#fluffycrack

“Good evening, Princess,” Shingen said with a deep bow. “It appears that ridiculous young man to whom you’ve given your heart has better things to do than escort a beautiful woman to the festival, so he asked me to see to your happiness.” The syrupy sweetness of his words made me roll my eyes.

“You’re such an idiot, Shingen.”

He pressed a hand to his chest and took another deep bow. “Any attention is a compliment when paid to a mere mortal from the goddess of the moon herself.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt, but I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up my throat.

“Your laughter is like chimes on the wind,” he continued.

“Stop right there. Save your flattery for the ladies in town, please. There will be plenty of them for you to pick from tonight and you are something like a hero in these parts.”

He smiled then, a genuine, beautiful smile brimming with affection. “I am pleased to see your happiness has returned.”

“I’m excited for the festival,” I answered, which wasn’t exactly a lie. I was excited for the festival, among other things. “I assume we’re meeting Yukimura there?” I asked, and when I placed my book on the table and rose, Shingen’s eyes went wide. He laughed, a full, loud belly-laugh.

“Does Yuki know that the two of you are a perfect match tonight?” he asked, indicating my red kimono made specifically to match Yukimura’s haori. I felt a little strange wearing the Sanada crest on my own sleeves, but we’d been telling each other for a year now that we were going to stay together forever. And with Kenshin spilling the big secret…

“No,” I answered. “I gave him the haori this afternoon when I saw him because he’s been so…gone.” I tried to force sadness into my expression, which was a waste of time considering Shingen could read me like a damned book. “He left in a hurry afterward, so I was going to surprise him when he came to get me.”

Shingen’s already-wide smile widened further. “I see.” There was something almost fatherly in the way he looked at me…like he was ready to give me away or something. He turned and offered me his arm. “Shall we go? I would hate to keep Yuki waiting. You know how impatient he can be.”

I took his arm and allowed him to lead me out of the castle. Not surprisingly, Kenshin waited at the gates, somehow looking both bored and impatient. “Took you long enough,” he muttered before turning on his heel and walking ahead of us.

“Ignore him,” Shingen said with a chuckle. “He’s hungry.”

“Apparently.”

The sun was nearly gone by the time we reached the market, and a hundred different sensory points descended on me at once. Sweet and savory scents of various treats floated on the breeze that jostled the brightly-colored lanterns. Jovial conversation and peals of happy laughter wove in and out of the sights and smells, mingling with the warmth of the late-summer air. I was, I realized, happier than I’d ever been in my life. Or would have been, if Yukimura had been there with me.

As Shingen guided me through the marketplace, Kenshin occasionally turned to push some kind of food on a stick or a cup of something to drink into my hands.  It almost felt like I was being spoiled by a pair of overindulgent dads. All I needed was for Nobunaga to show up and add to the insanity…

Which, I remembered, was very likely given my boyfriend had gone to him in search of approval of our union. As soon as my mind turned back to the upcoming event, giddy excitement filled me. My hands began to shake and my heart picked up its pace. It could have been a sugar rush from the sweets forced on me by Kenshin, but the way the butterflies flapped around in my belly told me it was much more.

Beside me, Shingen laughed. “Are you anticipating something, my dear?”

“I…oh…um, no. Just excited to see Yukimura,” I stammered. “We, um, haven’t seen much of each other since we got here and I just really want to spend some time with him.”

Shingen made a quiet musing sound and patted the hand curled around his elbow but said nothing else. Kenshin, I noticed, was sticking closer as we made our way toward the end of the street, and it was then that I realized why.

Everyone else at this festival had come to a stop and they lined the street, watching as we passed. Kenshin was right when he said I was probably the only person in Japan who didn’t know what was going on.

“Um, Shingen?” I asked, tugging on his elbow. He bent toward me to hear my question. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

“Not at us…at you.”

“Why?” I was pretty sure I already knew why, but I wanted to see if he’d tell me.

“No reason in particular,” Shingen lied, “though you are stunningly beautiful tonight.”

He guided me around the corner, away from the prying eyes of the shopkeepers and toward the shrine only to come to a dead stop in the middle of a similar crowd, all craning to get a look at me…and the man standing directly in our path.

