’ll bond with you more deeply than you might expect. You’re his new favorite person. He’ll look to you for guidance and affection. The better the bond, the smoother it’ll be for both of you."

Dean smiled down at the kitten, who was now half-asleep in his arms, the little guy’s body curled up like a tiny furry loaf. He might not know what he was doing yet, but Dean had this weird feeling he’d figure it out. Somehow.

“Alright, little guy,” Dean muttered softly, stroking the kitten’s fur. “Guess we’re stuck with each other now.”

The kitten blinked up at him with those big golden eyes, and for a moment, Dean felt that sense of connection, that bond Mildred had mentioned. It wasn’t so bad. In fact, it might even be kinda... nice.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly, “I think we’ll make it work.”

And with that, he cradled the tiny Abyssinian kitten a little closer, ready to start his new life as a cat owner.

The world was too bright, too sharp, and too cold. I wanted to move, but my body felt heavy. Hands lifted me, careful and firm. The human was talking, but I didn’t understand the words. Just the tone. Gentle. Worried. For me? No one had ever worried for me before. I closed my eyes, letting myself rest in the safety of his arms.

But I was so curious so I might look around. Tuna was very tall after all. His shoulders seem like the perfect spot to look around. 

When he was done in the veterinary clinic Dean decided the closest pet store was his next stop. He walked into the pet store, clutching his new kitten like it was the most fragile thing on the planet. The little guy—who, for the moment, was curled up in his arms, looking more like a tiny furball than a cat—seemed perfectly content, but Dean felt like he was holding a time bomb that could go off at any second. 

He’d never had a pet before, and honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was qualified to be responsible for a tiny, furry life. But there he was, strolling into a pet shop like he knew what he was doing.

The store was crammed with pet supplies—litter, food, toys, bedding—and Dean, with zero experience in any of this, scanned the aisles with a furrowed brow.

“Uh, excuse me?” Dean called out to a skinny, dark-haired worker who was organizing bags of kibble. “I need some stuff for this little gremlin.”

The worker turned around, and the moment they saw Dean’s face holding the tiny kitten, they gave him a knowing look. “First-time cat owner, huh?”

Dean winced. “Yeah. How can you tell?”

“Because you’re holding him like he might explode,” the worker replied with a grin. 

Dean sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? He’s already looking at me like I’m failing.”

The kitten, now wide-eyed, awake, and curious, peeked up at Dean and gave a little meow—maybe to reassure him, or maybe because he was wondering where the hell they were.

The worker chuckled. “Alright, no worries. Let’s start with the basics. I’m Alfie. What are your names?”

Dean glanced down at the kitten, who was now trying to climb out of his arms like it was an obstacle course. “I... uh... haven’t figured that out yet. Right now, he's ‘little gremlin.’” Dean grimaced at the lame name. “It’s a work in progress, but my name is Dean.”

“Fair enough, Dean. How old is he?”

“Vet said he’s about 6 months old,” Dean answered, shifting the kitten in his arms, who was now attempting to bat at something on his shirt, its injured paw not hindering him in the least.

"Okay, kitten food for a while longer, then," Alfie said, grabbing a few cans of kitten food from a nearby shelf. “You’ll want something high-quality for growth. This one’s good.” He handed him a can so he could inspect it and gathered some more on an empty cart they found. “Wet food is easier for kittens, you might want to feed him kibble later on but start with that.”

Dean nodded. “I know for a fact the little guy likes tuna, so this is good.” Tossing the tuna flavor cans into his basket. "Got it. Wet food. Sounds... easy enough."

“Great. Now, what about litter? You’re gonna need a box too.”

Dean eyed the rows of litter brands and froze. "Uh... what's the difference between all these?"

“Clumping or non-clumping,” Alfie said with a nod. “Clumping is easier to scoop and clean. Non-clumping? It’s... well, it’s like trying to sift sand through a colander.”

Dean made a face. “Yeah, that sounds like a nightmare.”

“Clumping it is, then,” she said, placing a bag of clumping litter in the cart. “And don’t forget a scoop.”

Dean gave a nod of approval. He felt like he was getting into the swing of things. “Okay, okay. So far, so good. What’s next? Scratching posts?”

The worker laughed. “Oh yeah. Cats love to scratch. Especially kittens. You’re gonna need one of these.”

Dean eyed the scratching posts, some of them towering like miniature cat castles, others just simple vertical poles. “So... these are basically like cat gyms?” he asked.

“Exactly,” the worker said. “It’ll keep him from tearing up your furniture. Trust me.”

Dean grabbed the simplest one, then added a few feather wands and small balls to the cart. He wasn’t sure what was going to keep the kitten entertained, but he figured a few toys couldn't hurt. “Alright. Anything else? Am I missing anything?"

Alfie glanced at the kitten in his arms. “Does he have a carrier?”

Dean blinked. “Uh, I’m pretty sure he’s good with me just holding him.”

Alfie looked at him, then at the kitten, who had now decided that Dean’s shoulder was the perfect climbing apparatus. “Okay, buddy,” he said, “You’re definitely gonna need a carrier, at least while you train him to maybe use a vest and leash. Trust me. You don’t want him crawling all over your car, or worse, the vet’s office. Plus, it’ll give him a safe space when you’re not around.”

Dean sighed and reluctantly grabbed a soft carrier, one that didn’t look too much like a "cage" but more like a small, comfy den. “Fine. A carrier. That’s probably smart.”

He turned back to the worker, who was watching him with an amused grin. “So, you mentioned a vest and a leash? I didn’t know cats could do dog things until this morning. What does training him to use one entail?”

“Well, you have to get them used to wearing vests at first. You can start trying one on him for a few minutes, then increase the time little by little,” he explained as he walked him towards the vests hanging on one of the isles. “It’s better to start him now that he’s small. Especially if you plan to take him on walks or with you when you leave your house with him.” 

“Right,” Dean said as he accepted the vest Alfie offered him. “What do I do when he tries to eat my shoes or scratch my face off for fun?”

Alfie raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to figure that out yourself. Each cat is different.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, probably.”

Alfie rang him up, and as he handed him his bags, he smiled. “You’re gonna be fine. Just remember, kittens are a little like babies, but they have claws.”

Dean nodded, holding up the bags as if they were the holy grail of survival. “Yeah, well, I’m hoping he’s not a total gremlin”

Alfie chuckled and winked. “Good luck.”

Dean glanced down at the kitten, who was now happily perched in the open carrier. “Yeah, he’s got that going for him.”

“Come back anytime, I’ll be around.” Alfie waved at both of them as they left the shop. 

“Thanks, Alfie, I’m sure we’ll be back.” And with that, Dean left the store. 

—

Back home Dean leaned back on the couch, exhausted from the day's drama. He had managed to get the kitten to take his medicine, but only after a battle worthy of the apocalypse. The poor little guy, still sporting his tiny cast, had settled down in Dean's lap, his tail twitching occasionally as he drifted into an unbothered sleep.

Dean rubbed his hand over the kitten’s soft fur, the absurdity of the whole situation finally hitting him. He’d never wanted a pet—hell, he didn’t even like pets, at least not before now. But here he was, sitting on his couch with a miniature feline drama queen whose leg was in a cast and who’d already made it perfectly clear he had no intention of cooperating with anything that wasn’t a nap.

Dean smirked. “You know, you’re like a little gremlin... all you do is cause chaos, but the only difference is that you look cute while doing it.”

The kitten stirred at the sound of Dean’s voice, his golden eyes flicking open to give Dean a half-lidded look that was nothing short of judgmental.

Dean raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “Yeah, I know. You’re the cute one who’s got me wrapped around your little paw. But you’re also a troublemaker.”

The kitten chirped at him lazily, clearly too tired to care.

Dean grinned, the name already forming on his lips. “I think I’m going to call you Gizmo.”

The kitten didn’t react, but Dean was convinced the little guy gave him an I’m not impressed look. "Yeah, I know, it's a dumb name. But if you don't start showing some gratitude, you’re gonna end up with something worse, like Spike or Boots . So count yourself lucky."

Dean gently scratched behind Gizmo’s ears, watching as the kitten let out a soft, contented purr, clearly not bothered by the name as much as he was by the medicine debacle.

“Gizmo it is,” Dean said, satisfied. "Like the gremlin you are. Only, y'know, not evil and very cute, despite what you’ve led me to believe."

The kitten, seemingly deciding that Dean had finally earned some points, stretched out a bit, his little casted paw twitching in his sleep.

Dean shook his head with a chuckle. “You're gonna be a handful, I can already tell.”

Gizmo, now snuggled up all the way under Dean’s chin and half-asleep, gave no sign that he cared about his new name—or Dean’s looming, overprotective future as a cat dad. He was too busy trying to nap off his traumatic day of getting saved, medicated, and named after a 1980s movie character.

Dean sighed in resignation, smiling at his new furry sidekick. “Well, Gizmo, guess you’re stuck with me now. Whether you like it or not.”

Gizmo didn’t respond, but if Dean had to guess, that little twitch of his ear said, Yeah, yeah. I’m totally fine with that.

Chapter Text

Tuna has finally accepted his role as my humble servant. It took time, but I have trained him well. The house now reflects my reign. Ramps installed for my entertainment. Towers for me to climb. Small soft things placed around for me to knock off ledges at will. 

I pretend to do what he asks and I get unlimited treats. It’s perfect. I no longer need to fight for dominance—Tuna knows his place. And yet, he still tries to keep me off the Forbidden Counter. Silly human. He will never win this battle.

A year into his life with Gizmo, Dean Winchester had come to terms with one undeniable fact: he was a cat guy now. Sure, he never expected to be the kind of person who owned an active, demanding Abyssinian cat, but after a year of living with Gizmo, Dean’s home had morphed into what could only be described as a cat palace —complete with ramps, climbing shelves, and a little outdoor catio.

Dean had fully embraced the fact that his living room now resembled a cat jungle gym, and he wasn't even mad about it. Gizmo had free reign of every inch of the place, scaling the walls, hopping from shelf to shelf, and generally treating Dean’s house like an amusement park.

But what Dean hadn’t expected was how much Gizmo had changed him. When he first brought the little guy home, Gizmo was just a crazy kitten, bouncing off the walls and chewing anything that wasn’t nailed down. But over time, Dean had gotten serious about training his cat. He’d watched a few online tutorials and read up on how to teach cats tricks—if only to avoid constantly being outsmarted by a creature who could scale the furniture like Spider-Man.

Dean had started with the basics—teaching Gizmo how to sit, high-five, and roll over. It hadn’t been easy, but with patience (and an absurd amount of treats), Gizmo had picked up the commands in no time. Dean was particularly proud of the “sit” command, as Gizmo now followed it without hesitation, sitting like a little gentleman before diving into his food bowl. There was also the “spin” trick, which Gizmo had mastered so well that Dean sometimes caught him doing it just to entertain himself.

“Alright, Gizmo,” Dean said one evening, standing in the middle of the living room with the treat bag in hand. “Spin!”

Gizmo immediately spun in a perfect circle, facing Dean with a smug look on his face as if he knew he was impressing Dean. Dean chuckled and handed him a treat.

“That’s my boy,” he said, scratching the top of Gizmo’s head.

The training had done wonders for Gizmo’s behavior. Where once he had been a whirlwind of destruction, now he was a kitten with purpose. But the big surprise had come when Dean had decided to try something a little more ambitious: walking Gizmo on a leash.

At first, it seemed impossible. Gizmo wanted absolutely no part of any contraption that wasn’t his precious cat tree or scratching post. He really loved feathers and bells to chase around too. But Dean was persistent. The first hurdle was getting Gizmo used to wearing the vest and then slowly moving on to shorter walks around the living room, and then the backyard. Surprisingly, as soon as Gizmo got used to the vest and leash he had taken to it like a natural. The vest was quickly accepted, and soon, Gizmo brought it over to Dean when he was late for their daily afternoon walks. 

Dean had to admit—watching Gizmo strut around the neighborhood, proudly wearing his little vest and walking on the leash, was something he hadn’t expected to enjoy so much. They’d go for short walks, where Dean would chat with neighbors while Gizmo explored every patch of grass, sniffed every bush, and occasionally tried to climb a tree (because of course he did).

“I swear, you’re just like a dog sometimes,” Dean had told him one afternoon, watching Gizmo tug on the leash in pursuit of something interesting. “But I’m not mad about it.”

Gizmo, of course, couldn’t care less about Dean’s feelings on the matter. He was more focused on whatever scent was coming from that bush across the street. It was a surprisingly peaceful routine. Dean would get his daily walk, and Gizmo would burn off some of his endless energy. It was a win-win.

But now, life was throwing a new curveball Dean’s way. Charlie, his boss for the past year and best friend, had just signed him up to attend a series of conventions to promote their online protection service. It was a big deal for the company, but it meant Dean would be traveling once a month, gone for a full week at a time. And while Dean was excited about the opportunity, he was also stressing about the logistics—namely, what to do with Gizmo.

“I can’t just leave him, Charlie,” Dean said into the computer screen. Charlie’s red hair took most of the screen as she sat sideways, completely ignoring the camera that was currently recording her. “You promised this would be a ‘work from home’ job when you hired me.”

“I know I did, Dean. But you knew we had conferences planned for this year and as the Sales and Marketing Director of our small company, I want you in charge when we go. At least for the first few. ” Charlie had helped him a year ago, hiring him after he’d found himself in a bit of a mental breakdown in his job at Sandover Bridge and Iron Inc. 

His job in her company was way more relaxed than what it had been back at Sandover but as the company had slowly grown —thanks a lot to Dean’s experiences in sales— Charlie had hinted more and more that she might need him to hire some extra help for the sales department (currently only him). 

