Lestrade couldn’t hold in a chuckle anymore, curling his fingers back to be out of reach of Dean’s little punch before relaxing them back down to the table. “Forgot about me, did ya?” he said knowingly, a little too entertained by Dean’s drunken movements and ready to catch him in case his balance gave out on him.
“Did not! ” Dean protested with his fists clenched by his sides. His shoulders bunched up, along with his leather jacket, as he stood there looking like a cat with its hair on end.
Timeline: Right after moving into 221B Baker Street
Dean shoved Sam out of the way, his younger brother stumbling backwards from the unexpected danger. Moira yelped, grabbing Sam’s arm to haul him back, leaving Dean to face the threat on his own.
Dean didn’t budge an inch, his silver knife in hand as he faced down the cat to give Sam and Moira time to escape. This was supposed to be a quick trip to grab some supplies, stock up Sam and Dean’s new home a few flats away from Moira’s family. They’d only had enough extra food for one meal, and having Moira’s help was welcome.
Of course, no one ever consulted them when getting a new pet, and not knowing that a cat now lived in the flat Moira’s family called home meant that they’d stumbled right into it.
It wasn’t quite the hiss of anger Dean had expected to hear before the deadly paw descended on him. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. He squinted his eyes open just as he realized he’d closed them as he prepared for the inevitable.
The cat still sat in the same spot, its tail swishing from side to side. Now that the element of surprise was gone, Dean could see it was only a kitten, nose twitching as it looked over the three tiny people it had cornered. Its head moved closer and Dean stiffened, expecting at any second to feel the crushing fangs close around his chest.
Instead, a wet nose pressed into Dean’s side. He jolted away in surprise, almost flailing off balance. The kitten blinked at him, then mrowwed again.
Sam and Moira, standing against the wall, stared at the odd scene. Slowly, it all began to sink into Sam, and he snickered.
Dean sent him a wounded look over his shoulder.
“It wants you to pet it!” Sam called, almost doubling over with laughter.
Dean tore his gaze from Sam and looked back at the kitten just as a headbutt from the animal knocked him from his feet. He went sprawling, rolling a few times until he landed at Sam and Moira’s feet, staring up at them in a daze.
Moira joined Sam in laughing as they hauled Dean to his feet. “Go on!” she said, shoving him towards the kitten. “Pet her!”
Dean reached up a hesitant hand as the kitten cocked her head at him, ear flicking the moment his hand brushed against the fur. He scratched behind the ear like it was the most important task he’d ever performed, considering that if she wanted to, the kitten could turn the three of them into her playthings.
Nothing like that happened, aside from a rumbling purr from deep in the cat’s chest. She stretched out her front legs, each toe extending as she flopped down at Dean’s feet and looked up at him.
“I think you have a new best friend,” Sam said in a laughing attempt at a hush as he slipped past Dean, leading Moira towards the wall entrance they’d left behind.
“You’re not so bad, are ya?” Dean mused as he rubbed behind the ear again, thinking everything was going to work out fine.
Just as Sam and Moira made it to the wall, it happened.
Dean’s sneeze was so violent he was knocked off his feet, landing on his butt an inch away from a curious ear flick. The kitten picked up her head, nosing worriedly at Dean when the scritches didn’t resume. He barely noticed the large wet spot left on his leather jacket this time, too concerned with holding back another sneeze.
Sam had to come back to grab Dean with Moira safely in the walls, hauling his older brother up and giving him a shove at the entrance while distracting the kitten with a scritch. Sam, who didn’t have any allergies to cats, did much better than his older brother, and escaped the moment the kitten’s eyes fluttered shut.
They parted ways with Moira at the fork in the path, her returning to her home with her parents while Sam propelled Dean towards their new home in the hopes that dunking his head in water might help the sneezes.
Otherwise, they might lose their ninja titles.
All through the walls, Dean sneezed.
Passing a kitchen with wonderful aromas wafting through the walls. “Ah-choo!”