“Mai…” Nobunaga’s deep voice rumbled through the night air, startling me so much that I stumbled and would have fallen were it not for Shingen holding onto me. “You kept me waiting. I do not like to wait.”

My jaw flapped like a broken hinge a few times before the reality of his presence sank in. Yep…this was really happening. Either that or I’d gone totally insane and was now hallucinating all sorts of nonsense.

I blinked, then blinked again.

Nope…still there.

“How was I supposed to know I was keeping you waiting if I didn’t even know you were going to be here in the first place?!” I almost shouted in my excitement.

Nobunaga laughed. “I see you’ve lost none of your fire.” He offered me is hand and, pulling away from Shingen, I rushed over and took it only to be pulled into a tight embrace. “You have been missed, Mai. Are you certain you don’t want to come back to Azuchi?”

“I’ll always come back to visit, but you know full well my heart is here with Yukimura.”

Nobunaga snorted as he pulled my arm into the crook of his elbow as Shingen had before. We walked side-by-side, drawing all sorts of attention from the festivalgoers.

Is that THE Oda Nobunaga? Here in Echigo?

That’s the Oda Princess! Isn’t she lovely?

Is she really marrying one of our samurai?

Why is Kenshin allowing Nobunaga to walk before him?

Nobunaga chuckled at the not-so-quiet whispers. I looked back over my shoulder to find that Shingen and Kenshin walked beside one another… and that all the people who had watched us pass had now fallen into line behind us.

This wasn’t just a crazy proposal setup…this was a damned wedding procession. And I’d unintentionally added to it with the matching clothes I’d made for us. And I was wearing red. All I needed was the elaborate headpiece and I’d be a perfect picture for the history books.

“Um, Nobunaga? Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Am I getting married tonight?”

Nobunaga laughed, long and loud. The sound drew the stares of everyone around us and it kind of annoyed me. I was tired of being laughed at, coddled, head-patted, and treated like some dumb little girl. So far the only person who had been straight with me at all was Kenshin and I was willing to bet a year’s salary that he was only doing it to be spiteful.

“I assumed when Yukimura came to me asking permission to wed you that he had discussed the arrangement with you first.”

“No…no, he hasn’t.”

That only made Nobunaga laugh harder. “Then it appears I’ve ruined a grand surprise.”

“Kenshin already beat you to the punch. Sort of. He told me Yukimura was planning to propose. He didn’t tell me the rest.”

“Well, then I suggest you act surprised, because he has gone to a good bit of trouble on your behalf.”

“Thanks…that doesn’t make me nervous or anything.”

Nobunaga glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, ignoring the continued stares and whispers around us, and when I looked up at him, I discovered the humor had gone from his face. He looked every bit the imposing warlord…or yet another concerned father. I had the dad-trifecta going on here…all I needed was Hideyoshi to be waiting at the end of this mess to fuss over me a little bit.

“Do you love him?” Nobunaga asked, startling me out of my thoughts.

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

“Then what is there to worry about?”

He was right, of course. Nobunaga was always right. As the shrine came into view, the anxiety that had crept into my mind vanished. I loved Yukimura more than I’d ever loved another person. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Just because he jumped the gun a bit with the plans didn’t mean I wasn’t ready to take that dive with him.

The sea of excited onlookers parted to reveal a truly magnificent sight – flowers everywhere, candles and lanterns, and nearly every person I’d come to care about during this time. It was such an over-the-top setup that I began to laugh.

It was not a delicate giggle befitting a princess. No, this was an out-loud, braying horse-laugh that rattled up and out from my toes.

“Mai?” Nobunaga questioned though he couldn’t hide the humor in his voice.

“This…this is…ri-di-cu-lous!” I barked out, leaning into his side to keep myself upright as the hilarity of this situation took over my better sense.

Yukimura was not, and never had been, the romantic type. We weren’t a lovey-dovey couple that surrounded ourselves with hearts and rainbows. We were loud and obnoxious, stubborn and argumentative, and passionate in both our beliefs and our love for one another. In that moment as I stared at the carefully-orchestrated circus my soon-to-be-husband had created, everything began to make sense. I understood exactly why was so weird.