“I know I can do the job, Charles. That’s not the issue here.” He was actually really good at presentations if he said so himself. Talking in public had never been an issue for him, he actually enjoyed it and was kind of looking forward to getting out of the house more often. 

“Then what’s the problem?” She asked, finally looking at the camera and straight at Dean. 

“I’m worried about Gizmo,” Dean finally admitted. “Who’s gonna look after him while I’m gone?”

It wasn’t like Dean could leave Gizmo with anyone. Adam was too busy taking classes in KU, John had his hands full with his own company, and Kate’s new dog (she’d finally convinced John to let her adopt one) was already keeping her occupied. He had even considered asking Sam, but Sam had recently gotten engaged and then there was the small fact that he lived in California, so that was out of the question. 

“Why don’t you try Rover?” Charlie suggested. 

“Rover? What the hell is a rover?” Dean asked. Charlie always knew the most obscure solutions. He wouldn’t be surprised if a rover was an AI robot that had pet-sitting capabilities. 

“It’s a pet-sitting service app,” Charlie explained, clearly anticipating Dean’s panic. “You can find sitters near you. They’ll come over and take care of Gizmo. I helped a friend develop it years ago, and it works great.”

‘Of course, its an app, and of course she did.’ Dean thought. “How would I even know if the stranger on the other side of the screen is trustworthy?” Dean asked, shaking his head. “It all seems very sketchy to me.”

“It’s really not, Dean.” Charlie sighed. “Just look it up. You can chat with whoever fits your needs and invite them to meet you before you leave them in charge of Gizmo. It’s all very safe. I promise.”

He ignored Charlie’s texts with the information he had definitely not asked for for as long as he could. Watching Gizmo groom himself behind his laptop kept him entertained for a while, but after the third time the cat stared back with a look of ‘you are a total creep, look away.’ he relented. 

“Fine, Charle. I’ll try it.” Dean muttered under his breath and clicked the link. His mouse hovered on the link but before he could question it further he clicked on it. Even though he still needed to do some work, his boss had just sent him this link. It was totally her fault that he was distracted. 

Dean scrolled through Rover.com on his laptop, a brow furrowed in mild skepticism. The site was surprisingly nice , not what he’d expected from something called "Rover." The colors were calming—white, blues, and greens—and the pictures of happy dogs and cats with their sitters made it all seem... legitimate .

He hesitated over the search bar for a moment. “Alright, let’s see if I can find someone who isn’t a total weirdo,” he muttered to Gizmo who was resting behind the laptop and sent Dean a ‘Don’t be ridiculous’ stare and then proceeded to clean his paws.

Dean glared at Gizmo. “Yeah… you say that now, just you wait.” Ignoring the, now purring fuzz ball behind his screen, he typed his zip code and Gizmo’s details when prompted. The page quickly populated with a list of sitters in his area, each one with a smiling profile picture and a list of services.

“Okay, who are all these people,” Dean said, scrolling down. There were detailed profiles with reviews—real reviews, not just some fake five-star ratings—and notes on what each sitter specialized in. There was even a section for their experience with cats, dogs, and even reptiles. 

“Forget about reptiles. We need a cat whisperer. Someone that will not be fooled by your tricks”, he said to Gizmo, who promptly gave him a blank stare, lifted a leg like a gymnast at the Olympics, and began cleaning his nether regions with zero shame.

Dean glared. “Whatever dude.” He turned to look back at his screen and scrolled through the first few profiles. Dean wasn’t just looking for someone to feed Gizmo; he needed a sitter who wouldn’t be completely overwhelmed by a cat who acted like he was powered by Energizer batteries. Someone that was willing to spend at least a couple of hours of the day with Gizmo. 

One profile caught his eye. "Castiel N.," the name read, with a picture of a guy who looked... well, normal enough. No weird vibes, no questionable looks—just a guy with a friendly, gummy smile. Dean clicked on it, reading through the details. 

Apparently Castiel worked from home, had experience with high-energy cats, and was even from this neighborhood, which was a plus. And the reviews? Impressive. 5.0 Star Sitter. Whatever that meant. 

Dean nodded to himself, muttering, “Alright, not bad.” He was about to move on, but the more he scrolled, the more he realized this wasn’t the disaster he had expected. It wasn’t some sketchy Craigslist situation. Rover seemed to actually vet the people on here. There were background checks, photos of pets and sitters together, and a “Rover Guarantee” that made it sound like if something went wrong, they’d make it right.

Dean clicked on Castiel’s name to see more of his profile, and as the page loaded, he leaned back in his chair staring at the guy’s profile picture. "Honestly, Gizmo, you might have it better than me." He said to the now sleeping cat that had stealthily moved and was now perched on the highest level of the cat tower Dean kept in the back corner of his office. 

Looking through the pictures in Castiel’s profile Dean realized something. This dude was hot as hell. He had to admit that if it all worked out like he hoped, he would even be a little jealous of Gizmo. 

“Okay,” Dean said with a shrug, “maybe this isn't a total scam.” He clicked the “Contact Castiel N.” button, ready to message Castiel and get to know him a little better, for Gizmo’s sake , of course.

He quickly typed an introduction and minimized the window stubbornly deciding to go back to work. He was not going to be compulsively refreshing the page waiting for the hot pet sitter to text him back, no sir.

Dean:  Hey, Castiel. I’m Dean. Saw your profile on Rover, and I’ve got a lot of questions. First one—how much experience do you have with high-energy cats? Because Gizmo? Absolute ball of energy. Think gremlin level.

Dean did not expect an answer right away so he distracted himself by going back to work. He wasn’t sure how much time passed but he was startled by a pinging sound he’d never heard before. He clicked around his browser tabs and discovered it was the Rover web page. Castiel had written back. 

Castiel:  Hi, Dean! Thanks for reaching out. I have a lot of experience with high-energy cats. In fact, I had an Abyssinian growing up, and I know all about them being curious and very active. I specialize in adapting to their environment and allowing them to channel that energy in productive ways—interactive toys, climbing spaces, regular playtime, whatever Gizmo needs. I can follow any schedule you have and make sure your pet is receiving the care they need. 

“That’s a good sign, right Gizmo?” Dean asked the cat who had abandoned the tower and was currently fighting with one of his favorite self-play toys on the office floor. Dean returned to his computer screen and decided he wanted to get to know more about Castiel.

Dean:  Wait, wait—you’ve had an Abyssinian before? That’s like saying you’ve survived a tornado. I mean, they’re crazy... How did you make it out alive?

Castiel: Haha, yes, I survived! With patience and a lot of training, of course. Abyssinians are high-energy, but with enough mental stimulation and physical activity, they can be calm and well-behaved. I worked with my own ball of energy on tricks, and playtime, and, believe it or not, he was an angel. 

“This guy knows your tricks, Gizmo.” Dean pointed at the screen. “Charlie might be right about this service.” Dean decided to continue asking questions so he didn’t hesitate to throw everything at this guy. 

He wanted the best pet sitter for Gizmo after all. Yep. It’s all for Gizmo.

Dean: Do you have experience taking cats out on walks? Gizmo knows how to use a leash, but he likes to tug me around when we go for walks. I mean, it did take a while for him to adapt but in the end, he does look pretty badass up on trees. Got him to love our walks after a while. Do you think you would be able to take Gizmo on daily walks?

Castiel:  Leash training can definitely be tricky at first. But it’s all about patience and making it fun for them. Some cats love it, others take time to adjust. I can definitely take Gizmo for daily walks if that is a requirement, and I’ll make sure it stays enjoyable for him. 

“Well well. What if things don’t go according to plan, Castiel?” Dean asked the screen before typing a response. He was very interested in the answers this guy had to give. 

Dean: Alright, alright. So, what happens if he decides he’s done with the leash, though? I’ve had him yank me into bushes, roll under a parked car, and once—no joke—try to drag me into the neighbor’s pool. He’s... adventurous. What would you do then?

He only had to wait a minute or two for the answer. 

Castiel: That’s actually pretty common with cats like Gizmo. If he pulls like that, I’d just make sure he’s comfortable, and we’ll keep the walks short and positive. If he needs a break, we’ll take one. No forcing it—unless he’s heading for the pool again, in which case, we’ll definitely try to keep him distracted with some toys or treats.

Laughing at the screen Dean continued throwing different scenarios at the guy. He seemed more perfect with each answer he gave. 

Dean: Alright, let’s talk indoors. Gizmo’s got this little problem where if there’s something within paw reach, it’s going down. Furniture, shelves, my poor, helpless records… and he likes to steal my socks. Got any wisdom on what you would do to keep him from turning my place into a war zone?

Gizmo wasn’t as bad as he was making it seem. He’d taken his time to train the little guy and had gotten him to a place where he knew what to play with. But every once in a while, Gizmo liked to remind Dean who was in charge and went to town with things. Especially socks. 

A few weeks ago on a quiet afternoon, Gizmo, ever-so-watchful, sat perched on the arm of the living room couch. Dean, distracted with the new episode of Dr. Sexy, MD , was in the process of pulling on his socks for the day. He’d just picked up the first one—a perfectly innocent gray sock—and was about to slip it on when a flash of movement caught his eye.

Before he could react, Gizmo was on it. With a lightning-fast pounce, the little cat snatched the sock right out of Dean’s hand and darted off with it in his mouth, his tail swishing like a banner of triumph.

Dean blinked. “Hey! No way, Gizmo!”

Meow! Gizmo meowed back, sounding almost smug, as he scampered toward the cat tower in the corner of the living room, the sock hanging from his mouth like a prized trophy.

Dean let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Seriously? You’re stealing my sock? Again?”

Gizmo gave a playful little trill, clearly delighted with his theft. He flopped down onto the highest perch, the sock neatly draped across his paws, as though it was now his personal treasure.

Dean groaned and reached for the sock. “You can’t just take it, buddy.”

But Gizmo wasn’t having it. He let out a dramatic purr , stretching lazily, and then tugged the sock further away, clearly enjoying the chase. Meow! This time it was a loud, almost teasing sound, and he looked straight at Dean as if to say, Catch me if you can.

Dean sighed, but there was no fighting the inevitable. With a mock frown, he slid back onto the couch beside him, pretending to act annoyed. “Alright, you win. But just know… this sock is coming back to me eventually.”

Gizmo responded with a soft purr , curling around the sock like a king protecting his crown. It was clear that, in his mind, the sock was now officially his—and Dean’s attempts to reclaim it were futile.

“Well played, Gizmo. Well played,” Dean chuckled, finally surrendering the sock to its new owner.

He wanted to know what this guy would do if something similar happened to him. 

Castiel: I’ve definitely dealt with the “everything must be knocked over” syndrome before. Abyssinians need a lot of vertical space, so I’d encourage them to play and keep them active, using plenty of cat trees, shelves, and scratching posts. Redirecting them with interactive toys also helps too. I’ve found that if they’re kept busy, they don’t have time to destroy everything around them.

Dean: Vertical space, huh? My house is definitely a cat amusement park. Well, I mean, it works for us so…

Castiel: Exactly. I like to think of it as a cat jungle gym. I’m sure Gizmo loves it, and it keeps him occupied. Prompting him to play around with things he’s allowed helps keep him away from your own things.

“It definitely does, doesn't it Gizmo”. Dean looked around, but Gizmo had abandoned his toy and left the room. Dean had no idea where the cat had gone, but didn’t worry too much for now. 

Turning back to the screen he continued testing Castiel’s knowledge. 

Dean: Okay, well, next challenge—what if  Gizmo reacts badly to other people? Because let’s just say he’s... particular. He’s usually fine once he gets to know someone, but if he doesn't like you, you're basically public enemy number one. He’s not above passive-aggressive staring.

Castiel didn’t take long to send a response, his answer eloquent and informative of his knowledge like all the others had been. 

Castiel: I’ve definitely worked with cats who are selective about their humans. I’d take a slow and gentle approach with him, giving him space to decide when he’s ready to interact. Maybe some treats. I’ve also trained myself in reading feline body language, so I’ll respect his boundaries. If he wants to hiss at me for a while, I’ll let him—no judgment.

“Trained on feline body language? Who is this guy?” Dean muttered but was secretly charmed by the guy’s responses. 

Dean: Hiss? Oh, you’ll get more than a hiss, buddy. Gizmo’s got a whole range of passive-aggressive tactics. I’ve been on the receiving end of his "frozen stare of death" more times than I can count.

Castiel: Sounds like I’m in for an interesting time! I’ll be prepared for all the Gizmo special effects.

Dean: I mean, we’re talking about a cat who’s taken out two lamps, a coffee mug, and the Wi-Fi router in a single afternoon. He’s a destructive genius.

Dean remembered that day fondly now, but in the moment, he’d been in literal feline hell. 

Castiel: Well, as long as he doesn’t take me out, we’ll be fine.

Dean: Haha, he does like to jump on people’s shoulders. The taller the better in his opinion. Just ask my brother. I’ll try to keep him away from you at the beginning. Last thing—what happens if something goes wrong? Like if Gizmo decides you’re just not his cup of tea and starts plotting his revenge? I’m not saying he would, but... I wouldn’t put it past him.

Castiel: If Gizmo isn’t comfortable, I’ll make sure to update you immediately. I’ll never push him into a situation he’s not ready for. And if there’s any issue, I’ll take a step back and adjust. Your pet’s well-being is the most important thing. I’ll also keep a daily log of how things go, so you’re always in the loop.

Alright, this guy was the real deal. Dean felt like all his responses were to the point and very informed. 

He heard Gizmo run back into the office and quickly climb the tower all the way to the top where he lifted his bum and prepared to jump. Dean knew exactly what Gizmo was planning to do and prepared himself to be the cat’s landing pad.

