Ok so…about this. First off, I planned to have more for the first part. BUT I got this much written, and decided it had taken me way too long to get this much written because of how busy I've been and I wanted to get SOMETHING up at least. If at all possible, part 2 will be posted tonight, promise.

Next, this is loosely based on Dogsbody. I'm actually rereading the book right now to incorporate as much of the plot as I can, but I'm changing some things. First off, to pave the road for the slash(XD)(don't worry though…no bestiality or anything like that, just Cas being all possessive/clingy/non-personal space allowing with Dean…so pre-slash for the majority of this, lol ^^). Also, cause I wanted to focus mostly on their relationship and Cas being Dean's dog and such, but I'm definitely keeping the large plots points the same. :)

Anyway, on with the show! I'm having so, so much fun with this, because I'm a crazy dog lover by nature so combining that with Supernatural makes this like Christmas. :D

Because I'm a total nerd, here's a picture of puppy Cas: http : / / www . breederretriever . com / photopost / data / 584 / medium / english_setter_pup_3 . JPG

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Castiel had never expected this to get so out of hand. The day had started normally enough(or so he thought), but now he was standing in front of Raphael in court, his Zoi missing, having been cast God only knew where in the struggle.

He held his head up high, stared Raphael down. "I'm telling you, my brother, I did not kill Michael! We fought, yes, and the Zoi was knocked out of my hands but I swear to you, it ended there! I'm not sure where it went after that, and either way, Michael walked away from that fight in one piece. Whoever murdered him, maybe they used the Zoi and maybe they didn't but it certainly wasn't me and they did it after he left!"

"Castiel, we have heard your story for the past hour. The evidence is overwhelming against you, and there is no one to-"

"Ask Ruby, Uriel! Surely she can speak for my character if nothing else!" He cut his eyes to where she stood on the edge of the courtroom, bathed in shining red light. She was younger than him, a brighter luminary but not as big or as strong. He'd always felt protective toward her because of that, and he'd been sure she cared for him as well. Now, she just looked resigned.

"Ruby can tell us nothing of value, as she was not there when the murder took place."

"It wasn't a murder, it was-"

"Silence!" Raphael, again. Castiel clenched his jaw shut, blazed a little brighter blue. This was utterly absurd. "The evidence is indeed too overwhelming to discount, Castiel. Given your history of insurrection-"

"I have never-"

"And your frequent disagreeance with this court, we have every belief that is more than enough motive for you to murder Michael, due to his status as an authority. However, most of your conduct has been beyond reproach. Therefore we have decided…" Michael stood, burning brighter as he delivered the official ruling. "The typical punishment for murder is a life for a life. However, given your stature, we have decided to grant you a lesser sentence. You will be sent down to the planet where the Zoi fell, and if you are able to recover it within your lifespan, you may return to your position among us. This court is adjourned."

"But I-" He hadn't even finished the words when everything went black.

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The change was sudden, and startling. The only thing he knew at first was a horrible damp penetrating cold. He could feel his body shaking with it already, and when he squinted his eyes open he saw a wall of black and faint light above, all of it fuzzy. It hurt, and he didn't try to look around very hard. He curled as close in on himself as he could, a low whine bubbling from his chest when something around his neck poked him as he tucked his head in. He was thoroughly miserable, and he realized after some time that he could remember nothing but this. If there had been anything before the water that clung to his fur and the way the chill of it made him practically rattle, he had no idea what it was. Hopefully, it had been warmer.

He wasn't sure how long he spent like that, drifting, but after awhile he could feel a harsher light against his eyes, almost blinding when he blinked into it. It was a little warmer, too, but only on his face and only a little. The rest of him…that was still freezing.

"Over this way, I think this door over here'll do it."

The voice startled him, loud and close, but he could do little more than twitch a little. He was so very cold.

"Thanks, Bobby, you know this really saves me some…the hell is that?" Something shadowed over him them, blocking the meager heat he'd had and he whined, a shivery, weak sound. "That a puppy?"

"How the hell'd he get in there?"

"Jesus, look at him, he's shaking like crazy." Before he knew it he was being picked up by big sturdy hands, and it shocked him enough that he would've tried to twist away if they hadn't been so warm. As it was he whined again, scrabbled for a hold that might make him feel a little more secure. "Rumsfield have a girlfriend out here you don't know about?"