He’d embarrassed himself trying to make me happy. Silly boy.

Besides, I knew it wasn’t him at all. This whole thing smacked of Yoshimoto’s influence, down to the very last, perfectly-placed flower. He was also conspicuously absent.

“I agree that it is a little…extravagant,” Nobunaga said as we neared the shrine where Yukimura and Sasuke waited, groom-and-best-man-style.

“Yukimura is an idiot,” I said once I reined in my laughter. It would do no good to let him see me laughing. “I don’t need all of this nonsense and I have no idea how Yoshimoto talked him into it. It’s almost embarrassing.”

“Almost?” Nobunaga asked, raising one eyebrow at me. “The fact that your face is bright pink says otherwise.”

“Hush.”

Nobunaga chuckled again and let me past the point where the onlookers halted, onto the grounds of the shrine. Hideyoshi and Masamune waited for me to pass—bringing about another near-hysterical giggle in the process—before falling in step behind Kenshin and Shingen, followed by Mitsunari and the ever-grumbling Ieyasu. Only Mitsuhide’s presence was noticeably absent. But I didn’t have time to wonder, as I was suddenly face-to-face with the love of my life.

“Hey,” Yukimura said with an infuriating smirk.

“Hey yourself,” I answered. “You gonna tell me what’s going on here?”

“No,” he replied curtly, though he held out his hand. “Not yet. Now come on.”

I let go of Nobunaga’s arm and reached for Yukimura’s hand, and that’s when he noticed my clothing choice. His eyes went wide and perfectly round while his mouth fell open with a small gasp. Heat bloomed up the back of my neck and over my cheeks, rising in time with the flush of his skin.

“You…what? What are you wearing?!”

“Surprise?” I tried to smile but my nerves kicked into high gear and my heart started to race. “I thought…it might be fun if we, you know…matched.” Yukimura continued to gawk at me, and the look of shock on his face made me wonder if I might have made the wrong choice. “Do you like it? I…um…I can go change if—”

“No!” he shouted, startling me and causing everyone around us to laugh. “I mean, yes. I do. I mean…changing would take up too much time. Just…come on.”

“A word of advice as your Best Man,” Sasuke said, stepping up beside us, “you might want to compliment your bride. And, uh, you know…ask her to marry you now,” he stage-whispered.

“Damn it!” Yukimura growled. “Yoshimoto…”

“Where is he, anyway?”

“Inside with… wait. No. This is stupid. I’m not doing this.”

He tried to pull away but I held tight to his hand, making him stay beside me.

“Yukimura, look at me.” He hesitated but ultimately turned back toward me, keeping his gaze on his feet. “I figured out what was going on a long time ago, okay? You didn’t exactly keep your plans a secret from anyone except me and all of our surprise guests kinda gave away the punchline here.”

“You think this is a joke?!”

“No, you idiot! I think it’s sweet. A little overdone, but sweet. And beautiful. And romantic.”

“Oh gods!”

“And you don’t need to ask me to marry you, Yukimura. My answer is yes. It has always been yes.”

“You don’t have to—what?” He finally looked at me, his surprised expression almost comical.

“I said yes.”

“But…why?”

“Yuki,” Shingen chided, reminding both of us that everyone we knew was watching, “stop talking and accept the poor girl’s lapse in judgment. Or are you now trying to talk her out of it?’

“No!” Yukimura snarled.

“Then shut up and marry her before I steal her away!” Masamune called out, earning groans from both of us and an elbow to the ribs from Hideyoshi.

“Don’t ruin this for her!” he hissed, causing our one-eyed friend to giggle.

“Go, Yuki,” Shingen ordered. “One step at a time. Left-right-left-right…”

Yukimura groaned audibly and pulled me along with him. We glanced at each other again and started to laugh.

“This is dumb,” he said.

“It’s your fault,” I told him.

“No, it’s yours. I was told girls like this kind of thing.”

“By who?”

“Sasuke and Yoshimoto ganged up on me. And Shingen told me I had to be romantic. Like I said, stupid.”