Without missing a beat, Gizmo jumped onto his back and used his sharp claws to climb all the way to Dean’s shoulders, where he promptly made himself at home, curling up right next to his neck, purring like a tiny motor.

“Really, Gizmo?” Dean grumbled, glancing at the little cat now using his shoulder as a personal lounge chair. Gizmo gave a satisfied meow , kneaded his paws into Dean’s shoulder like it was a cloud, and settled in with a continuous purr.

Dean sighed dramatically. “This is exactly the reason why I bought you that cat hammock. So you would stop using my shoulder as your personal sleeping pad.” Gizmo responded by swatting his ear, kneading on his shoulder, and purring some more.

“Alright, guess we're doing this now," Dean muttered, surrendering. He reached up to scratch the little fluff ball behind the ears, because, well, who could resist?

"Just don’t start biting my earlobe, or I swear to God..." Dean threatened, but Gizmo was already fast asleep, purring contentedly.

Dean sighed but turned back to his laptop screen.  

Dean: So, you’re saying I won’t come back to find my cat holding a hostage situation with my favorite pair of socks? Good to know.

Castiel: No socks hostage situations here, I promise.

Dean chuckled. “If only he knew.” 

Dean: Alright, alright. You’re starting to convince me, Castiel. How about we meet sometime this week, see if Gizmo gives you his seal of approval?

Castiel: Sounds perfect! I can stop by tomorrow early afternoon? I’ll bring some treats and toys to help break the ice.

Dean: Tomorrow early afternoon will be great. Just don’t be surprised if Gizmo gives you the "I'm watching you" stare. He’s got a thing for that.

Castiel: I’ll be ready. Thanks, Dean.

Dean: No problem. See you tomorrow, Castiel. And hey—if you survive Gizmo’s wrath, you might just have yourself a job.

Castiel:  I’m looking forward to it. See you soon!

Dean: Take care, and don’t forget the treats. Trust me, Gizmo expects quality snacks.

Castiel: Noted. I'll come prepared.

Dean: Good man.

Ignoring the snoozing cat on his shoulders Dean went back to work, sending Charlie his response about the conferences. If everything went okay with Castiel he would accept going on a few trips. 

—

Later that night Dean sat on the couch, Gizmo curled up on his lap, lazily grooming his paws. He ran his fingers through Gizmo’s soft fur, trying to ignore the impending doom of their big meeting tomorrow.

“Alright, buddy,” Dean said, looking down at the cat. “Tomorrow’s the day. You’re gonna meet Castiel , the guy I found on that pet-sitter website thing. I know you’re probably thinking, ‘Why’s this guy even bothering ?’ But trust me, you’re gonna love him. He’s got experience with crazy cats like you, so... this is either gonna go great, or it’s gonna be hilarious .”

Dean hoped he sounded convincing, but Gizmo gave him a suspicious look, then started licking his paw again, clearly uninterested in the whole situation.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know we’ve gotta do this. You can’t just hang out by yourself if I’m gone. Charlie wants me to work outside of this house, man,” Dean continued, getting defensive. “I swear, you’re like a tiny furry stalker. I can’t even go to the bathroom without you following me.”

Gizmo meowed lazily, clearly unimpressed with Dean’s attempts to rationalize the situation.

“Fine, fine. I get it, you’re in charge. But Castiel’s got the right vibe, alright? He’s calm, patient. He won’t scream when you decide to use his lap, or his shoulders, as a springboard. Trust me, you’re gonna get along. And if not? Well, I’ll just go back online and look for someone else, okay?” Dean chuckled, giving Gizmo a little scratch behind the ears.

Gizmo gave him an unimpressed look and then tried to dig his claws into Dean’s shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, I see how it is,” Dean grumbled. “You’re just jealous because you think Castiel’s gonna replace you. Newsflash, buddy, he’s not replacing you, he’s replacing me .”

Gizmo stretched out on Dean’s lap, his eyes half-closed.

“Alright, well, tomorrow we’ll see how this goes. Don’t go destroying the place while he’s here, okay?” Dean chuckled to himself. Gizmo gave a soft, contented purr, clearly deciding that any conversation about Castiel was too boring to care about.

Dean smiled and leaned back. “Alright, Gizmo. Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn into a total disaster.”

But deep down, Dean hoped their meeting with Castiel went smoothly. 

__

It was the next day just after 3 o’clock when Dean found himself pacing nervously in his living room, watching the clock tick toward the hour when Castiel was supposed to arrive. Gizmo, predictably, was lounging on the windowsill, eyes half-closed, like he couldn’t care less about the life-changing event about to take place. Dean, on the other hand, was a ball of nerves.

He glanced at Gizmo. “Alright, buddy, you better be on your best behavior. Don’t go all gremlin on him, okay?”

Gizmo looked up, yawned, and then promptly resumed ignoring him.

“Thanks for the support,” Dean muttered, pacing the floor. “Real helpful , man.”

The doorbell rang, and Gizmo immediately perked up, eyes wide. Dean opened the door, and there stood Castiel —tall, a little disheveled in an endearing way that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a casual Vogue photoshoot even though he was wearing a goofy t-shirt with a cartoon bee on it, long loose shorts and running shoes. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, a reassuring smile, and, to Dean’s surprise, a soft, almost quiet energy that felt... safe .

“Heya, you must be Castiel ?” 

Castiel nodded and greeted back with a low scratchy voice that did something to Dean’s insides. “Hello, Dean. It’s Cas-ti-el, actually, but everyone calls me Cas.” 

Then he crouched down and extended his hand to the cat walking through between Dean’s feet, his gaze soft but confident. “And you must be Gizmo,” Dean instantly realized that this handsome stranger was way too close to his crotch, it made his heart skip a beat.

Gizmo, of course, didn’t hesitate. He darted forward, immediately rubbing up against Castiel’s hand like they were already best friends.

“Guess he likes you,” Dean said, trying (and failing) to sound casual as he watched the man stay down as Gizmo weaved around his ankles.

“I can’t blame him,” Castiel replied with a quiet laugh, his eyes glinting with warmth. “I’ve been told I give the best scratches.”

Dean felt something stir in his chest at the way Castiel spoke to Gizmo—like the man genuinely cared about animals. But that was just the start of it. Castiel stood back up, smiling at Dean, and there was something about the way he looked at him—kind, open, a little... intrigued. “Who told you that?”

“I interrogated a cat once, and he admitted it after only a few scratches behind his ears,” Castiel said with the most serious expression on his face. “Shall we start the interview?” His voice was calm but with an edge of enthusiasm that made Dean’s pulse race, in a completely different way from the usual chaotic pace of his life with Gizmo.

“Yeah, let’s go over it,” Dean said, trying to sound like he wasn’t trying to figure out why Castiel made him feel like a teenager with a crush.

Dean led Castiel through Gizmo’s usual routine—showing him where the food and litter were, how to prep his meals, and how to refill his water bowl with the same brand of filtered water he drank himself. He also decided to go on an actual walk with Castiel and Gizmo.

“Just pretend I’m not there. I wanna see how he behaves with you.” Dean said as he gave Castiel the leash now hooked to Gizmo’s vest. 

“I’ll try my best,” Castiel said with an intense stare. 

Dean felt himself blush, cleared his throat awkwardly, and walked out of the house. It was one of those rare, beautiful Saturday afternoons when everything seemed to line up perfectly. The sun was shining, there was a light breeze, and Dean, Castiel, and Gizmo were walking together in the park, taking in the sights.

Dean was at ease for the first time in weeks—probably because nothing in his life had been this easy in a while. Not with work, not with all the traveling he had coming up, and definitely not with Gizmo, whose antics seemed to get more unpredictable by the day, probably feeling Dean’s impending abandonment. 

But today was different.

Castiel was walking beside him, looking completely relaxed, while Gizmo trotted ahead on his leash, darting here and there like a tiny explorer, sniffing every bush and trying to sneak a peek at every squirrel. Gizmo was in his element—though, at this point, Dean had learned that Gizmo was basically in his element wherever he was, as long as it involved a little bit of chaos.

“So, uh, how’s this whole cat-sitting thing working out for you?” Dean asked, glancing sideways at Castiel. He had been a little worried about how Castiel would handle Gizmo’s energy, but he seemed to be taking it all in stride.

“It’s been good. I’m looking after a couple of other cats at the moment. But Gizmo is definitely an... interesting little guy,” Castiel said, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “Though, I was expecting him to be more of a... sprinter.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, that’s Gizmo for you. When you least expect it, he runs like he’s trying to outrun his own thoughts. But don’t worry, he doesn’t do it a lot and you’ll know when he’s about to do it. He wiggles his butt every time. Easy to spot.”

At that exact moment, Gizmo crouched down and wiggled his little butt, then proceeded to dart ahead, practically flying toward a bush. Dean’s eyes widened, his reflexes kicking in. “Gizmo! No, no, no—”

But it was too late. Gizmo, in one swift leap, pounced on the bush, and with all the grace of a drunken ninja, managed to get himself stuck —his little legs tangled in the foliage as he made angry, disgruntled meows from within the shrubbery.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, glancing at Castiel. “Well, that’s... new.”

Castiel looked at Gizmo, who was still half-buried in the bush, squirming and growling in frustration. A tiny paw flopped out, but it didn’t seem to help.

“Uh, you want me to... help him?” Castiel asked, glancing at Dean with a raised eyebrow.

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “If you can. This is his ‘let’s act like I’m a hunting expert’ phase. He’s probably stuck, but I’m not sure if he knows that.”

“Is it safe to just... pull him out?” Castiel asked carefully.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Dean said, a little too casually. “He gets stuck in the weirdest places. The other day, he tried to crawl under the couch and ended up halfway through a laundry basket. He’ll be fine.”

Gizmo, however, clearly disagreed with this assessment, and now his little paw was flailing out of the bush like he was trying to do the Macarena .

“Okay,” Castiel said, his tone a little unsure but still kind. “One second, Gizmo.”

He crouched down, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into the bush and gently tried to untangle Gizmo. The moment his hand touched the cat, Gizmo froze, then suddenly launched himself out of the bush like a bat out of hell, landing awkwardly in Castiel’s arms with a loud mew of protest.

“Whoa!” Castiel said, barely catching the tiny tornado of fur and claws. Gizmo wriggled, eyes wide with indignation.

“I told you,” Dean laughed. “This is his ‘I’m a majestic wild cat’ act. It’s not for the faint of heart.”

Castiel held the now very unhappy Gizmo at arm’s length, who was doing his best to escape by climbing Castiel like a tree.

“Well, if he’s going to treat me like a tree, I suppose I’ll just have to go with it,” Castiel said, trying to hold his shoulders straight so Gizmo could perch on them, his lips quivering with an almost amused expression.

Dean snorted, trying to hold back a laugh. “Yeah, he’s really into that. You’re officially the human jungle gym now . Welcome to the club.”

Gizmo gave a dramatic, high-pitched meow, clearly unimpressed with Dean’s comments.

“I don’t think he agrees with that assessment,” Castiel said dryly.

Dean gave him an exaggerated shrug. “He’s just cranky with me because I didn’t let him eat a half-eaten sandwich off the sidewalk during our walk yesterday.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” Castiel replied, his voice light with amusement. “But you’ve got to admit, he’s a unique little guy.”

Dean glanced at Castiel and felt a smile tug at his lips. There was something about the way Castiel was handling all this—his calm demeanor and gentle care with Gizmo—that made Dean feel oddly... attracted . Even with all the chaos that came with Gizmo’s personality, Castiel seemed to take it in stride.

“Yeah, he is,” Dean said, his voice quieter. “He’s... a handful, but he’s mine.”

Castiel nodded, still scratching Gizmo in the most gentle way possible as the cat continued to perch on the man’s delectable shoulders and gave him a reluctant, “I’ll let you live” look.

“Well,” Castiel said, breaking the moment, “shall we continue the walk, or is Gizmo now permanently attached to me?”

Dean chuckled, watching as Gizmo, now sitting comfortably in Castiel’s shoulders, looked around with a new sense of superiority. “Yeah, he’s definitely claiming you as his new perch. But, uh... let’s keep walking. It’ll take him a minute to realize he can walk on his own again. Maybe offer him a treat. You did bring some? ”

“Good luck with that,” Castiel said, clearly amused as he adjusted his stance for the cat, not looking even a little bothered by the fact that he had Gizmo as a new ornament around his shoulders. “And yeah, I brought some treats, we’ll give those a try.”

As they continued their walk, Gizmo stayed comfortably nestled in Castiel’s shoulders, purring contentedly, while Dean couldn’t help but feel like this was one of those moments where everything just... clicked. Even if Gizmo was probably plotting his next great escape.

“Well, everything seems to have gone well,” Dean said with a grin, “but if he tries to drag you into a pond, I’m not coming to your rescue.”

“Noted,” Castiel replied with a smile of his own. "I'll keep my distance from the water."

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. And as they walked on, with Gizmo as their unwilling (but adorable) third wheel, he realized that things might just work out better than he’d ever hoped.

—-

This new human brings great treats. Salmon is a good flavor. He gives the best chin scratches and has strong tall shoulders for me to perch on.  I shall call him Potential Minion #2, aka Salmon.  Will he offer tributes of food and chin scratches? Will he understand that the belly is a trap? We shall see. I shall judge him accordingly.

___

The rest of the ‘interview’ went smoothly. Gizmo eventually left his new Castiel perch and started walking in front of them, guiding them all the way back home. Once they were back Castiel continued asking all the right questions and patiently taking notes on his phone. At one point, Gizmo decided that Castiel’s legs were the perfect climbing frame, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh as the cat scrambled up him like a tiny, fuzzy mountain climber.