"Kid, does anything about that puppy look like a Rottweiler to you? Looks like a pound collar on his neck."

"Yeah, think so, but how the hell'd he get out? I mean, I'm no expert on dogs or anything but he looks like he could hardly hold his own stumbling a few feet much less anything else. Looks too small for them to have let him go with anyone."

"Dogs and cats and who knows what else are coming in here all the time. If someone did take him, he coulda gotten carried off back here but hell, who knows." The other voice shuffled closer, a different hand sweeping down his side. "Dean, the poor thing's half dead, don't you think that-"

"No! No, I don't." The first hands pulled him back, pressed up against something warm and solid, shifted him to wrap something around him from behind and hold him there. "C'mon, Bobby, I've been putting up with Sam's cats for years. We had that dog when we were kids, remember? Be nice to have a dog around again."

"Well, don't get your hopes up. Had an ex-girlfriend that bred retrievers once, don't know how many times she told me cold puppies always die, and he looks well on his way there."

"We'll see about that." The cloth wrapped harder around his back, pressing him close. "Look, if I'm gonna try to keep him alive I gotta go get him dry. I'll be back out this afternoon to pick up the door, ok?"

"Whenever you have the time, you know I'll be here."

"Thanks, Bobby." They were already moving, jostling, and he whined, kicked a little against the one carrying him. The movement slowed, one hand sliding up to cover the back of his head, gentle. "Shhh, hey, it's ok little guy. It's ok."

Even though he couldn't understand the words there was something about his voice, something kind and rough and warm, and he settled in comfortably. He was starting to dry and he hadn't been dropped back into the cold wet place and the hands around him felt strong and secure. He let a noise that was more sigh than whimper ease from his throat before he started to drift off, tired enough that he barely registered the sound of something loud and rumbling around them.

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When he woke up again, there was a lot of noise of a different kind.

"It doesn't matter if he was somebody's ok? They fucked up and lost him and he almost died! C'mon, I thought you liked dogs!"

"Dean, I love dogs, you know that. And he's cute, I'm not saying he isn't, I was just sayin' that that looks like a purebred dog, and if someone got him from the shelter, they're probably missing him right now."

"And I say they're dicks. He's stayin' with us." The hands shifted something warm closer up around his shoulders and he whimpered, wriggled closer to the touch. "Shh, he's wakin' up."

"I can see that."

"Alright, smartass." He hadn't really realized it before, but now that he was dry and warm and awake again, he was ravenous. He struggled to get to his feet under the pressure of the hand over him, yelped loudly to try and get his point across. "Geez, got some lungs on him, doesn't he?" The hands scooped him up again, pulled over and into his lap. "Easy there, little guy. You're ok."

"Dean, he's probably hungry."

"Shit. Shit. Yeah, you're probably right." The gripping hands shifted, let him struggle to his feet and kept only one restraining arm around him. "Hey, you think he still needs milk?"

"I'd say so. A little bit at least. He's got teeth so we could probably start feeding him a little puppy food with it too but, yeah, I'd say he definitely needs some milk."

"Well?"

"You want me to go get it? I thought you just made a big deal when you brought him in about how this was gonna be your dog not mine cause all the cats were 'mine'. Which, by the way, I never kept them from liking you. You just didn't spend time with them."

"He is my dog."

"Then if he needs milk-"

"Hey, I'm keepin' an eye on him. Makin' sure he doesn't fall off the couch or get attacked by the cats or somethin'." Feeling annoyed and forgotten, he squalled again, both hands quickly wrapping around him. "Hey, sh,sh, sh, it's ok. See, Sam, he's hungry! Will you just go get the poor dog some milk?"

There was a loud sigh, and he cracked his eyes open in time to see a slightly blurry, bigger hand reach down to rub the back of his head. "Yeah, alright. Be right back."

He was still hungry. He whined, blinked and opened his eyes a little wider, shoved himself up high enough on his legs to try to start walking. "Hey, where do you think you're going? Just sit tight, Sammy'll be right back." He whined, annoyed, and hand rubbed gently against the back of his head again. "Yeah, he'll be back. Shouldn't be long, ok? If I know Sammy, he'll know right where to find whatever it is you need. That kid knows all kinds of random crap." The hand shifted, fingers trailing lower, and he could feel them wrap around the thing around his neck. "Castiel, huh? That your name? Gotta say, that's a mouthful, buddy. Cas? You like that?"