“And sweet. It’s beautiful.” Yukimura went silent as we entered the shrine and found Yoshimoto waiting with a wide grin on his face. “Do you really need me to tell you why I said yes?” I asked as we turned to enter the shrine.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Because I love you, dummy. Now let’s get married.”

Yukimura groaned beside me. “This did not go at all how I planned.”

“They’re aesthetically pleasing, Dean. Shouldn’t we love all of God’s creatures?”

“They’re loud and shed everywhere, angel. I am not going to drive around with an lump of fur that barfs all over the backseat.”

This conversation was repeated man times over the course of a month, rising at more frequent intervals as June drew to a close. Castiel had tried wheedling and whining about halfway through, but relapsed into what he believed was logic before long. Trying to look ‘cute’ really didn’t work for him; the smiles left everyone acting as if they’d something to attend to but were too polite to run off without warning.  Never well-versed enough in etiquette, the Winchester boys were simply ill at ease with the angel’s shoddy attempts to appeal to them.  That would be ‘them’ in a general term, isolated from his brother, Dean was mighty pleased to be subject to Castiel’s attentions. Ah, the thrill of the implicit, but, I digress. No one wants to hear the chattering of a skewed narrator.

                Everyone’s patience for Castiel’s request had all but evaporated into thin air. One thought if he  heard a swish of heavy material followed by a murmured request for small pets again that he would go and string the obstinate man up himself with whatever happened to be at hand, be it rope, belt, or something along those lines that could be fashioned into a noose. In summary, no one had the time to deal it, nor did they want to. As he’d rebutted several times, a pet was just another irresponsible thing to look after that would, no doubt, damage the Impala in some way, shape, or form. A cat would be especially treacherous, but that was what Castiel had set his sights on, and so far there were no signs that he was going to let the issue drop._____

Dean threw his hands into the air, royally pissed and all but fuming. “God, man, just shut up for five seconds. I’ve already told you that it’s not happening, and I’m not going to,” He sneered in distaste, “Vacuum baby just because you dragged one of those nasty little things inside. I am not a frigging housewife. Besides that, the seats would be so much shredded crud in a week. Do you even understand how much work I’ve put into her?” He demanded, widening his stance and positively seething. Castiel opened his mouth to object to the use of his father’s name as an expletive, took one precautionary glance at Dean, and chose the safer route to venture down. He took all of one second to gather his thoughts before attempting to ply him with a sashay forward and a voice held light above his own. Conditions responses were a handy thing to keep track of, and Castiel had slipped between anger and reluctance by being completely unexpected. No one expects the inept man to change tactics in a blink of an eye, and with his luck, even the adversary hadn’t.  Dean appeared to hiccup and craned his neck to peer testily at the angel. When Cas was asking for things, he would get so fixated on them that Dean usually worried for his own safety. That was a legitimate concern, but not one which will be recounted today. A quick flutter of a collar caught between thumb and forefinger, and Castiel was nose-to-nose with his stubborn mark. A pastime that he’d treasured almost since they’d met, he bathed in Dean’s reactions, catching the slightest narrowing of his eyes and translating it. Angels could read humans, of course they could, but it took time for one to have amassed that proficiency. It required an…intimate knowledge of the person, one which was in abundant supply.________

(oh wait..this is AFTER purgatory.)