“Looks like someone’s made up his mind,” Dean said, trying to hide a grin as Castiel held Gizmo up by his belly, cradling him like a baby. Gizmo was purring, eyes half-lidded in pure contentment.

“I think he likes me,” Castiel said with an amused smile. “And, if I’m honest, I think I like him too.”

Dean tried not to melt at that, but it was hard when Castiel was holding Gizmo like he was the most precious thing on the planet.

“I’ve never seen him this relaxed with someone who’s not me,” Dean muttered, feeling weirdly proud of his cat’s approval . “Not even my family.” 

“Gizmo’s got great taste, clearly,” Castiel teased, and Dean felt the easy chemistry between them shift into something a little more... possible . Something about Castiel’s way of being so genuine , combined with the way he seemed to get Gizmo, was making Dean’s stomach do flip-flops in the best possible way.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as they went through the rest of Gizmo’s routine—baths (Gizmo hated them but tolerated them with a sort of resignation), grooming (which Gizmo adored), and some playtime with his favorite feather wand. Dean was surprised to find himself really enjoying Castiel’s company. The guy was calm, easygoing, and clearly good with Gizmo, but there was also this understated intensity about him that had Dean’s mind wandering more than once. Every time Castiel made eye contact, Dean felt a little spark—nothing over the top, just a quiet connection that made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just about Gizmo.

Finally, as they finished up, Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. Gizmo was curled up on Castiel’s lap, practically sleeping on him, which Dean took as a very good sign and also made him feel a little green, but just a little.

“So...” Dean said, trying to sound casual. “I think we’re good. You and Gizmo get along great, and, uh...” He hesitated for a second, before just saying it. “I’d like to hire you. Twice a day, two hours total, every day I’m gone. You’d be taking care of him when I’m traveling for work, around one week each month for the next few months. How does that sound?”

Castiel looked at him for a moment, as if weighing the offer. Then he smiled—a smile that made Dean’s stomach do that flip-flopping thing again. “It sounds perfect, Dean. I’d be happy to take care of Gizmo.”

Dean smiled back, feeling a wave of relief—and maybe something else, but he wasn’t going to think too hard about that. “Great. Not sure when my first conference is but I’ll keep you updated and we’ll set up a schedule.”

Gizmo, who had no concept of boundaries whatsoever, stretched, yawned, and then promptly rolled onto his back, making it clear that this was his new favorite spot.

Dean chuckled. “Well, looks like you’ve already got a fan. Guess I’m not the only one who thinks you’re a keeper, huh?”

Castiel’s smile widened, and Dean felt himself blush a little. He can’t believe he just said that out loud. There was something in the way Castiel looked at him like he could see straight through him, and Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t just because they were talking about his cat.

“Looks like I’ve found a good match,” Castiel said softly, his gaze lingering on Dean just a beat too long before he turned his attention back to Gizmo.

Dean cleared his throat again, trying to shake off the sudden feeling of dangerously good chemistry —but as he made mental notes on what he needed to do in the next few weeks, he realized something: he was looking forward to seeing Castiel more often.

Chapter Text

Tuna is packing. I do not like this. The big box with wheels has is being filled with clothes and I cannot accept that. I have tried repeatedly to prevent him from taking more and more things, but nothing seems to make him stop. This is unacceptable. I sit inside the box, making myself impossible to unpack. He keeps lifting me off. Unacceptable! If he leaves I will never forgive him!

A month later, Dean was off to his first convention in Chicago, and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Gizmo had tried to get into his suitcase repeatedly. It had taken him longer to pack because the crazy gremlin kept jumping on top of his clothes. Would Gizmo be okay without him? What if Gizmo tore up the furniture? Or worse, what if Gizmo rejected Castiel entirely? He probably drove Charlie crazy with his worries but they ended up all being unnecessary. 

It was the first day of Dean’s week-long trip, and as much as he hated leaving Gizmo behind, there was a sense of relief knowing that Castiel was there to look after him. The guy seemed to get along with Gizmo effortlessly, and—if Dean were being honest—he was a lot more at ease about leaving the little troublemaker behind than he would’ve been otherwise.

Dean kissed Gizmo on the head. “All right Gizmo. I’ll see you in a few days. Please behave for Castiel and don’t eat my socks while I’m gone.” 

Gizmo didn’t even look up from his perch on the couch, his little tail flicking indiferently as if to say, I’m fine, go do your thing, human . In direct contrast to how he was behaving when he was packing. 

Dean shook his head in disbelief at his pet’s antics. ‘ Cats would be cats, am I right?’

He knew Castiel’s first visit was set for that afternoon, but their communication had been sparse after that first meeting. He was sure he’d felt something special spark between them but when Castiel had not communicated with him unless it had to do with questions about Gizmo. Dean had concluded that the chemistry was probably just one-sided after all.

The first few hours of the drive (Dean refused to fly) passed in a blur of conference calls, fast food that tasted suspiciously like cardboard, and the realization that this was going to be one very long week away from home. But even if Castiel showed no interest in something more with him there was something comforting about knowing Gizmo was in good hands.

And apparently, Gizmo was doing just fine without him, according to the daily updates he got from Castiel.

Castiel: Good evening, Dean. Just wanted to let you know that Gizmo is already in charge. He attempted to sit on top of the fridge and now seems content to sleep on your desk chair. I tried to move him, but I think he may be plotting revenge against me now. Otherwise, he’s doing well. I took him for his afternoon walk, and he tried to chase a squirrel. I stopped him before things got out of hand.

(Attached picture of Gizmo napping on top of Dean’s desk chair.)

Dean: Tell him he’s lucky I’m not there to stop him. Also, if he’s sitting on my chair, it probably means he’s cold or maybe he misses me? You might want to keep a snack handy if he starts demanding tribute. He likes tuna flavor.

Castiel: I brought him salmon flavor treats. He seems to like them well enough. 

(Attached picture of Gizmo eating snacks.)

One month later he ended up having to join Charlie in a short three-day trip to St. Louis. Dean was stretched out on the hotel couch, phone in hand, endlessly scrolling like he was trying to swipe his way to enlightenment. The muted TV played reruns of some crime show neither of them cared about, and Charlie, sitting cross-legged at the desk, finally gave up pretending to focus on their presentation for the following day.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, what gives? You’ve been glued to your phone for the past hour. Who are you talking to?”

Dean didn’t even glance up. “Nobody.”

“Uh-huh,” Charlie said, drawing out the syllables. “So, you’re just casually checking Instagram for the first time in years?”

Dean locked his phone and set it face down on the coffee table with a sigh. “I was checking in on Gizmo, okay? Cas said everything’s good.”

Charlie blinked, processing that for a moment. “Wait a second. Cas? Who’s Cas? And why am I just now hearing about this?”

Dean frowned, clearly confused. “He’s my pet sitter. You know, the guy watching Gizmo while we’re here?”

Charlie sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing. “And you didn’t think to mention him before now? I’m the one who recommended Rover to you! I’ve been dying to know if you actually used the app! You did use the app, right? He’s not some weirdo you found on Craigslist.”

Dean leaned back with a shrug. “Yeah, I used it. That’s how I found Cas. Happy now?”

Charlie’s jaw dropped. “You used the app I recommended, found someone you apparently trust with your precious fur baby, and you didn’t tell me? Dean! This is, like, need-to-know bestie info!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret. It just didn’t come up.”

“Didn’t come up?” Charlie scoffed, leaning forward. “You mean to tell me that in the months since you found this guy, you’ve never once thought, ‘Gee, maybe I should thank Charlie for her excellent advice’?”

Dean waved her off. “He’s only watched Gizmo once before, I was gonna tell you eventually.”

“Oh, sure you were,” Charlie said, crossing her arms. “And what’s this Cas guy like? Is he a weirdo? A cat whisperer? What?”

Dean hesitated, then muttered, “He’s fine. Quiet. Good with animals. Gizmo likes him.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s it? You’re acting like you’re texting your high school crush, and all I get is ‘he’s fine’?”

Dean groaned. “He’s just a guy, Charlie. He does his job, and he’s good at it. End of story.”

Charlie smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Uh-huh. And how many other pet sitters did you talk to before you chose him, Dean?”

Dean sighed. “None.”

“Exactly,” Charlie said, pointing at him triumphantly. “You picked one guy off the app, and now he’s your go-to? Admit it, you like him.”

Dean scowled. “I don’t ‘like’ him. He’s just reliable, and Gizmo doesn’t steal his socks. That’s it.”

Charlie stared at him, her grin widening, “This is so cute. You totally have a crush on your pet sitter.”

“I do not,” Dean said quickly, but the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“You so do,” Charlie teased. “And now I’m mad you didn’t tell me about him sooner. What if this Cas guy is, like, the one ? I could be your fairy gaymother!”

Dean stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket. “We’re not having this conversation.”

Charlie called after him, “You better at least leave him a five-star review!”

Dean muttered something under his breath as the door slammed shut, and Charlie grinned to herself, already imagining the awkward love story that was clearly unfolding.

Castiel: Just finished giving Gizmo his bath. I don’t think he was thrilled with the process, but he’s now sitting on my lap, giving me what I can only describe as a judgmental stare. I’m sure it’s nothing personal. Anyway, he’s in good spirits otherwise. The walk was uneventful—aside from him trying to climb a tree. I didn’t let him, but I feel like he’s going to try again tomorrow."

(Attached picture of a drenched Gizmo in the bathtub.)

Dean: You’re a saint for handling that. I’m pretty sure the judgmental stare is just part of his charm. If you’re not careful, he’ll try to teach you how to give him treats every ten minutes. Good luck.

Castiel: I fear he already has.

(Attached picture of empty bag of Salmon treats. Gizmo in the background licking his paw.)

Right after Thanksgiving Dean traveled alone to the University of Oklahoma. Charlie has been nagging him to hire someone to help him with sales and they decided to go to a few job conferences to scout the new graduates in universities close to Lawrence. Of course, he’d drawn the short straw and had to drive the farthest. Luckily, Castiel had been available to watch Gizmo again, even when Dean had asked him with only a few days' notice. 

Dean sighed as he opened the Rover app on his phone, scrolling through until he found Castiel’s name. Gizmo was perched on the arm of the couch, giving him the side-eye as if he already knew Dean was about to leave him behind for another work trip.

“You’ll get to see Cas again, buddy. It won’t be so bad.” He tried to placate the little fuzz ball but he only turned and lifted his tail. 

Dean hesitated for a moment, feeling guilty, then tapped out a quick message.

Dean: Hey Cas, I’ve got to head out of town for work next week. Would you be able to watch Gizmo for five days? Monday through Friday.

It didn’t take long for Castiel to respond.

Castiel: Of course, Dean. I’d be happy to. Is it the usual routine?

Dean smiled a little at the prompt reply, a warmth settling in his chest. Castiel always responded quickly and with the same quiet enthusiasm that somehow made Dean feel less guilty about leaving.

Dean: Yeah, pretty much. Feed him twice a day, refill his water, clean the litter box. You know the drill. Oh, and he’s not a fan of going on walks when it’s cold, so don’t worry about that. Just add more play in the house, he should be fine with that.

Castiel: Understandable. It has been unusually cold this time of year, even for Kansas. I imagine Gizmo doesn’t enjoy the cold. 

Dean chuckled, glancing at the cat, who was now grooming his paw like he couldn’t care less.

Dean: Nope, hates it. He just sits there and stares at me like I’m a monster for bringing him outside.

Castiel: Sensible of him. Staying indoors by the heater is much more appealing in this weather.

Dean: True. But if he gets restless, you can let him out on the catio for a while. He likes to hang out there, and I installed a small outdoor heater for him there. As long as the wind isn’t too bad he could do that too.

Castiel: I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for letting me know. Gizmo seems to have a very particular sense of comfort.

Dean smirked, typing back.

Dean: Yeah, he’s a diva. But you already knew that.

Castiel: I find his quirks endearing. I’ll make sure he’s well cared for, Dean.

Dean’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he typed out a quick reply.

Dean: Thanks, Cas. I owe you one.

Castiel: You owe me nothing. I’m happy to spend time with Gizmo. Safe travels.

Dean stared at the screen for a beat longer than necessary, then locked his phone and glanced back at Gizmo. The cat was now sprawled out on the couch, completely at ease.

“Guess you’re in good hands, buddy,” Dean muttered, giving the cat a scratch behind the ears. If only he felt as confident about the trip as he did about leaving Gizmo with Castiel.

“Lucky bastard,” he muttered, without an ounce of envy, thank you very much.

During the holidays Dean had to call on Castiel again. Sam had invited everyone to spend Christmas in a fancy ass cabin in Lake Tahoe that didn’t allow pets. Dean was sitting on the couch, his phone in his hands, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he read a text. He didn’t usually do this—grin at his phone like a damn teenager—but there was something about Castiel’s messages that always seemed to brighten his day, even when they were just about the cat.

Castiel: Gizmo has discovered the joy of chasing his own tail. It’s both impressive and mildly concerning. He seems to have a never-ending supply of energy, but I think I’ve finally exhausted him. We’re both having some quiet time now, though he’s looking at me as though he expects me to entertain him again soon.

(Attached is a short video of Gizmo chasing his tail.)

Dean: Yep. That’s his go-to move when he’s bored. You should try challenging him to a game of ‘fetch’ next time. I bet it’ll take about two minutes before you’re the one fetching the toys.

Sam walked into the room, his eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of his brother. Dean rarely smiled like that, making Sam raise an eyebrow as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Dude, what's got you grinning like an idiot?" Sam asked. "You’re not exactly the smiley type."

Dean quickly looked up from his phone, trying to hide his expression behind a forced, casual air. "What? Nothing. Just… checking my messages."

Sam’s smirk only grew. "Uh-huh. And who exactly is texting you that’s making you so happy?"