Hearing a toilet flush. “Ah– ACHOO!”
Sam let out a sigh as they finally got home, hurrying to their water supplies while Dean morosely picked at a long, ginger-colored hair that clung to him even after leaving the kitten behind.
“Ah– CHOO! ”
The humans living in the flat were usually more observant than most. They were also quite busy and happened to be lost in their own worlds.
Sherlock Holmes was wrapped up in an experiment, subjecting disembodied fingers– specifically the fingernails– to the flame of a blowtorch at gradually lengthened intervals. It was a relatively quiet experiment, but the smell of it had John Watson slamming the sliding kitchen doors shut to keep the odor out of the main room.
John sat at the small table against the wall in the middle of the living room, typing away at his blog. Sherlock’s most recent case had been a convoluted one, and he wanted to be sure to get the details right. Or at least to a point where they made sense to the layman.
A muffled sneeze briefly broke his concentration.
“Gesundheit,” John muttered, under the assumption that the fingernail-fumes were finally starting to get to Sherlock. For his part, the detective hadn’t even heard the small noise from the kitchen, and so he and the doctor remained blissfully ignorant of the smaller residents of 221B Baker Street as the brothers stared at each other in shock, the human’s response to Dean’s sneeze completely unexpected.
Before Dean could sneeze again, Sam dunked his head into the cap of water. Dean resurfaced, gasping and wiping at his eyes before burying his head in the nest of fabric he called a bed. A muffled sneeze could be heard as Dean slumped in place.
“No more cats,” Sam said grimly, wondering at their close call with Sherlock and John.
Original Post: Sam Verses Cat ( you wanted Dean, here he comes! This will be a little bonus prompt )
( Part 2 of 2 )
Dean shoved the plates and silverware set up on the table out of his way, gently laying Sam down on a dishcloth. “Hang on, Sammy,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of that for you.”
Sam groaned, trying to sit up. “Dean…” he gritted out. “Cat…”
“I took care of it. Don’t worry, it can’t reach you, pint-size.” Carefully, Dean pushed on Sam’s chest, forcing him to lie still. “Just give me a minute. I need to grab supplies.”
Sam sagged back down, letting Dean take over. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a second Dean panicked until he saw the small chest move up and down. Only then did he get up. Supplies… he needed supplies. He hadn’t brought supplies in with him. Something to disinfect the slashes, something to wrap them up with. It would be impossible to give Sam stitches.
Shoving away the panic welling in him, Dean opened up the door again. The cat was waiting outside and tried to shove its way past him. Angrily, Dean grabbed it by the scruff of its neck. He locked the cat up in the kitchen. The people who owned the house would be back soon enough, they could let it out.
The bathroom next to the kitchen had a first aid kit. He grabbed it and ran back to the dining room. Sam was still slumped down, only this time he was unconscious. Dean cursed under his breath.
With great care, he removed the jacket Sam had on, wincing at the slashes that raked the back. Another jacket down for Sam…
Dean gently dropped it to the side, then had to take off the tiny t-shirt his brother had on. He maneuvered the small, fragile arms so they didn’t get caught as he stripped it off. Sam’s body was limp as Dean held him up, shifting his brother so he was lying facedown on the hand.
Four bright red lines stretched across the hunter’s lean back. Blood caked every part of him, more welling up as Dean watched. Hurriedly, he pressed a wet rag against the cuts, wiping off the blood and covering them up while he got an alcohol pad ready. “This is going to hurt,” he warned his brother’s unconscious form before pressing it against the cuts.
Knocked out or not, Sam writhed in pain at the contact. Dean bit his lip, forcing himself to not move. He stroked it down the cuts, cleaning off more blood and sterilizing the wounds. Dabbing a wet paper towel against Sam’s back cleaned off the rest of the blood before he decided to try wrapping it.