Castiel might have insinuated something about kittens in between his rolling purr, maybe, maybe not. Needless to say that it did work, or at least to a point where he could call it, because Dean had been left nodding emphatically with his mouth agape. He grinned slyly, masking the agitation that formed along with the thought ‘Why hadn’t I tried this before? So obvious. Humans…’ Okay, maybe a tin bit of racical superiority had persisted, but could people blow howls in other people heads? Teleport? Turn into a specific wavelength of light and coalesce again? He didn’t think so, not other than Metatron, and that guy was more of a—He flicked off the broadcast warily, eyes snapping wide open into an uncharacteristic and most certainly incongruous expression. No, he needed to keep from scaring Dean, and that had probably shot his chances. Goodbye, kitten, he mused sullenly. Fortunately for him, Dean had put it down to Castiel’s odd bouts of reluctance that had become a recurring event ever since his return. It’s  funny how a scarred and broken person will jump to believe that others are in it just as bad as he is. They happened, yes, but not nearly as frequently nor as strongly as the elder Winchester believed. Back to topic, Dean’s marked interest translated into concern and he left his arms outstretched to welcome his angel into an embrace. Once a caretaker, always a caretaker, says no one in particular. Just because it’s never become a common phrase does not mean it lacks truth. He enveloped the figure, sighing deeply. He just held on. There was nothing else he’d found during the bouts that could work other than that. Distractions, screaming, cosseting: none of those did any good whatsoever. Dan was caught unprepared by the next occurrence. Not once had Castiel snapped out of his anxious introspections within a minute, nor had he ever rebounded with such great enthusiasm as to outweigh Dean’s own. {IM NOT WRITING PORN BECAUSE I CAN’T AND THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE LOVELY CRACKLING FLUFF} Bewildered though he was, Dean gave taking it in stride a go. After all, that had been what they were after in the first place, wasn’t it? The miniature breakdown could be dealt with afterward if Castiel wasn’t going to stop… Oh fuck it, guilt postponed to a later time so that he could pull the angel tight against himself and stumble backwards. To this day, that motel bed still squeals alarmingly at the lightest weights.  [I cannot write. Also, I’m about five years old mentally.]

He broached the topic in record time: a mere four hours later that morning. Castiel cleared his throat,

summoning up the assurance needed to press his point home and make good on the promise. “Are we going today?” He asked, not bothering to elaborate. Dean looked up from his task of jury-rigging something that looked awfully threatening above Sam. He offered up an ass-kissing smile, and rocked back onto his heels. “Going where? We did just finish up the job, Cas. Remember? Hunters and all that?”  Too bad for him, his lovely, innocent little angel was about to twist his arm. That’s what you get for agreeing to something half-cocked. He clarified it primly, without glancing away from Dean once. “You’d said we could get a cat, so let’s go find one now.”

Dean raised one eyebrow in disbelief and scoffed. “Yeah.  Funny. It’s still a no. I never said that, and I wasn’t that drunk out of my mind last night. Nowhere near the usual, so stop trying the mind games: I’ve figured out how they work.” _______

They muddled through an agreement in which Dean was increasingly harried and was probably sixteen seconds from banging his head against the hideously papered wall. Bright orange fleur-de-lis? Really? To save himself from yet another concussion, he caved, promising that soon as everyone was up and walking straight again they’d go. The duffle bag dropped onto Sam’s head, what old and desiccated twine that it was suspended from snapping. That seemed to always be the case when someone gave Castiel a determinable time limit. The Winchesters had lost many a squall over such oddly precise and unfortunate timing, as they really could not prove anything no matter the circumstances. If only.

                (You’re getting my memory of what a Humans Society looks like, okay? I have shitty memory) Three somewhat ticked-off and suspicion-heavy hours later Castiel had bundled them into the Humane Society Branch of the city, wide-eyed and spry as a small child on Christmas. Sam, for once, was at his shoulder and smiling complacently at a young family that happened to be passing by on their way out. He’d more appreciation for animals than Dean, not considering absolutely anything with four legs to be either food of existing solely to get in his way. The grouse in question had had to be visibly dragged into the building, complaining all the while that it smelled funny.  Yes, ‘smelled funny’ because all of those corpses, pestilent, pustuled beings, and sewers were redolent of sunshine and daises and sweet-scented spices, weren’t they? This is the blight of character that petulance brought to the table one that day. In reality, the sting of ammonia was so much lighter in the more public areas of the shelter. It wasn’t worthy of being called assault to the nose. By the time that some slip of a girl strolled up to them, Dean had been chastised enough that he presented as being sociable. He grinned easily and her, sidling forward. “Hey there, we just got in. Seen anyone interesting in the back?” This may have earned him a brain-melting glower, but that was the upside of not addressing his angel: he couldn’t see. Her head listed to the side, inquisitive, a cursory, “I’m sorry? I just—“ She stepped back towards a door, gesturing openly towards it. “If you guys want to go check them out, we’ve got all kinds back there. Too many for those, actually. Hoping you’re here to adopt instead of dropping off some poor little thing you’ve got back in the truck.” For once there seemed to be someone even more easygoing than the elder brother, what with her self-assured twang and confident manner. She vaulted the low counter from which they’d chosen to label it a lobby and disappeared behind it. Moments later she bounded of, roll of tattered and sodden paper towels clutched under one arm. Sam patted his thighs awkwardly and barged on through the door. Between a  muttered ‘let’s get this over with’ and one angel’s decision to skip along after him, Feet pedaling high in the air, Sam could be considered the most reasonable. Scratch that, he would always be such. It was nice to have some stability in the family.