The hands shifted him close enough that he could feel the steady thump of a heartbeat, and though he let out one more hungry yelp just to make sure he'd been heard, he couldn't help but settle in closer to the sound. It was nice, even and steady and warm.

"Alright. Cas." The hand rubbed him again, gentle. "Well, I'm Dean. And that was Sam. And you're gonna be safe here, bud. Don't worry."

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The first couple of weeks were a little bit of a blur. There was a box and it had something warm in it, but he didn't really like it there. Dean put him there for hours at a time sometimes, and even though it was ok while he was asleep, the minute he woke up it wasn't quite as inviting anymore. Almost every time he woke either hungry or desperately lonely. There was a part of him that seemed to be trying to remember something else all the time, but even though it couldn't it could remember that before, he'd never been alone. He'd been connected to something vast, something that involved so many others outside himself and being so cut off now felt wrong, like an amputation. He hated being alone.

Whenever he could, Dean was there to pick him when he cried. He shushed him and cradled him in the crook of his arm, talked to him while he let him drink milk from a bottle. That didn't last as long as Castiel would've liked for it to, but even when Dean started offering the milk to him in a pan with bigger bits of something good stuck in it Dean kept talking to him while he ate. He'd take him outside, let him roll around in the grass awhile to, as Dean put it "teach him early"(whatever that meant) before bringing him back inside. He'd tuck him inside that jacket of his that smelled so good, let Cas curl up against his chest and fall asleep there. That sequence was the one he liked best, but far too often he woke and cried only to find Dean quickly shoving his milk and food at him, telling him that he had to be quiet and leaving him in the box. Either that or Sam was there, and though he was kind and gentle and Cas couldn't help but like his voice, he wasn't Dean, and it just wasn't the same. He didn't hold Cas the way Dean did, didn't take the time to talk to him while he ate. He fed him quick, took him out even quicker, and when it was over he'd drop him back in the box, ruffling his ears and saying something about studying and how Dean would be home soon.

Those were definitely some of the words Cas learned first. 'Dean' was the most important, as his hands were the ones that had pulled him out of the cold, warmed him and cared for him for as long as he could remember. Dean was the center of everything, and every word he learned after he started learning was centered around that context. 'Home' was important because it meant that wherever it was Dean had gone, he'd be back soon when Sam said it. 'Garage' was another big one, because whenever Dean said that it meant it would be one of the days when Dean didn't talk to him much, when he shoved his food at him hurriedly and kept a blanket over the box, keeping him out of the light. The garage was full of loud noises and strange smells, and though at first he'd whined a lot he'd gotten used to it fairly quick.

At first, nothing outside of the box and hands had mattered or even made much sense, but every day on his runs outside he could feel himself getting stronger, steadier. The light didn't hurt his eyes anymore, and when he found out one day while Sam wasn't paying attention that he could get his paws up and hook them over the edge of the box. He'd yapped in surprise at that development, and though Sam had been quick to push him back and say something about Dean breaking his neck if he let Cas fall, the need to get out of the box had taken hold.

Still, he didn't try particularly hard until that night. He'd fallen asleep on Dean's chest after dinner, and when he woke up again he was in the box, settled under a soft towel. It was dark and he was warm, and usually at this point he'd roll over and fall back to sleep. Now, though, he was curious. He could smell Dean somewhere nearby, warmth and leather and motor oil and soap, and he could hear him breathing softly in the quiet. Dean was here, and if he could get out, he could get to him. He scraped at the side ineffectively for a minute before he remembered just how he'd reared up on his back paws before, and it took a little scrabbling to get his paws hooked over the side. Once he had, his first attempt to haul himself up landed him on his back, wriggling. Undaunted, he grabbed the edge with a bit of momentum the second time, struggled hard enough that he managed to tip the box over, spilling himself out and onto the floor. His head hit the floor with a bit of a crack and it wasn't exactly comfortable, but he didn't care. He got to his feet and shook himself, tail wagging. He was free, and out here, there was so much more to see! Things he'd only seen from an angle, things he'd seen Dean pick up and put down before he could get a good sniff of them.