Dean tried to shrug it off, but Sam could see the way his brother was fidgeting with the phone, clearly not as indifferent as he wanted to appear. "It’s just Cas."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Cas? As in Gizmo's sitter?" He pushed off the doorframe and moved closer, eyes twinkling with curiosity. 

Dean rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the soft grin that lingered. "Yeah, Gizmo’s sitter. " 

 "So, what’s going on? Did Gizmo do something funny again, or is there more to it?" Sam crossed his arms, still watching Dean with a knowing look.  

Dean shifted uncomfortably, trying to act casual. "It’s just... about Gizmo. Nothing else. No big deal. He sent me an update on today’s visit. " He showed Sam his phone’s screen where he’d been scrolling through Castiel’s messages. Coincidentally there were a lot of pictures of Gizmo included, so Dean hoped that distracted Sam. 

Sam’s smile grew wider. "Uh-huh, sure. So, it’s just Gizmo that’s making you smile like that, huh?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying teasing his older brother.

"Okay, fine. Maybe it’s not just about Gizmo.” Dean huffed, clearly frustrated. “It’s just... a stupid crush. Doesn’t mean anything."

"A crush? On Cas?" Sam’s expression softened, sensing something deeper in his brother’s tone. Dean hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe that he had admitted it out loud, but Sam wasn’t letting this go. 

"Yeah, okay, so it’s a crush," Dean muttered, looking down at his phone again. "But it doesn’t matter, Sam. He doesn’t like me like that. It’s just... I don’t know. When I met him, it seemed like he was into me, but then he kind of wasn’t? So, maybe I was the one reading too much into it.”

A little over five months had passed since he’d met Castiel and the man had taken care of Gizmo four times, including this one. It was Christmas Eve now, and the small cabin Sam had rented for the season was filled with the kind of warmth that only the holiday season could bring, but he was still feeling down.  

John, Kate, Adam, and Sam’s fiancee Eileen had left to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. Dean and Sam had declined when they’d invited them. Just looking outside, where snow gently fell, covering the ground in a blanket of white, Dean was glad he’d decided to stay.

Dean sat on the couch, nursing a beer in one hand, his eyes drifting between the flickering fire, the Christmas tree, and his phone. He’d joined his family here after driving from a conference in Salt Lake City, a part of him still trying to shake off the long days spent in hotels, surrounded by strangers. 

He’d also never spent this long away from Gizmo. Dean had been disappointed when the owners of the cabin had refused to let him bring Gizmo. He had complained continually to Charlie, lamenting the fact that it was out of the question to bring Gizmo with them for the holiday celebrations. 

He was glad to be here anyway, with Sam and the rest of his family.  Even if they didn’t always celebrate it like most people, it had a certain comfort to be together with everyone.

Sam, on the other hand, was bustling around the small cabin, singing along to Christmas carols and trying to make everyone join him. There was something different about him this Christmas. A contentment in his movements, a soft smile on his face, as if everything was finally falling into place. And it was. After all these years, Sam had found someone who made him happy—Eileen. They were getting married in the summer, and it was clear that Sam was excited about the future.

"So," Dean said, trying to change the subject and, breaking the silence as he took another swig from his beer. "What about you, man, you look... different. Happy different. Wedding planning treating you okay?" He raised an eyebrow, teasing, though there was a warmth behind it.

“Oh, I see what you are doing. Don’t think I will forget about this pet sitter situation.” Sam grinned as he turned to face his brother. He leaned against the sofa where Dean was sitting, a soft laugh escaping him. "But Yeah, it's going well. Eileen’s pretty much handling all the details, which I’m perfectly fine with. I’m just showing up, saying my vows, and trying not to mess it up."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, well, good luck with that. Knowing you, you’ll probably get stuck saying something dumb, you’ll totally butcher your vows. Maybe I can help?"

"Hey, I’ve got this ," Sam said with a grin, tapping his temple. "I’ll wing it. Shouldn’t be too hard."

Dean raised his bottle for another sip of beer, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Sure, because you’re so great at improv."

Sam shrugged, still smiling. "I don’t know, I think it’ll be nice. It’s all coming together, you know? We’re finally getting everything in line. I think Eileen’s pretty excited, too."

Dean nodded, his gaze softening as he studied his younger brother. It was rare for Sam to talk about the future so openly, and Dean couldn’t help but feel a little proud. His little brother, the one who had spent so many years just trying to find stability, had found someone to share his life with. Someone who made him happy. 

"I’m happy for you, Sam," Dean said quietly, the words feeling like more than just a casual comment. He meant it. "You deserve it, man. All of it."

Sam met his eyes, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks, Dean. I’m just glad I finally found someone who gets me. Someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Dean’s smile faltered slightly. He took another drink, trying to mask the emotions that flared up inside him. He couldn’t help but think about his own situation. Or, more accurately, his lack of a situation. He hadn’t exactly found someone to settle down with, and as the year drew to a close, the idea of being alone felt heavier than usual.

"Hey, don’t get all sappy on me now," Dean said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "It’s Christmas, after all. We’re expected to be happy, right?"

Sam chuckled, the sound light and warm. He walked over and sat down next to Dean on the couch, a small distance between them, but it was comfortable. "Yeah, it’s Christmas. But you know I’m always gonna get sappy about this stuff. It’s... it’s a big deal to me, Dean."

Dean shot him a sideways glance. "I know, man. And I get it. It’s just..." He paused, unsure of how to finish that sentence. There was a weight in his chest, a nagging feeling that had been there for a while. He was happy for Sam, truly. But as he thought about his own life, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Or rather, someone.

Sam noticed the shift in his brother’s mood, the subtle way he looked away, and he leaned in a little. "Is this about Cas? What’s going on, Dean? You’ve been acting a little off lately. You sure you’re okay?"

 "No, it’s not Cas. I’m good, really. Just... you know, the holidays.” Dean shrugged, his gaze flickering toward the window, where the snow continued to fall softly outside. “Sometimes they hit you harder than you expect."

Sam studied him for a moment before speaking carefully. "Are you sure? You know you can talk to me about anything. I want to help, Dean.” He hesitated, as if trying to approach the topic gently.

Dean's heart gave a small, unexpected jolt at Sam's words. For a moment, he thought about how much he’d missed his brother. They used to talk so much, and Sandover had ruined that for them. He was glad the whole family had agreed to this trip to Tahoe for the holidays. Then he thought about the messages he’d been getting from Castiel—how easy it was to fall into that rhythm of texting about Gizmo, about nothing, and everything at the same time. 

He thought about how he had felt when he’d met Castiel for the first time. Going for that walk and flirting. How much Dean had come to care for him, even though he’d never let himself act on it. 

Dean shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the present. "It’s nothing, Sam. Just thinking too much, I guess."

Sam wasn’t buying it, though. "You sure? I don’t know, man, you’ve been so quiet.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he met Sam’s eyes. "I don’t know, Sammy. It’s just... I’m happy for you, okay? You and Eileen, you’ve got this whole future ahead of you. Me? I’m... still figuring things out. Don’t think I’m cut out for that whole happily-ever-after thing at the moment."

Sam’s gaze softened, and he leaned back, his hand resting on the arm of the couch. "I don’t think that’s true. So what if you haven’t settled down yet? You don’t have to do things the way I did to be happy. It’s not about the wedding or the future , it’s about who you want to spend time with and how."

Dean exhaled, his breath shaky as he glanced down at his beer. "I don’t know if that’s ever gonna happen for me."

Sam reached over, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "You never know, Dean. You never know. Maybe it’s closer than you think."

Dean’s mind flickered to Castiel, and for a brief moment, he wondered if maybe Sam was right. Maybe there was someone for him, someone who understood him in a way no one else could. Should he just go for it? Maybe ask Castiel on a date?

Sam gave him a grin. "You know, I can’t help but notice, every time you talk about that pet-sitting guy, your face lights up. You’re not fooling anyone."

Dean rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Shut up, Sam."

"Hey," Sam said, nudging him with his shoulder. "Just don’t wait too long, okay? You’ve got a good thing going, even if you don’t see it yet."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, well... maybe. I’ll think about it."

Maybe he hadn’t talked to Castiel about anything but Gizmo in a while. That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested or that the flirting they had done months ago was just in his imagination. At that moment, sitting across from his brother and staring down at the photo of Gizmo he had on his phone (taken by Castiel), he promised to give himself another chance. 

Castiel: He has now decided that my shoes are the perfect place to store his toys. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes trying to keep him from leaving them in there. He also took a nap on my chest while I was on the phone. I think he’s claiming me as his new favorite human. Not sure how you’ll feel about that when you get back.

(Attached selfie of Castiel with Gizmo on his chest.)

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but blush. Of course, Gizmo was laying claim to Castiel, the man had no idea how hot he was. Dean instantly saved the picture feeling instantly guilty but not deleting it. 

Dean: I’m not worried. He’s a fickle creature. One look at the treats I’ll bring him when I get back and he’ll forget all about you. (For like, five minutes, or until you bring him more treats.)

Castiel’s only response was a side-eye emoji.

Dean: It’s true!

Castiel: Of course, Dean. Gizmo says ‘Have a good night’.

(Attached picture of Gizmo sleeping in a nest of Christmas quilts.)

Dean: Good night, Gizmo!

Dean: And good night to you too Cas! 

Later that night, Dean sat in the cozy, empty living room of the small cabin. Everyone else had gone to bed already, but Dean couldn't seem to shake the quiet gnawing feeling that had settled in his chest. The tree twinkled in the corner, the soft light from the fireplace flickering across the room.

Spending Christmas away from home had been a good excuse to get away from the usual stress, to recharge. But part of him—maybe the part that was always on edge when it came to his personal life—missed home. Missed his cat. Missed Gizmo.

And, if he was being completely honest, part of him missed Castiel too.

The two of them had only texted when it was necessary, sharing updates about Gizmo and the occasional personal message that made Dean’s heart race in ways he wasn’t quite ready to understand. But he hadn’t really spoken to Castiel in over three months, not since that first time when he introduced Gizmo and they went for a walk. And, though it was a small thing, he couldn’t help but wonder how the man was doing. 

He picked up his phone, scrolling through old texts. It was strange how much Castiel had become a part of his life, and yet Dean was still so unsure about whether Castiel felt anything for him beyond being a good pet-sitter. Their conversations were light, easy, mostly about Gizmo’s antics—but sometimes there was something in Castiel’s words that Dean couldn't quite ignore. Something that made his chest tighten, something more.

Taking a deep breath, he started typing. His thumb hovered over the screen as doubt crept in. What was he even doing? They’d just texted a few hours ago. Castiel was probably in bed already. 

But, it was just a holiday message. Just a "Merry Christmas" with a little question added about Gizmo, as a diversion. 

After another long minute of deliberation, Dean finally hit "send."

Dean: Hey, Cas. I know it’s late, but just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. Hope everything’s going well. I’m sure Gizmo made you work for your holiday, huh? He’s probably spent the afternoon climbing the Christmas tree and playing with the decorations around the house. Anyway, just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you. Hope you’re doing okay.

“I’m thinking of you’? Why did you send that you dumbass?” Dean muttered under his breath, immediately regretting sending that message. He felt silly. He really didn’t want to overdo it or make things weird, especially with Castiel being the calm, private guy he seemed to be. What if he was just being nice? What if Castiel didn’t care? Maybe the "thinking of you" part was too much.

Just as he tossed his phone down onto the couch and turned away, it buzzed.

Dean’s heart jumped in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed the phone, opening the message with wide eyes.

Castiel: Merry Christmas, Dean. Gizmo is certainly keeping me on my toes. We had a good cuddle before I left earlier today and he will see me early in the morning tomorrow. I’m glad to be here helping with him.

And there it was, a cold message with some information about his cat. No response to his christmas wishes or his “thinking of you” message. He was an idiot for even thinking Castiel would even— ping!

Castiel: I’ve been thinking of you, too. I hope you’re enjoying your time with your family and taking some time for yourself as well. You deserve it.

Dean blinked at the message, his pulse quickening as he read the words over and over. Castiel had been thinking of him too? He let out a slow breath. He couldn’t believe it. Castiel wasn’t just being polite. He meant it. Dean could feel the warmth in those words, in the way Castiel seemed to care so much for the cat and for him, even when Dean was away.

For a long moment, Dean sat there, trying to process it all. It wasn’t just the usual friendly response. There seemed to be something... deeper. Or was he imagining things?

His thumb hovered over the screen as he considered his reply. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. It felt like there was something more between them, but he wasn’t about to spill everything now, not on Christmas Eve, not after just one simple message.

After a few more minutes of agonizing over the words, Dean typed:

Dean: I’m glad Gizmo is keeping you busy. Thanks for looking after him—and for thinking of me. I’m doing alright. Christmas with the family’s been good. A little loud, but... good. Hope things are peaceful on your end. Maybe we can talk in person when I get back? I’d like that.

Dean hit "send" and set the phone down, feeling a strange mix of relief and nervousness. He felt like he was walking on a tightrope, unsure whether he was finally putting his feelings out there or just setting himself up for disappointment.

It didn’t take long for Castiel’s response to appear.

Castiel: I’d like that too, Dean. Take care of yourself, alright? I’ll be here if you need anything, whether it’s about Gizmo or... anything else.

Dean couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. It was small but genuine. There it was again—the same calm, steady way Castiel always managed to make him feel like everything might turn out okay. It wasn’t everything he wanted to hear, but it was enough. It was a start.

Dean let out a quiet sigh, staring at the message for a few more moments before setting the phone aside. He couldn’t help but feel like, maybe, just maybe, something was beginning to change between them. He wasn’t sure what it would look like, or how it would unfold, but he knew one thing for sure: It wasn’t going to stay the same.

