You hadn’t meant to bring the kitten home. You really hadn’t.

But it was pouring outside the Men of Letters bunker, and the tiny ball of fluff was shivering under the hood of the Impala, mewling like it had been waiting for someone to save it.

So you did.

You towel-dried it, bundled it in your hoodie, and prayed Dean wouldn’t notice the soft mews echoing through the hallway.

He noticed immediately.

“Hey, sweetheart-“ he called from the library. “Did you bring somethin’ back from town? I hear… noises.”

You froze.

The kitten meowed.

Dean appeared in the doorway so fast you swore he teleported.

He stared at the bundle in your arms. Then at you. Then back at the bundle.

“Is that a cat?”

You bit your lip. “…No?”

The kitten meowed again, completely betraying you.

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “Oh my God. You brought home a cat. To the bunker. The place with cursed artifacts, ancient grimoires, and a laundry list of monsters that literally eat small animals.”

“It was cold!” you argued. “And alone! And look at its face—”

You lifted the kitten. It blinked at Dean with big, imploring eyes.

Dean was silent. Completely, utterly silent. Then he muttered, defeated, “Damn it.”

Before you could respond, the kitten squirmed in the bundle.

Dean’s expression melted instantly. “Oh, c’mon… don’t do that. That’s not fair.”

You grinned. “You like it.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped quickly, too quickly, already stepping closer. “I’m just… making sure it isn’t, y’know, possessed or somethin’.”

But when the kitten head-butted his hand, Dean made a soft sound you’d never let him live down. “Fine,” he muttered. “He can stay. But only for the night.”

The kitten crawled up his shirt and onto his shoulder.

Dean froze. You tried not to laugh. “…Okay, maybe a couple nights,” he amended softly, gently holding the kitten against him like it was the most fragile thing in the world.