There by the bed were Dean's shoes, and they smelled of so many fascinating things he was almost distracted from his purpose. Luckily Dean moved in his sleep just then, his head falling just over the edge of the bed. Cas danced happily closer, hopped up with his feet against the bed to try to nose his hand. He couldn't quite reach, though, and even though the struggled and kicked higher he still couldn't make it. He fell back to the hard floor heavily, rolled until he could get his paws under him again. He whined, keep trying until he clipped his chin particularly hard on the bottom of the bed. He yipped a little louder then, fell back on his haunches and shook his head. This wasn't going the way he'd planned, and now he was lonely and cold. His head fell back, nose edging up as he whined in frustration.

Finally, Dean stirred. He rolled over, his arm pulling back closer onto the bed. "Go back to sleep, Cas." His words were soft and slurred, sleepy. When he heard his name Cas cried harder, hopped up onto his back legs to paw at the side of the bed again. Dean shifted again, the side of the bed dipping, and he looked over at the box first before he looked down. "Well, aren't you the little escape artist." Dean chuckled low in his chest, reached over to ruffle his ears. "Gettin' big, huh, Cas? Need to get you a new bed tomorrow." He slid out of bed, slid a hand under Cas' chest to lift him into the box that he kicked back up casually before lowering him into it. "There you go. Be good now."

It was much, much easier to get out the second time, and within a minute he was scratching at the side of the bed again, whining softly. Couldn't Dean understand? The box was boring and frustrating and confining and he just wanted to stay with him. He'd be quiet then. They went through the whole process twice more before Dean gave up, sighing and reaching down to pick him up under his front legs, hauling him up over the side of the bed and dropping him onto the mattress somewhere in the middle.

"There. Happy? Now hush, alright? Gotta go in to the garage tomorrow."

It was better, definitely, but he wasn't quite happy yet. He crawled close on his belly, nosed against Dean's ribs before he pulled himself up cautiously, his nails catching slightly on Dean's thin t-shirt. He dropped his head down just over Dean's heart with a sigh, his tail swishing frantically when he felt Dean's arm curve around his back, holding him in place.

Dean scratched just behind his left ear, rubbed his thumb between his eyes. "Sam ever finds out about this, you're one dead puppy. Got it?" He still sounded sleepy, and even if he had a tiny bit of that edge he'd hand the time he'd bit down on his hand instead of the bottle, it wasn't enough to make it seem honest. Besides, what was more important was the way he pulled Cas just a little closer, the way Cas could see him smile in the moonlight when he cracked his eyes. He swished his tail just a little harder, wriggled a tiny bit closer. "Yeah, yeah, alright, good dog. Be still, will ya? Go to sleep."

There, he slept better than he ever had and that night, he was almost sure there was something else in his dreams, something vast and confusing and largely blue. In the morning, he wasn't sure what to make of it so he just let it go.

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Being out of the box opened up a whole new world, and while lots of it was interesting, there were plenty of things he'd have been glad to never find out.

The first thing he discovered was the cats. He'd smelled there scent in the air from the time he'd been brought into the house but he hadn't had a name for it until now. He'd met them just after breakfast, as he'd been skittering along the kitchen tile behind Dean's boots. He'd come around the corner to come in contact with something big and black, it's back arched and it's fur out and the most awful noises streaming from its mouth.

He backtracked, his ears pricking forward, tail arching over his back.

"Dog!"

He was almost as shocked by the fact that he could understand the creature as he was that it so obviously hated him. They'd never even met before! He took a step forward, wagged the tip of his tail and tried his best to look friendly. "Hello. Who are you?" He wagged a little harder, took another cautious step, his neck outstretched. "I'm-"

The cat made it pretty clear he didn't care. His paw darted out, slapping hard against Castiel's nose with five sharp claws extended. He yelped, back peddled hard with his hind paws while he tried to rub his nose with his front. The smack had hurt, a sharp kind of pain, and the muddled confusion was almost as bad.

"Rufus, dammit!" He heard the cat hiss, heard his feet on the wood as he bolted off around the corner. He still wasn't looking, had instead flopped down on his belly on the tile and was rubbing hard at his nose, whining. It was throbbing. "Shhhh, hey, it's ok." Before he could even think anymore about the sting on his nose big strong hands were lifting him up, tucking him inside that comfy leather jacket, pressed warm against his chest. Dean's hand cupped the back of his head, rubbed one ear softly with his thumb. "It's ok. It's ok, babe, I've got ya, alright?" Castiel's eyes were still closed in fear but Dean's voice was soft and nearby and he nuzzled into his chest on instinct, his tail starting to wag when he felt Dean pull him reflexively closer. He was already coming to associate the smell of the garage and leather and everything that was Dean with comfort and safety, and wrapped up in it now he wasn't sure why he'd been so bothered by the cat.