And for once, that didn’t scare him.

—--

The moment Dean opened the door to his home, he was greeted by complete silence, and for a second, he wondered if maybe Gizmo had finally learned how to open locked doors and escape. But then, he heard it: the unmistakable sound of little paws skittering across the hardwood floor.

"Gizmo?" Dean called out, stepping inside and kicking off his shoes. Before he could even take another step, the cat appeared in the doorway to the living room, a tiny, dark brown blur with eyes that practically glowed with excitement.

Dean’s heart melted. "Hey, buddy," he said, dropping his bags on the floor and bending down to greet his very enthusiastic cat. "Miss me?"

Gizmo didn’t hesitate. The moment Dean bent down, the cat launched himself at his legs, rubbing his head against Dean’s shin like it was the most important thing in the world, chirping and meowing loudly as he did so. 

Dean chuckled, bending down to scoop him up. "I missed you too, little guy." He kissed the top of Gizmo’s head before gently setting him down and getting up to check around the living room.

There was a small part of him that was relieved to see that Gizmo hadn’t completely destroyed the place—though there were a few pieces of paper that had been shredded and a stray sock on the floor. It seemed like Castiel had kept the cat entertained enough. 

Sending a quiet thanks to the man, Dean moved toward the stairs to make his way to his bedroom to drop off his suitcase. Once he made it upstairs he went to open the door but before he could even get it open one inch, Gizmo darted ahead, slipping past him and pushing in through the sliver of space and into his bedroom. Wasting no time the little fuzzball hopped onto the bed with an excited meow .

"Okay, calm down," Dean muttered as he walked in behind the cat, but Gizmo had other plans. He immediately began darting back and forth, clearly on a mission to make up for lost time. Dean just shook his head with a soft laugh.

As Dean set his suitcase down on the bed, he glanced over at his phone, which had buzzed a few times while he was traveling. Most of it was family stuff—texts from John and Kate checking in after the trip back—but there was one message that caught his eye.

It was from Castiel.

Castiel: Hope you had a great trip back. Made sure there was food ready for Gizmo’s breakfast before I left. It’s all ready in the fridge for you to use in the morning. 

(Attached is a picture of Gizmo trying to climb the open refrigerator.)

Dean smiled at his cat’s antics and let his fingers hover over the phone for a moment. He never texted Castiel after the last update. Normally he just sent him a large tip and marked the job as done. But this time he was considering texting Castiel back—maybe saying something about how much he appreciated the updates about Gizmo, or just checking in one last time. He’d been thinking about Castiel off and on throughout the trip, mostly about that talk they both wanted to have.  Should he just invite the man over? Maybe go for a cup of coffee?

But before he could start typing, Gizmo leaped into his lap with a force that almost knocked the phone right out of his hand.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Dean muttered, trying to keep his phone steady as Gizmo immediately began kneading his paws into Dean’s legs. "I know I’ve been gone for a while, Giz. What, you missed me or something?"

Gizmo just meowed loudly in response, as if to say, Yes, I did . He immediately made himself comfortable, settling down on Dean’s lap, his purring vibrating through Dean’s body as the cat curled up like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dean’s chest loosened, the weariness of the past week melting away in the presence of his cat. He smiled down at Gizmo, scratching the cat behind the ears. "You’re such a little weirdo," he said, half-laughing. Gizmo responded with a contented chirp and rolled onto his back, showing his belly, demanding more attention in the form of belly rubs.

Dean’s thumb absently scrolled across his phone screen, still on the message from Castiel. He debated whether to reach out, but Gizmo had decided that now was the perfect time to lay entirely on top of Dean, pushing him back onto the bed and stretching out across his chest in a completely invasive and non-negotiable way.

“Oh, for the love of—” Dean groaned, trying to shift the cat off him, but Gizmo was stubborn. Dean’s arms were pinned, his phone now nearly crushed between him and the cat’s fuzzy little body. "Alright, I see how it is," Dean muttered. "Guess I’m not texting anybody tonight."

Gizmo, as if sensing his owner’s defeat, relaxed even further, curling into a ball and nestling comfortably against Dean’s neck. His purring was deafeningly loud now, vibrating through Dean's chest like a tiny motor.

Dean sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. "Guess this is it, huh? Me and you, no one else needed"

For a few minutes, Dean just laid there, his phone forgotten, the warmth of his cat and the comfort of his bedroom washing over him. He could feel the soft rise and fall of Gizmo's chest as the cat dozed off, no longer demanding attention but perfectly content to sleep on top of Dean.

Dean stealthily rescued his phone and glanced back down at it, the message from Castiel still open on the screen. But he didn’t feel the urgency to reply right now. Instead, he just let himself relax, one hand absently petting Gizmo as the cat continued to purr louder than ever.

"Next time, you have to wait until bedtime to sleep, alright?" Dean mumbled, but there was no real conviction behind it. He knew he’d just end up like this again whenever the little gremlin wanted, completely unable to resist his charm.

After a few more minutes of quiet contentment, Dean finally picked up his phone, glancing over at the message from Castiel again. This time, he smiled a little to himself, fingers moving to type a response.

Dean: Hey, Cas. Thanks again for watching Gizmo. He’s literally glued to me right now, but I can tell he’s been in good hands. The trip back was easy, thank you for asking. Maybe we can catch up soon? I’ll probably have to spend the next few days trying to get Gizmo off my chest. 

Dean hit "send," then glanced down at Gizmo, who was now lazily sprawled out across him, perfectly content. Dean chuckled to himself, feeling a little lighter than he had before. Gizmo might be demanding, but he wouldn’t change him for anything.

Chapter Text

Castiel: Gizmo and I survived the week. He seems to be in a good mood, and I’ve returned most of his toys to their proper place. He tried to follow me around the house when I went to grab lunch, so I assume I’m now considered a food source. We’ll be looking forward to your return."

(Attached is a picture of Gizmo sitting on Castiel’s lap as he eats lunch.)

Dean felt a wave of warmth as he read the message and looked at the picture. He was glad to know that Gizmo was in good hands. He saved this picture as well. 

Dean: Thanks, man. I owe you one. And yeah, he’s probably already following you because you’ve earned his loyalty. He’ll probably sleep on your spot on the couch when you leave. Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Dean sat in his current hotel room enjoying some quiet time after his conference and staring at Castiel’s morning message on his phone. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man, even when he tried. Every time Dean thought he might finally be ready to ask the guy out for that coffee or, hell, maybe something more, something always stopped him. Castiel was busy, or Dean lost his nerve, or worse—he overthought everything until it became some kind of lame-ass issue that was only in his mind.

And yet, every time Castiel pet-sat for Gizmo, Dean couldn’t help but feel a little spark of hope. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, he’d invite him somewhere outside of the whole pet-sitting gig. They were friends, right? At least, that’s what it seemed like.

‘ But what if it was more?’ Dean thought to himself, as his eyes flicked down to his phone screen. He’d been trying to ask Castiel out since Christmas but there always seemed to be something stopping them from meeting in person. This was the fourth trip he’d had to do since then and they’d still not been able to go for that stupid cup of coffee. 

The familiar sound of a message notification from the Rover app cut through his thoughts. It was from Castiel, of course, it was. Dean’s heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he saw Castiel’s name.

Castiel: Hey, Dean. Just sending in my afternoon check-in on Gizmo. He’s doing great, by the way. Very cozy on the couch.

(Attached is a picture of Gizmo all spread out on the couch.)

Dean grinned. Cozy was probably an understatement. Gizmo had taken over the whole damn couch as usual, but it felt good to know Castiel was taking care of him .

Dean: Good to hear (and see)! Let me know if you need anything while I’m away. Thanks again for taking care of him.

Castiel: Of course! He’s a great cat. No trouble at all. Just wanted to make sure you’re doing well, too.

And there it was again. 

Dean read the message a few times, letting the words sink in. There was something about the way Castiel phrased things that always made him feel warm inside. 

‘Just wanted to make sure you’re doing well, too.’ Was that friendly concern? Or something else?

Dean tapped his thumb on the screen, unsure if he should say something more casual or drop a hint. After a moment of internal debate, he typed back.

Dean: I’m good. Busy with work, but it’s the usual. Actually, it feels weird not having Gizmo around. I miss the little guy.

A few seconds later, the phone buzzed again.

Castiel: I’m sure Gizmo misses you, too. I’ll make sure to give him some extra attention while you’re away. 

Dean chuckled at that. Yeah, right. He’s probably planning his next cuddle attack already. He sent the message before thinking twice.

Dean: Seriously. He’s a cuddle slut. He’ll probably be waiting for me to get back so he can cuddle me to death too.

Castiel: Well, if you ever need someone to save you from certain death, I’ll be here.

Dean paused, staring at the screen. Wait... what the hell is he offering? He felt a tiny flicker of hope but chickened out in the end and sent a lame response.

Dean: Yeah, maybe. I’ll let you know when I get back. Thanks, Cas.

It was too easy to fall into this comfortable, friendly dynamic, but Dean couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he pushed things a little further.

—

The next day, Dean’s phone buzzed with a message from Rover again. He was due back home the next morning so he was getting things ready for his departure from the hotel when the new message popped up.

Castiel: Hey, just checking in. Gizmo is getting extra cozy on the couch again.

(Attached is a picture of Gizmo surrounded by a blue sock with cartoon bees lying on the couch.)

Dean: Did he steal your sock?

Castiel: Indeed. He did.

Dean grinned, looking down at the message. He had to admit, it felt nice to know someone was there taking care of his cat, giving him attention while Dean was away. 

Still, he had a nagging feeling. Should he try one more time to ask Castiel out for that coffee? He’d tried before—nothing huge, just a casual invitation, but it never seemed to work out.

He was tired of the back-and-forth that never led anywhere. He’d even thought about giving up a few times, maybe it was not meant to be. 

But somehow,  when he replied this time, he let himself throw a little caution to the wind.

Dean: I know we’ve never had a chance to actually hang out outside of Gizmo’s care, but I was thinking... if you’re free sometime, maybe we could grab a coffee? I’d really like that.

The moment the words left his fingertips, Dean immediately regretted it. 

‘Did that sound desperate? Too forward?’ His thumb hovered nervously over the screen as he waited for a response. What if Castiel thought he was just being nice? What if it was just... polite, friendly Dean asking for coffee? ‘ It’s just coffee, after all, just coffee.’

Then, almost immediately, the phone buzzed again.

Castiel: I’d love to! I’m free next week if that works for you.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he just stared at the screen. Did he really just agree? Like, for real?  Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This was happening. He’d dreamt about it for so long that he almost had to pinch himself to be sure it wasn’t a dream.

‘Okay. This is good.’ Dean thought. He’s finally agreed, there was nothing that would stop this from happening now. Dean would not allow it. 

Dean: Seriously? That’d be awesome. I’ll text you when I get back. I’m excited!

Castiel: Looking forward to it as well, Dean.

Dean set the phone down, feeling that familiar warmth spread through him. Maybe things were finally starting to shift between them.

Dean sat back on his bed, staring at his phone, half-paying attention to the half-full carry-on in front of him. He’d been trying (and failing) to focus on packing, but his mind kept wandering back to the message he’d just sent Castiel. It was stupid, really—he had just casually invited Castiel for coffee, like it was no big deal, but his heart was racing. He tried not to overthink it, but that was impossible when it came to Castiel.

‘What is wrong with me?’ He asked himself. ‘It’s just coffee.’

Just as he was about to open the message again and analyze it for the hundredth time, Charlie walked into his hotel room. At that moment, he was seriously questioning the reason why he’d thought it was a good idea to give her his second room key.  

"Hey, Dean, you got a second?" she asked, her voice chipper.

Dean didn’t even look up from his phone. "Yeah, sure. What’s up?"

Charlie pushed herself off the frame and took a seat on the bed across from him, her eyes narrowing in a way that made Dean feel like he was being studied.

"Okay, so, I’ve been thinking," she started, her tone casual but with that hint of mischief Dean had come to expect whenever she had an idea. "Your brother’s wedding coming up, right?"

Dean blinked and looked at her finally, trying to keep up with her random questions. "Yeah. So?"

Charlie grinned. "Well, I was thinking... are you going solo?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? It’s a family thing. I don’t know why I’d bring anyone." 

Charlie shrugged, leaning forward on her elbows. "I mean, yeah, technically it’s family, but it’s also a destination wedding. That’s a pretty big trip. It’s the kind of thing you’d take someone special to, right?" She gave him a pointed look. "Don’t tell me you’re really going to go alone."

Dean laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “What the fuck made you think about this, Charlie?” 

Charlie smirked, “I have an idea, but I need more information before I share it with you. So…” She made a motion with her hands, clearly expecting him to spill her the information she’d asked for.

"I mean... I don’t know, Charlie. It’s not like I need a date or anything. It’s just a small thing. I’ll be fine if I go solo."

Charlie leaned in further, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Yeah, but maybe someone could use the excuse to get away for a little while. You know, someone who you’re always texting and, I don’t know, maybe trying to be a little more than just friends with?" She raised an eyebrow.

Dean froze. He knew exactly where this was going, but he wasn’t ready to hear it. "You... you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, right?"

Charlie didn’t miss a beat. "Oh, but I am. I’m just saying, Castiel’s been pet-sitting for you forever. You two are clearly super comfortable with each other. And it’s a destination wedding, Dean. You know how hard it is to get a vacation that’s actually fun ? Why not invite him?"

Dean’s face went red. "I... Charlie, I—" He cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. "We’re just friends. We just now made plans to grab a coffee after months of trying to get together. I don’t know if he’d even want to come to a wedding with me. Wouldn’t it be weird?"