                The kennels were more fencing stretched between cement walls than cages, each one fairly expansive, if void of anything but a couple of raggedy towels, bowls, and one or two animals. At least they assumed that there were animals in there: no one had come forward to greet them.  Castiel toddled over to the first one along the line, fingers meshed in the links as he gazed at the mutt that was huddled in the corner farthest from the angel. Speckled with some unsightly color that resembled mold more closely than anything else, the lop-eared dog was nothing pretty. Turns out that it had the personality to match, Raising its head to snarl at Castiel, hackles prickling and rising. Dean spotted the disaster just waiting to happen and cursing, yanked the angel away from the fencing by on fistful of coat. “Do not play with the dogs, Cas. It’s not nice, and I’m not going to explain why there are guts everywhere on the way out. A cat’s already bad enough, you hear?” Gruff though he might have sounded, it was based off of concern rather than base threats. Dean had to shepherd him away from the wall that contained nothing but dogs, urging him to ‘be quick about finding a cat so that they could get going.’  Sam lingered at the kennels, disgusted by the odors clinging to them but intrigued anyway. He’d always liked dogs: they’d always been fond of any strays that seemed friendly enough in whatever towns they stopped by. Soft spot though it might be, and one that wasn’t safe to have, if he recalled, he couldn’t shake the habit. That was why he hadn’t taken notice of the couple wandering off, and instead sunk into a crouch in front of something that resembled a terrier. Not nearly as antisocial and distrusting as the previous, it tottered up to him; head cocked in a way such that it left Sam giggling. Hadn’t he seen that exact expression twelve times today alone?  Angels, he thought dismissively.