Dean ruffled his head one more time, shifted him to get a better look. Castiel blinked, opened his eyes just in time to find Dean's eyes close, studying the cut on his nose. His fingers came away with blood on them, but it wasn't half as much as he'd expected to see, considering how it had felt. Dean smiled, rubbed between his eyes. "See? Wasn't that bad; he's just a big bully. You know what, though?" He grinned, rubbed the blood off on his jeans. "I always hated bullies." He changed his grip on Cas again, yelled back over his shoulder. "Sam! Get down here, we gotta talk about your damn cats."

They'd argued then, Sam telling Dean he needed to keep Cas out of the cats' way and Dean snapping back that Sam should "teach the damn spoiled brats some manners". In the end, Sam had taken off for school first and Dean had 'accidently' locked them all out on the back porch and sat Cas down in the middle of the kitchen, roughing him up gently and telling him he'd be home later.

It was his first day of anything like freedom, and at first he was too surprised to do much with it. When that had worn off, he'd sniffed happily around the floor, tail wagging furiously when he found a toast crumb Sam had dropped just under the counter. He'd slept in the sun for awhile, and sometime after that Sam had gotten back home. He threw his bag down in the living room, muttering under his breath when he saw all three cats plastered to the other side of the glass door, yowling impatiently. They were quick to jump into the kitchen, easily clearly the board Dean had stood up against the doorway to keep Cas in.

They were graceful, and they landed with hardly a sound. Cas stepped cautiously out from behind a chair, leaned back with one paw pulled to his chest until Rufus had stalked past him, stiff legged. The two that were left were smaller, one even smaller than the other, and they were covered in mismatched patches of black and orange on a white fur. He flopped his tail twice uncertainly, sniffed the air.

The smaller cat puffed up, her tail flipping angrily. "I didn't think he was actually keeping you."

The larger one swatted back at her, claws sheathed and ineffective. "Jo. That's not how we greet a guest now, is it?" She slinked forward, low, sliding smooth down almost all the way onto the floor to stretch out her shoulders. "I'm Ellen, honey. This is my daughter, Jo. And that…" She looked over her shoulder, tail twitching once when her eyes fell on him. He was eating Cas' leftover food. "Is Rufus. He's a rough old man but he's a good friend once you get to know him. Though I hear you two got off on the wrong foot." She stepped closer, a low soft rumble rising in her chest. "Well, you have a name? Where'd you come from? I'm not gonna bite you, kid."

Cas tilted his head, a little bewildered. "I…I'm not sure where I came from." That much he was definitely sure of. He came from somewhere different, he knew, somewhere vast and complicated, but he couldn't remember it now. He shook his coat a little, let his tail slowly start to wag. "Dean calls me Cas."

"Well alright, then, Cas. Oh, stop it, Jo." She was still puffed, her back arched impressively.

"The house was full."

"And we'll make room." Ellen settled down, began to lick her paws efficiently as Jo stalked off behind her, heading over to join Rufus at the food. "You'll have to excuse Jo, honey. She loves our Sam, really she does, but she's been wanting to be Dean's almost since she was born."

A curious sound slipped his throat at that, low and rough and totally instinctive. He startled a little at his own actions, hopping back a little.

Ellen chuckled, her eyes slipping closed as she started in on the next paw. "You dogs. So possession crazy. In any case, she's jealous of you now but she'll get over it. Rufus, like I said he's a good guy once he warms up to you. He's just old, set in his ways. Sam's had him for years."

Her voice was warm and friendly and his fear faded enough to let him walk all the way up to her, his tail wagging blindingly fast as he snuffled into the fur at her shoulder. "You smell different."

Her hackles rose just a little and she stepped back, a little warning in her eyes. "That's because I'm a cat. Ease up a little, huh? If you don't learn some personal boundaries on your own, Rufus'll teach you real quick."

He backed up then, his head dipping. "Sorry. I don't…I don't know…"

"You're a puppy. You're not supposed to know anything." She stretched again, her back arching into a perfect bow. "Here. C'mon and I'll let you have some of my food. Just for today, you understand. Just 'till you find your way."

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