With one hand occupied, Dean had to use his teeth to rip the gauze and start unraveling it. Once he had enough, he put a sterile cloth against Sam’s back and began to steadily wrap the gauze around the other hunter, trying to avoid making it too tight. He sighed when he was finished, carefully checking his work to make sure he’d covered the full injury.
Sam started to shiver, from cold and blood loss. Dean cupped him against his chest. “It’s okay, Sammy. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”
Original Post: Sam Verses Cat ( you wanted Dean, here he comes! This will be a little bonus prompt )
( Part 1 of 2 )
Dean paced through the house, searching for any sign of a spirit. The EMF reader was silent in his hand as he went, taunting him with its silence.
Dean grumbled, hitting it on the side in annoyance. Was it acting up? Surely there was a spirit at work…
His thoughts trailed off when at the edge of hearing he heard a cat yowl. Dread started to creep up on him.
Sam was in that direction.
Dean sprinted down the hall, almost skidding past the door that the noises were coming from. To his great relief, the cat wasn’t sitting there with a bloody set of clothes in its claws, but it was trying to swipe at something hidden behind the cabinet.
Dean stalked over, grabbing the cat by the nape of its neck and hauling it off the ground. He tossed it out of the room, sealing the door shut. Upset meows made it through the wooden door.
Putting that out of his mind, Dean walked carefully over to the cabinet to see what the cat had trapped. Getting down on his knees, he dug out his flashlight and shone it into the crack.
A small, huddled form flinched away from him and the light, a tiny silver knife at the ready. “Sammy,” Dean breathed. “Thank god you’re okay.”
There was no answer to his voice, no sign that Sam even heard him. Dean’s brow furrowed in concern. “Sam,” he tried again. “Can you walk? I can’t reach you back there.”
With no response still, Dean was getting worried. “Alright,” he muttered to himself. “I’m gonna assume that means you can’t come out here on your own. Hang on, kid.”
Getting up, Dean grabbed the dishware on top of the cabinet, dropping it all on the table. He gripped the side of the cabinet, shifting it away from the wall to put Sam in reach.
The moment Sam was in sight, Dean stooped to pick him up. Before the older hunter could react, a cold metal blade slashed at his hand, Sam lashing out in a panic.
“Crap, Sam. It’s me!” Dean hissed. He stuck his thumb in his mouth for a second for the bleeding, snatching at Sam with his other hand. The fingers curled around the small hunter, trapping the knife-wielding arm between Dean’s index finger and middle finger.
Dean gently pried the knife from Sam’s grip. “Sammy, it’s me. It’s just Dean. You’re safe, I promise. That cat’s nowhere near us right now. I took care of it.”
After a few minutes of cajoling, Sam finally peered up at Dean. His small eyes were wide, panicked. The look of a hunted animal. “D-Dean?” he stuttered out.
“That’s right. Just me.” Dean took a seat at the dining room table, unfurling his fingers.
The reason for Sam’s panic was revealed.
Blood coated Dean’s hand where it had wrapped around Sam’s back.
No, it wouldn’t be. He’s the perfect size for prey, after all, and cats are fast bastards. It may come up in the future, it may not. I do have little drabbles around the idea floating around, of course.
A rumbling growl came from behind Sam, giving him seconds to react before a large paw swiped through where he’d been standing. With a cry, Sam dove to the side. His knife was out in an instant, falling naturally into the defensive grip Dean had shown him. Surprised hazel eyes took in the sight of the massive tabby cat that was stalking him.
Sam shivered at the hungry stare in its eyes as he backed away. The cat recovered from its miss, crouching down and preparing to pounce.
“Crap,” Sam muttered. The one time Dean was out of sight.
This time, the paw slammed right into him. He rolled across the floor, his jacket with four slashes down the side. Biting pain hit, and he knew he was bleeding. Before the cat could finish him off, he finished his roll and stumbled behind the cabinet along the wall. He barely made it far enough back that the cat couldn’t reach him. The paw scrapped threateningly along the ground as it tried to finish off its kill.