                Raucous little beasts, kittens were. They wouldn’t stop mewling, and he wasn’t thinking of the pleasant little needy murmur that could be drawn from a person with careful precision, no. This was a keening, shrieking sound that meant those monsters wanted attention, got caught under something, managed to fall into a food bowl, the list was almost endless. If something happened, a kitten would cry out. Such was the universe.  As soon was he’d herded them into the significantly smaller room at the end of the hall, they was hailed by an uproar of whines. Ululating, irritating noises that meant they expected…something to happen. Dean glowered at the cages, yanking one twisted forefinger across his throat in a deft, unmistakable gesture. Too bad, that, seeing as cats have no ability to interpret human speech or body language. They took it to mean that the humans in the room were mobile and open to cuddling. That triggered a respond with included rubbing against the bars and screeching at them. “Dean…cats! Look, they’re cats.. We’re going to get a cat,” he repeated dumbly, overjoyed.  What happened next just reinforced Dean’s long—held belief that Castiel was stuck at the maturity level of a schoolgirl. Needless to say, his angel joined into the chorus of mews, unaware that he really could not talk to cats. The gift of tongues had a limitation, apparently.  The crooning came across the language barrier more clearly, however and they clambered over each other to press their noses through. Castiel stretched out his hand almost reverentially, offering them one fingertip to was presented just within reach. Trilling occurred. One thousand kitten headbutts later and his idea to take all of the kittens had been shot down in terror. They could not handle a damned flock of cats. Castiel had to be reminding very clearly that they were not, in fact, crazy cat ladies, and would never me. One kitten maximum, that was their limit. This got Dean a flicker of a smirk and one raised eyebrow. “Limits, Dean, really?” Dean spluttered and leaned back against the frigid doorframe. “Not the right time, Cas. Just choose one already; we’ve been here forever.” He grunted a hazy acknowledgment and continued to divert his attentions to the cage. After an indefinable amount of time observing them, Dean began to pick out a pattern, well, more of a tendency. There was one ball of fur in particular that he seemed to lavish his affection on, one splotched with liberal amount of orange. It appeared to have the most absurd ear tufts he’d ever set eyes on, and a bottle brush tail to put the tool itself to shame. It had forced itself to the tp of the jumble, teetering on top of a trio of smaller kits, it stood as proudly as something so wobbly could and produced a mew that pierced the air. It was met with a shriek of delight, Castiel scrabbling to chuck it under the chin. Yes, his brave little warrior had decided on the most obnoxious of the bunch. Dean shouldn’t have hoped for any better. As Castiel turned to affirm his choice, the man clappe a hand over his shoulder, nodding. “Yeah, you can get it, I guess. Remember that the…thing...Is it a boy? Girl? It’s a thing for now, anyways. It’s your responsibility. I will not clean up after that, and if it screws up my car, I’ll hang it. Drown, boil, dice it up and use it as werewolf bait, whichever.  It’s on your head.” Castiel selected one serious verging on omniscient expression, showed it to Dean, and nodded sharply. He could remember to look after a kitten, but didn’t much appreciate the death threats aimed at it before they;d even gotten to know each other. They had yet to form a deep bond, his cat and himself, but it would exist. That he was sure of. After this silent, overly dramatic declaration, Dean strolled back through the doorway, bemused as to why his brother had disappeared. A high-pitched peal of laughter echoed back from the far end, complete with a crashing sound and shivering fencing. “Oh for the love of—Who’s getting eaten alive now? Sammy…” He growled at the scene that he had rushed into. Lying among several mongrels that were intent on coating the plaid-clad giant in slobber, Sam was doing a terrible job of keeping his cool. Said giant snorted and curled in on himself, trying to fend off laving tongues from his face. Even rolling around on disgusting floors, he liked to pretend he had an ounce of class. Dean kicked at the fence roughly, a short clip from the toe of his boot. “Get up, kid, we’ve found a cat that the angel refuses to let out of…Cas? Get back here. Easier to herd gators, I tell you.” Exasperated, he stormed out of the back rooms without either of them. The measurement was far from exact, but somewhere in the margin of three quarters of an hour later, he swung open the door to the kennel again, looking more harried than he usually did after a fight. Paperwork and facades: takes more energy than anything else in the world. Why it does, no one knows. Sam was seated on a concrete ridge by the time he’d mad his second entrance, as lost as a man could be. Being a dog person wasn’t feasible with them, but he’d gotten the play quote for the year, so Sam would just suck it up and continue on. Maybe one day. Dean cocked his head, shrugging. “Dude, why haven’t you got that mutt back out here? Do you know how much I had to work on her to let you take the thing?” He snapped a hand towards the kennel containing that raven terrier. “Go get him, Sammy, and all the problems that come with it: you’re going to figure those out.  Yeah?”  Dean could be intuitive when he wanted to, after all, wouldn’t anyone do that? He stalked back to the cats, ignoring the overexcited bouncing that had most likely begun just as Dean had turned his back. Sure enough, Sam leapt to his feet, grinning like a fiend. Castiel was found to have already unlatched a cage and made himself busy clasping the ragdoll kit to his shoulder. To the boys, it was just ‘their cat’ for an awful long time after that. It stayed ‘their cat’ from the minute Dean presented Castiel with a box, telling him that it was time to go and that they’d save time since Cas already had it out of the tiny kennel. This was, for once, a good day. Bizarre occurrence: good days for the Winchesters. Everyone cherished them, but few with as much relish as the three of them. A month or so later, Castiel piped up again, just out of the blue, “Anna.” Dean slapped down a paper he’d been paying no attention to. “What about her?” The angel dipped his head towards the gangly kitten in his lap, interring that she was, in fact, “Anna. She’s going to be Anna.  That’s okay?” A faint smile played over his lips in agreement. Maybe not a fitting name, but an acceptable one, nonetheless. It wasn’t his choice, now was it? Now, he had taken the liberty of pressuring Sam into choosing a different name than the one he’d been set on, as no dog should have to endure being named after a historian. That simply was not done. Something simple, maybe even nostalgic, like Max. All right, so the terrier ended up being called Jesse, but what did you expect?