Charlie tilted her head, her smile still there, but now more of a knowing grin. "Well, you won’t know until you’ve asked him. Will you even try?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Or are you just going to sit here and overthink it until he finds someone else and you never did anything to even try with him?"

Dean didn’t know how to respond to that. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was true. He had spent months overthinking everything with Castiel, and every time he got up the nerve to ask him for anything beyond the usual “pet-sitting” check-ins, it ended up feeling like a letdown. The way Castiel had always been so polite but distant—was that just how he was, or was Dean reading too much into it?

Charlie didn’t give him time to process. She leaned forward again, her voice a little more gentle now. "Look, Dean, I’m not saying you need to rush into anything. But... you want to be around him, right? You care about him. And if you never take a chance, you’ll never know if he feels the same."

Dean opened his mouth, trying to find a response, but all he could think of was the last few times he’d tried to push the boundary with Castiel and had gotten nothing more than a polite "maybe next time" in return.

But the more he thought about it, the more Charlie’s words rang true. What if he was just overthinking things? What if this wasn’t some grand, impossible thing, but just a simple invitation? A chance to see if there was something between them. If he didn’t ask Castiel now, would he regret it forever?

"Alright," Dean said suddenly, his voice a little less confident than he wanted it to be. "I’m meeting him for coffee next week. I’ll ask him then."

Charlie raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Wait, really?"

Dean sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Yeah, really. You’re right. I’ve been avoiding it for too long. If he says no, then... at least I’ll know, right?"

Charlie grinned. "That’s the spirit. And if he says yes, well... then you’re going to have the best damn wedding date ever."

Dean chuckled, though it was a little nervous. "Right. Okay. I’ll ask him."

Charlie sat back in her chair, looking satisfied with herself. "Good. And I’m just saying, Dean... if you need some help making the invitation sound good, I’m totally available." She winked.

Dean shot her a pointed look. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. Thanks, Charlie."

As she stood up to leave, she turned back to him with a grin. "Don’t overthink it too much, okay? Just ask him. You might be surprised."

—

When the day of the coffee not-date finally arrived. ​​Dean was the first to arrive. He sat on a table outside to give Gizmo some space to move around. He ordered a coffee while he waited for Castiel and found himself fidgeting with the edge of his cup, tapping it on the table, wishing he’d just ordered a cup of water while he waited. Gizmo was in the carrier by his feet, as usual, looking extremely content with his tail flicking around.

He’d been waiting for Castiel for a few minutes now, heart thudding in his chest, wondering if this was a mistake. It’s just coffee. It’s fine. 

Before he could convince himself to throw the coffee away and order water after all the door to the café jingled as Castiel walked in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Dean. 

He waved, feeling the nervous energy that had been building in Dean’s chest instantly softened, replaced with something warmer when he saw Castiel smile and wave back. Castiel hasn't changed much in the months that Dean had not seen him. He was wearing soft-looking jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and the same trenchcoat he’d used when he’d visited Dean’s home that one time. 

“Hello Dean,” Castiel greeted, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of uncertainty. He glanced down at Gizmo, who was still hanging out in his carrier, eyes wide and curious.

Dean jumped up from his seat a little too eagerly. “Hey Cas, glad you could make it! Uh, yeah, I brought Gizmo along,” he said, gesturing to the cat’s carrier, where Gizmo now seemed more interested in licking his paws than paying attention to them.

“That’s fine. He’s a good cat,” Castiel replied with a smile, clearly amused at the sight. “He’s... quite a character, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean said with a dry laugh, his nerves still bubbling beneath the surface. “He’s been my shadow ever since I got back from my latest trip, so I thought, ‘Why not?’”

Castiel gave him an amused look, but the smile on his face didn’t quite fade. He crouched down to say hello to the cat, and Gizmo—who clearly recognized Castiel—let out a happy meow and immediately hopped out of the carrier and started climbing Castiel’s legs. 

“Hello, Gizmo,” Castiel carried the cat back to his seat, letting the little guy settle down on his lap and curl up comfortably. “I’ve missed you too.”

Dean watched them, surprised at how easy it was for Castiel to be so natural around Gizmo. It made him feel a little better—like maybe this wasn’t as awkward as he had anticipated.

“So, uh,” Dean said, sitting back down and scratching the back of his neck, “coffee?”

“Sure,” Castiel replied with a nod, standing to head to the counter. “I’ll take something... simpler, I think. I’m not much of a coffee person.”

“Not a coffee guy? Dean raised an eyebrow. “How did I not know this?”

 “I guess it never came up,” Castiel smirked a little, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. “I prefer tea.” 

“Tea? Really” Dean blinked in surprise, not expecting that at all. 

“Yes.Really. Tea is good for you,” Castiel replied in that deadpan way he had missed, “You should try it.”

Dean snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, no. That’s not for me. But you do you, man.”

Once Castiel ordered his tea and a muffin, they settled into the conversation again. Gizmo was still lying on Castiel’s lap, half-asleep, content with the occasional petting.

"So," Dean said, sipping his coffee, "tell me more about you, Cas. What do you do when you're not pet-sitting Gizmo, or, you know, being the world's most chill person?"

Castiel blinked, clearly surprised by the question. He looked over at Dean, considering it. “I’m usually... reading or watching movies, drawing,” he answered slowly. “I try to avoid overstimulating things. ”

Dean tried to suppress a grin. “I guess Gizmo hasn’t helped with that, huh?.”

“He’s not too bad, actually,” Castiel said, giving him a small, wry smile. “I enjoy spending time with him.” 

Dean chuckled, rubbing his neck again. “Yeah, well, he enjoys spending time with you too.” He watched as Castiel smiled down at Gizmo and pet him some more. 

After an awkward moment of silence, Dean tried to change the subject. “You into anything good right now? Movies? Books? I could use something to distract me when work gets real slow.”

Castiel’s eyes lit up a bit at the question. “I’ve been reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy again,” he said, sounding a little more animated. “It’s one of my favorites. Witty, but profound. What about you? You like to watch movies, right?”

Dean grinned, more relaxed now that the conversation was shifting a bit. “Yeah, I’m a big movie guy. Action and Westerns, mostly. But I do like a good comedy now and then. You know, something that doesn’t make me think too hard. But, The Hitchhiker’s Guide —that’s a classic.”

Castiel nodded. “It is. It’s funny and thoughtful. A good balance.”

“I guess that’s a bit like you, huh?” Dean said without thinking, immediately realizing how weird that sounded. He backtracked, face flushing. “I mean... you’ve got that, like, dry humor, but also... I don’t know, this weird sense of... understanding? I dunno. You’re not like most people.”

Castiel blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I... thank you?”

‘Fuck’ Dean winced at his clumsy compliment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, in a good way. You’re cool. I don’t know, I’m just... I’m not great at this.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said softly, almost reassuringly, and for some reason, that helped Dean relax a little. “I get what you mean.”

“Heh. Good,” Dean chuckled, relieved. 

Their conversation flowed after that, making Dean feel like this date was not going to be the disaster he’d thought it would be when it started. Castiel held Gizmo through the whole thing and even played with him for a moment when Gizmo woke and started climbing on Cas’ shoulders. 

He’d had Charlie’s suggestion of inviting Castiel to Sam’s wedding on the back of his mind the whole time and when Castiel finished his tea and was getting ready to leave Dean leaped on the chance to invite him. 

“So, uh…” he started clumsily. “I have this wedding coming up next month.” He had to stop and clarify when Castiel looked at him, confused. “My brother’s wedding, I mean. It’s a big thing. Events are planned for a whole weekend. I’ll be out of town —in California actually— and I just... I was wondering if you might be free that weekend?”

There, it was out there. He’d done it. 

“Oh. Let me look at my calendar.” Castiel looked down at his phone, swiping through his calendar as Dean’s stomach did another uneasy flip. 

“What is the exact date?” Castiel asked, ignoring Dean’s nervous tapping on the table.

“The weekend of the 21st.” Dean tried not to bite his lip, but he was so nervous. Was Castiel really thinking about going with him? Even after just one half-awkward, half-just-okay date with him? Dean couldn’t help but feel hope. 

And then it all came crashing down. 

“I actually already have a commitment that weekend,” Castiel answered with his usual calm and serious voice. “I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Dean’s heart sank.

“Oh… That’s okay, then.”​​  Dean didn’t know what else to say. Was Castiel really busy or was he pretending to be so he could let Dean down gently? He wouldn’t put it past him to be kind to the awkward owner of one of the pets he looked after. It was crazy to think that Castiel would really consider going with him for a whole weekend. 

“It’s curious really I’m also–” Casiel started but Dean interrupted him mid-sentence, not wanting to hear any more excuses. 

“You don’t have to explain, man. Just thought I’d ask.” He forced a smile, trying to play it cool, but it felt like the world had shifted a little too much. Gizmo, sensing the sudden shift in energy, stretched out lazily in Castiel’s lap, making a soft chirping sound as if he was trying to break the tension. Dean let out a quiet sigh and snapped his fingers. 

“Gizmo. In.” The cat instantly jumped off Castiel’s lap and into his carrier. 

“Well,” Dean said, standing up, “guess I’ll let you get back to… whatever...” He smiled awkwardly, gathering his things. “It was nice seeing you, Castiel. Really. Thank you for having tea with me.”

“Y-yes. Of course. You too, Dean,” Castiel replied hesitantly, smiling a little awkwardly. “Maybe we could do this again?” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, definitely.” 

Not.

—

Dean drove his Escape, the engine humming low as he steered down the quiet streets, the soft rumble of the tires on asphalt doing little to drown out the swirling thoughts in his head. He’d been holding onto that small glimmer of hope— maybe Castiel would say yes, maybe the timing would finally work out for them to spend some time together outside of the pet-sitting arrangement. But instead, Castiel had said no.

“I actually already have a commitment that weekend. I’m sorry, Dean.”

The words played over and over in his mind like a broken record, as if saying them enough would somehow make them easier to process. But it didn’t. It just made him feel more... stupid. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, wishing he could shake off the disappointment that had settled deep in his chest. Why was he so surprised? Castiel’s answer had been expected. Had he even considered this a date? Or was it only friends hanging out?

The familiar houses lining the street blurred by his window. Dean had never been one to get lost in his thoughts while driving—he usually found the rhythm of the road calming—but today was different. Today, the only thing he could focus on was the way Castiel had smiled softly at him when he said no. It hadn’t been cold. It hadn’t been harsh. It was the polite kind of rejection that made Dean feel like the idiot he was for asking in the first place. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that Castiel hadn’t reacted badly to the question or frustrated that things hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped.

He parked the car once he made it home and cut the engine, the sudden silence swallowing him whole. Dean took a deep breath, hands resting on the wheel for a moment, gazing out at the house in front of him. 

The door creaked as he got out of the car, the weight of the evening still clinging to him like a second skin. He grabbed the bag of things he’d brought with him—Gizmo’s carrier, his keys—and walked toward the front door.

As he stepped inside the house, the familiar smell of wood and the faint scent of leather from the couch hit him, but it wasn’t enough to shake the sense of unease that had settled in his stomach. His boots echoed against the hardwood floor as he kicked them off, and he dropped the bag by the door before walking into the living room.

Gizmo jumped out of the carrier and made himself at home on the couch, curling into the blanket that Dean always left there. The cat didn’t seem bothered by the change in routine, too busy with his own world to notice his human’s quiet frustration.

Dean sighed, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to the couch, sitting down and absentmindedly petting Gizmo’s soft fur. The cat didn’t protest, instead stretching and curling up further into his lap as if nothing had changed. But Dean knew better. Things had changed. And no amount of cat cuddles could erase the knot in his chest.

He sat there for a long while, just staring out the window, the night stretching on in front of him, but he wasn’t really seeing anything. He wasn’t sure what he expected out of today’s coffee date, but he hadn’t expected it to feel like a failed attempt at something that had never even begun. He should’ve kept things simple. Should’ve not let his thoughts wander past the casual “Do you want to go get dinner sometime?” But no, he’d asked him to the fucking wedding when he knew perfectly well that their budding relationship was not ready for it. 

He glanced down at Gizmo, who was now purring contentedly, a small flicker of warmth coming from his cat’s gentle comfort.

“Guess it’s just you and me, huh, buddy?” Dean whispered softly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Gizmo meowed in response, clearly unfazed by his human’s mood.

Dean leaned back against the couch, one hand absently scratching behind Gizmo’s ears and tried to push the disappointment out of his mind. The feeling would fade, he told himself. It always did.

Tuna is such an idiot. 

Chapter Text

Dean slumped into his desk chair, dragging a hand down his face. Gizmo was perched on the corner of the desk, swatting lazily at the edge of Dean’s laptop as if trying to knock the source of Dean’s distraction onto the floor. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean muttered. He grabbed Gizmo and, after a few pets and cuddles, placed him on the cat tower in the corner of the office. While he was distracted with Gizmo a familiar ding sounded, and Charlie’s grinning face filled his laptop’s screen. 

“Hey, Dean! You look like Princess Leia after Han Solo was frozen in carbonite,” she teased, leaning back in her chair and sipping from a mug labeled ‘Chaos Coordinator.’ “I’m guessing that date didn’t go quite according to plan?”

Dean groaned, abandoning Gizmo on the tower and letting himself fall on his chair with a dramatic sigh. “Talk about an awkward first date.”

“It can’t have been that bad.”

“It was worse.” Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead on the desk. “It was so awkward at the beginning, but I fixed it. It was going great, actually. Then, like the idiot I am, I invited him to Sam’s wedding. Who the hell does that after just one date?” 

“If I had been texting and in constant communication with that person like you have been with Castiel, the hot sitter who’s perfect with Gizmo and even more perfect with you? Then yeah. He definitely should’ve accepted the invite. ” Charlie shrugged, like everything she’d said was just the most normal thing. 

