Chapter Text
The first time he should have died was when he was a kitten. It was hardly fair, losing his life when he was only just starting it. But being born in January on a cold Chicago street wasn't easy, and pneumonia found him quickly.
Fortunately, an angel found him pretty quickly too.
~
He was shivering and scared, and the black car looked warm and its rumbly purr reminded him of his mama, so as soon as the people got out and the coast was clear, he curled up under it. He was so tired, so he let his eyes squint shut until he heard the rustle of bags and clink of glass bottles. He opened his eyes to see a pair of legs and a tan trench coat fluttering around them like wings.
"Dean, there is a cat under your car," the angel said.
The angel reached toward him, so he backed up further under the car.
"You're a shy little fellow," the angel said.
"Well this is Chi-town," Dean chuckled.
"I think that's what I'll call you—Shy."
"Don't name it, Cas."
"Why not?"
"Because then you'll want to keep it, and we can't. I'm allergic to cats."
"I can fix that."
"What?"
Cas raised two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean looked confused and surprised for a moment.
"Now you're not allergic to cats," Cas stated. "Can we keep him?" Cas asked as he gently scooped Shy up, and they both looked at Dean imploringly with their big blue eyes. Shy's dark fur stuck up in haphazard tufts, and he let out a tiny, pathetic mew.
"Sonuvabitch. It's like looking at a tiny cat version of you," Dean grumbled. "Fine, just get in the car before Sam starts wondering why a beer run is taking so long."
Shy was a little anxious, but Cas nestled him inside the warm trench coat and the car started purring, so Shy did too. Cas was running his hand along Shy's body and it felt so good he fell asleep until he was being carried into a motel room.
"Hey Sam, scootch your laptop outta the way, will ya?" Dean said as he started putting bags on the table where Sam was working. Dean set a bottle of milk down next to the alcohol he'd originally gone out to get.
"Milk? Are you making White Russians?" Sam asked.
"Not exactly," Dean said. "Cas found a cat."
"Dean. You're allergic to cats."
"Not anymore!" said Dean, raising his arms and letting them slap back down at his sides for emphasis. "Cas zapped me."
"Huh." Sam processed this information. "So let's see this cat."
Cas set Shy in the palm of Sam's large hand. "His name is Shy," the angel told Sam.
"You already named him? Cas, you shouldn't get too attached. He's so little. What if he doesn't make it?" Sam lowered Shy to the carpet.
"He'll be okay. He probably just needs something to eat," Dean said. He poured some milk into a styrofoam takeout container and put it on the floor for Shy.
Shy tentatively lapped at the milk. It was cold and tasted different than his mama's had. But he drank a little more because he hadn't eaten in days and knew he needed to. Funny, he just hadn't felt hungry lately. Maybe because he was so tired all the time. Maybe he should just close his eyes for a bit.
The next time he opened his eyes it was morning, and Cas was trying to get him to drink more milk. Shy didn't really feel like it. He felt hot. Really hot. But maybe that's what being inside was supposed to feel like.
Shy started drifting back to sleep. He heard Cas' deep voice say things like "concerned," "not eating," and "fever." He felt Cas' fingers on his head between his ears, and then he felt a very strange sensation, like a bolt of energy went through his body and burned away everything that was making him feel sick.
His eyes popped open. Suddenly he felt famished. Shy shoved his face into the milk and licked until his tongue was rasping against dry styrofoam. Then he licked the angel's hand to thank him for saving his life.
"Everything good?" Dean asked.
Shy meowed loudly in response.
Dean laughed. "Then it's time to head home. We roll out in five."