“Well, he said no, so…” He glared at Charlie, feeling a little vindicated at her being wrong this time around. 

Charlie squinted. Did you actually say, ‘Hey, Cas, wanna be my date to my brother’s wedding this weekend?’ Or did you, like, Dean it?”

Dean scowled at the screen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re the king of mixed signals and miscommunication. You probably worded it in a way that made it sound like something completely un-date-like.” 

“I did not,” Dean protested, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. “I asked if he was busy on that weekend. That’s direct.”

Charlie’s deadpan expression said it all. “Dean. That’s not direct. That’s… super open to interpretation.”

“What, am I supposed to break out the flashcards?” Dean drew his hands up. “Maybe draw it out? This isn’t fucking Pictionary.” 

“No, but it also isn’t Inception,” Charlie shot back. “He’s not going to figure out your deeper intentions from a vague, ‘You busy?’”

Dean glared at her. “Alright, Professor X, what should I have said?”

Charlie smirked. “How about, ‘Cas, I think you are awesome, and I’d really like you. Would you like to be my date to my brother’s wedding?’ Boom. Clear as Captain America’s moral compass.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean muttered. “It doesn’t matter how clear I was. He still said no, he’s busy that weekend.”

For some unknown reason, Charlie burst out laughing. Dean didn’t have to wonder why for long. 

“Oh. Em, Gee, Dean. He probably thinks you wanted him to look after Gizmo.” Charlie almost falls from her chair. She's laughing so hard. 

Dean cannot believe what she’s saying. Did Castiel really think he wanted him to look after Gizmo? ‘I did see him look through his phone before he said he was busy… but that could’ve been anything.’

Charlie leaned closer to the camera, her grin softening after Dean’s silence continued. “Look, I’m not saying you’re the dude from Hitch, but you’ve got the emotional finesse of a potato sometimes. Cas obviously likes you— it’s super easy to tell. You just need to stop overthinking it and, I don’t know, tell him what you want? Be a little more direct.” 

Dean huffed. “Sure, Dr.Phil. I’ll get right on that.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Hey, maybe you should channel your inner Rom-Com hero. Show up to his house with a boombox over your head and Gizmo in his tux. Invite him again. Can’t fail.”

Dean rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small laugh and a blush. “Yeah, right. I’ll file that under ‘Things I Will Never Do.’”

Charlie grinned. “Just think about it, Dean. The worst that happens? He says no again. The best? You get your happily-ever-after. At least for the wedding weekend… whatever happens after that is up to you both figuring your shit out.”

Dean sighed, leaning back on his chair. “It’s too late now Charlie. Cas is busy and I don’t want to sound like a needy bitch.” 

Charlie raised her mug. “It’s your choice dude.”

Yeah. It was definitely Dean’s choice. 

___

When the time to travel to California finally arrived, Dean made sure everything he and Gizmo needed was packed in his Escape. (Dad had refused to let him drive Baby all the way to California, claiming that she was not made for long travels. Bullshit. Dad just didn’t want anyone else to drive her. The asshole.)

“Well, little man,” Dean crouched down, scratching Gizmo behind the ears. “Are you ready for a long drive?”

Gizmo meowed and curled around his feet, ending up with his head resting on Dean’s knee. 

With a chuckle, Dean continued, “No way I’m flying with you again, buddy. You remember the last time? You yowled so loud the stewardess thought you were dying. And let’s not even talk about the guy two rows back who gave us the stink eye the whole flight.” Gizmo just purred away, probably agreeing with Dean that driving was the better choice. 

“Road trip it is. We’ll stop wherever we want, crank up the music, and you can nap like the spoiled little prince you are. Sounds good?” Gizmo chirped in response, his golden eyes blinking up at Dean and climbed onto his shoulders. That was all the agreement Dean needed. “That’s what I thought. We’re more of road warriors than frequent flyers anyway.”

—

The day of the rehearsal dinner the vineyard was bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon sun, the kind of light that made everything look softer and more romantic. Dean, Adam, and Sam were gathered under one of the pergolas, a scattering of chairs and tables around them as final touches were put on the rehearsal dinner setup. Gizmo was nestled comfortably in Dean’s lap, his bright golden eyes watching the hustle and bustle around him like a king surveying his kingdom.

Sam leaned back in his chair, sipping on a glass of sweet tea,  "I still can't believe Eileen’s cousin isn’t coming until the morning of the wedding. Who even does that?"

Adam, who was meticulously folding name cards for the dinner tables, shrugged. "She’s coming all the way from Dublin, Sam. Not everyone can just hop on a plane whenever they want."

Dean smirked, scratching behind Gizmo’s ears. "Sounds like someone’s a little stressed about the seating arrangements."

Sam shot him a look. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the one trying to figure out how to fit last-minute arrivals without ruining the whole layout."

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, chill. It’s a wedding, not a battlefield. Besides, you’ve got Eileen’s superpower-level organization skills on your side. You’ll be fine."

Sam glanced up with a raised brow. "That’s true, I think?" He turned back to his task, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Speaking of last-minute surprises, did anyone tell Eileen about the last-minute change on the table that was set up for her high school friends?"

Adam groaned. "No, and I’m not going to be the one to do it. You saw what happened last time. She almost killed me. She’s your future wife, you do it."

Dean chuckled, the sound blending with Gizmo’s soft purr. He loved spending time with his brothers, but today he was distracted. He’d been trying—and failing—to keep his thoughts away from a certain someone. 

It was ridiculous, really. Dean hadn’t seen him since the day he’d awkwardly invited the man to this very wedding weeks ago. Castiel had been awkward too, fun in the best way, and… completely distracting. Those blue eyes. That calm voice. 

“Earth to Dean?” Adam’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“What?” Dean blinked, realizing Adam and Sam were both looking at him expectantly.

“I said, are you going to help with the wine setup or just sit there daydreaming?” Adam teased.

Dean scowled, standing and gently placing Gizmo on the ground. "Fine, fine. Let’s get this done."

—

Later that evening, after the rehearsal dinner had wound down and most of the guests had wandered off to their rooms or the bar, Dean found himself walking through the vineyard alone. The air was cool and crisp, the faint smell of grapes and earth grounding him. Gizmo padded along beside him on his leash, his tail twitching with curiosity as he explored the unfamiliar terrain.

“You’ve got it good, Giz,” Dean muttered, glancing down at the cat. “All carefree and adventurous. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here helping Sammy with last-minute arrangements, trying not to think about…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Gizmo chirped up at him, then paused, his ears perking up at something in the distance. Before Dean could react, the little gremlin wriggled out of his harness and darted off into a tall branch on a nearby tree. 

Dean stood frozen in place, still holding the leash with Gizmo’s tuxedo harness attached to it. Gizmo turned to look expectantly at Dean and meowed loudly, as if to say, Well are you following me or not? before jumping off the tree onto the other side of the walkway. 

“Gizmo! Son of a—” Dean’s heart raced as he took off after him, weaving through the rows of trees and grapevines and calling his name. Panic bubbled in his chest. “Gizmo, get back here, you little…”

He skidded to a halt when he spotted a figure crouched in the shadows up ahead. The person was holding something small and furry in their arms. It was Gizmo.

“Oh, thank God,” Dean muttered, jogging closer. “Hey, thanks for—” He stopped short when the figure stood and turned, and recognition hit him like a freight train.

“Cas?”

Castiel’s lips curved into a small surprised smile. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean stared, dumbfounded. Castiel looked just as he remembered—sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and an aura of quiet confidence. He was holding Gizmo like it was the most natural thing in the world, the kitten’s golden eyes blinking lazily up at him.

“What… what are you doing here?” Dean finally managed.

“Eileen invited me,” Castiel said, his tone casual but warm. “We went to high school together. We’ve kept in touch over the years.”

Dean blinked, his brain struggling to catch up. “You know Eileen?”

“Quite well,” Castiel said with a nod. He glanced down at Gizmo. “And what about you? Why is Gizmo here? I thought he was staying home this weekend.”

Dean frowned. “What are you talking about? He was always coming with me, he’s the ring bearer. Why would I leave him behind?”

Castiel’s brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Then why did you ask if I was free this weekend?”

“I… didn’t?” Dean’s voice trailed off as realization dawned. Charlie had been right all along. His fucking words had not been clear enough and Castiel had misunderstood the whole wedding invitation thing.  He looked at Castiel, eyes wide. “Wait a second. You thought I was asking you to… pet-sit?”

Castiel’s lips parted, the same realization reflecting in his expression. “Oh.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the vineyard’s quiet enveloping them. Then, despite himself, Dean started to laugh—a deep, genuine laugh that shook his shoulders. Castiel’s confusion melted into a soft chuckle of his own, and soon they were both standing there, laughing under the stars.

“Well,” Dean said, once he could catch his breath, “I guess this just proves how bad I am at communication.”

Castiel’s smile was warm. “Or how eager I was to have an excuse to talk to you more.”

Dean’s heart did a little flip at that, but he shoved the feeling down, focusing instead on the cat now pawing at Castiel's shirt. “Come on, Giz. Let’s get you back to the house before you cause any more trouble.”

“Oh no, please let him. I’ve missed hanging out with him.” Dean couldn’t help but steal a glance at Castiel, who seemed perfectly at ease carrying Gizmo. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“Quite.”

They walk back to the reception area together, Dean couldn’t help but steal glances at Castiel. Who seemed perfectly at ease carrying Gizmo. Castiel was distracted by the scenery around them, commenting on how beautiful it was and how he looked forward to exploring the area more. Dean tried to listen to his banter, answering with hums and grunts as he enjoyed his own gorgeous view.

Dean was caught staring a couple of times by Gizmo, who gave him a long stare and chirped at him, as if saying ‘Ask him now, you idiot!’ Biting his tongue, Dean glared at Gizmo and hoped the cat understood he was cursing at him in his mind. 

Back at the reception area, Dean decided it was now or never. Castiel scratched Gizmo under the chin, the gremlin seemed completely smitten with Castiel and glanced at Dean with a look of absolute smugness. 

‘Fucking cat.’ Dean thought. “Hey, Cas?” Dean forced himself to begin speaking. He shifted nervously from foot to foot as Castiel glanced up, his calm blue eyes meeting Dean’s with quiet curiosity. 

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel prompted after a moment of silence.

“So, uh…I just wanted it to be super clear that when I asked you if you were free this weekend, it wasn’t about Gizmo at all,” Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and hoping to be as clear as possible. No more misunderstandings. “I mean, I… just wanted it to be super clear that I kinda wanted to invite you to the wedding. As my… uh, plus one.”

Castiel tilted his head, considering. “You wanted to invite me as your date?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, his voice softer. “I get it if you’re not…”

“I’d be honored to be your plus one,” Castiel interrupted, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

Dean exhaled, relief washing over him. “Great. That’s… yeah, that’s great.” Then he grimaced. “Although I’m dreading telling Sam about one more change in the seating arrangements.” 

Castiel’s smile widened. “I’m sure Eileen can help talk him into it.”

Dean let out a strong laugh and grinned at Castiel. “I’m sure she totally will, Cas.”

—

The wedding unfolded like a dream. Castiel fit seamlessly into Dean’s world, mingling with his family and friends as if he’d been part of it all along. They laughed through the speeches (Dean relentlessly teasing Sam throughout his best man speech), slapped during toasts, (Castiel drinking more than Dean thought possible and showing his apparently very large alcohol resistance), and cheered for the happy couple during their first dance. 

Under the soft glow of string lights, Dean and Castiel found themselves on the dance floor. The music was slow, a love song playing as Dean guided Castiel into an easy rhythm. Castiel’s hands rested gently on Dean’s shoulders, and Dean’s hands found their place on Castiel’s waist. 

“You’re not bad at this,” Dean said, smirking slightly and looking down at Castiel through his long lashes. 

“I’ve had some practice,” Castiel replied with a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling with humor under the twinkling lights. 

Dean leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “With who? Should I be jealous or relieved that you got all your toe-stepping out of the way with them?”

Castiel chuckled softly. “Definitely relieved then. Eileen’s toes barely survived our high school prom.” 

“You went to prom with her?” Dean asked, a fond surprise clear in his tone.

“She was my beard.” Castiel nodded conspiratorially. 

“Ah,” Dean smirked and nodded. “I’m glad she was there to help.” 

“I must admit,” Castiel continued as the song changed to something even softer than before. “I’ve never enjoyed myself quite as much as I am now.”

Dean’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “Yeah? Me too.”

The world seemed to fade away as they continued to move together. When the song ended, Dean leaned in, brushing his lips against Castiel’s in a soft, lingering kiss. The crowd around them faded into the background, leaving only the two of them under the flickering string lights. 

After the dance,  they wandered through the vineyard hand in hand. Castiel glanced at Dean. “So, what happens now?”

Dean grinned. “We’ve got a few days here. How about we stay and see where this goes?”

Castiel nodded, a soft smile on his face. “I’d like that.”

“And, just to be super clear, when we’re back in Lawrence I plan to invite you on many dates.”

Castiel chuckled. “I’d like that even more.”

—

Later that same night, back in Dean’s room, Gizmo walked into the bedroom and perched himself on the windowsill, watching both men as they slept naked and curled together under the moonlight.

“Hey Giz, thanks for the privacy,” Dean mumbled in the cat’s direction half asleep and full of happiness. 

Gizmo let out a low, judgemental chirp as if to say, ‘Finally. I’ve been rooting for you two from the start.’

Dean hugged Castiel against his chest and closed his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we know Giz. You’re the real mastermind here.”

Gizmo meowed and blinked slowly, his tail flicking as if to say. ‘About time you figured it out.’

The end.