Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, obviously.

Spoilers: Set in between 10x18 Book of the Damn and 10x19 The Werther Project.

This story came to me at after a conversation with my good friend BlueRiverSteel.

As always thank you to Pepper1622 for making the story grammatically correct and to Blueriversteel, Cornishgirl, and Candy who inspire, encourage, and crack the whip.

There is a reference in the story to Cornishgirl's story "Sins Remembered", not required reading but it's a fantastic story go read it.

Sam wouldn't say things were getting better; in fact, they were quickly getting worse. He knew his brother was hurting and doing all he could to cover, but Sam could see through the cracks.

He walked into the bunker's library area and rubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to wipe away the last remaining tendrils of sleep. He had woken up earlier with a post-it note stuck to his forehead that read: Gone grocery shopping, bitch. Sam stopped short as he spotted Cas sitting at one of the long tables. It wasn't so much Castiel that surprised him—the angel had been showing up at random times for the last month or so— it was the thing sitting on the table in front of him that had his guard up. "Cas?" Sam approached slowly. "What is . . . ?"

Cas looked up at Sam; his hand trailed over the creature's back delicately. It bounced up to meet him, demanding the angel's sole attention. "It's a cat, or kitten to be more precise. "

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I know what it is. Why is it here in the bunker?" He looked around the room. "Dean's not back yet?" he asked cautiously.

The kitten trotted down the length of the table, clearly done with the angel for the time being and more interested in the new set of hands that should be paying it attention.

If Sam didn't know better, he would think Cas almost looked disappointed as the kitten tottered away. Sam was more of a dog person but couldn't deny the thing was cute, its fur a charcoal black minus the white decorating each foot and running along its chest. Sam reached down to pet the kitten as it nudged his hand. He glanced over to the angel, looking for an answer.

"I found him on my way into the bunker this morning. I heard that cats are remarkably good for people who deal with a high amount of tension."

Sam chuckled softly as the kitten started to purr; they could definitely use something to reduce stress. Dean especially. Unfortunately, there was no way Dean would ever allow a cat to stay in the bunker, not that he hated cats per se, not like he did dogs, but there were other issues with keeping a cat. Sam sighed,. "Cas, he, she, it—"

"I believe it's a he."

"Well, he can't stay here. If Dean gets home and sees him, he's gonna kill us both." Sam felt bad for turning the little guy out, but his self preservation instincts were just a bit higher than the kitten's cuteness and his childhood want for a pet.

Cas' browed furrowed with a look of confusion. "I don't understand."

"Cas, Dean's—" Sam's sentence was cut short by the slam of the bunker's front door. "Shit." He stepped in front of the cat, hoping to block it from his brother's view, at least long enough to explain and hopefully keep his brother from getting pissed at the both of them.

Dean walked into the room, bags of groceries in each hand. He stopped as he looked at both Cas and Sam standing shoulder to shoulder at the end of the library's table, Sam with a nervous look and Cas with a slightly less passive expression, which Dean took to be as nervous a look as the angel could get—most of the time. He narrowed his eyes slightly and cocked his head. "Guys?" he asked slowly and walked toward the table.

Sam held his hands up passively. "Okay, look, before you get pissed, Cas didn't know and . . ." Sam trailed off, confused as Dean passed by them both without saying anything about the cat that they had been trying to hide. Sam turned around, his stomach dropping as he realized the reason his brother didn't make a comment.

With the exception of a single black hair, there was no sign of the kitten every being there.

Dean placed the bags on the table, raising an eyebrow at the two. "Didn't know what?" He rubbed at his nose before sneezing.

Sam glanced at the angel in question before snapping his gaze back to his brother. "He, uhh . . . uh, didn't know that . . ." He looked back to Cas for some help. "Uh . . . that the . . . razor in the bathroom was yours," Sam finished, looking back at Dean with a small shrug. "He accidently broke it."

Dean studied both Sam and Cas in turn. He wasn't stupid—he knew something was up, but Sam's sudden inability to lie was almost comical. "Right," he answered slowly. He would let him have the lie for the moment; he was confident he knew what it was about anyways. Dean's nose twitched before he let out another loud sneeze. He shook his head and sniffled. "Well." He picked the bags back up to take to the kitchen. "I didn't leave my razor in the bathroom, so . . ."

"Oh, then it must have been mine. Well, good. I needed a new one anyways."

"Uh-huh." Dean threw over his shoulder as he exited the room, letting out another sneeze.

Sam released a breath, turning toward Cas when Dean poked his head back around the corner.

"Neither of you were cuddling a cat or something, were you?" The older hunter's question was punctuated by another loud sneeze.

"What? No!" Sam replied with an unconvincing laugh. "That's . . . that's ridiculous. Wh-why would you think that?" Sam dug an elbow into Cas' side.

"Uh, yes, ridiculous. What Sam said," Cas added, equally as unconvincing.

"Uh-huh." Dean looked between the two of them for a moment longer before resuming his journey to the kitchen.

Sam stood stock still for a few minutes, waiting to make sure his brother was out of earshot before turning to hit Cas on the arm.

"Ow." Cas rubbed the now sore spot. "I don't understand. Why did we just lie?"

"Self-preservation," Sam muttered as he ducked below the table. The cat couldn't have gotten that far on its tiny little legs. "Dean's allergic to cats, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't really like any animals." Sam paused, looking up thoughtfully. "He did have a turtle when he was like three, but I don't think it ended well." He resumed his search, crawling around on all fours trying to find the black and white little ball of fur. He glanced behind him to see Cas doing much the same, but standing.

After a few more minutes of fruitless searching, Sam stood up and ran his fingers through his hair as Cas came to stand next to him. "Nothing?"

Cas shook his head. "Perhaps it sought out shelter in one of the other rooms?"

Sam swore aloud. The bunker was huge; they'd been living there for over two years and still hadn't discovered every nook and cranny. Trying to find a cat before his brother did—that was going to be hard.

Dean yawned widely as he exited the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He barely got any sleep last night, the Mark doing its best to push him to the edge with nightmares and other gory visions. He flexed his right hand into a tight fist as fire shot through his arm. He was pretty sure he knew what Sam and Cas were up to, the same thing they'd been up to since he had told Sam he was done looking for a cure. He knew the moment he had told Sam that neither his brother nor his friend would ever stop looking, not until they had searched out every possible lead twice. Dean couldn't blame them. Had the situation been reversed, he would be doing the same. Hell, he had done the same, going as far as to let a crazy old doctor kill him so he could talk to Death. Good times.

Dean could hear hushed voices arguing as he approached the library, mostly Sam's; he leaned against the doorframe and took a sip of his beer.

"—where could it possibly go?" Sam had his back turned toward him.

Dean smiled and raised his beer as he caught Cas' eye. Castiel cleared his throat. "Dean," he greeted. "How are you?"

Sam whipped around so fast Dean had to wince. "I'm good." He took another sip, along with a few steps into the room, stopping at the table. "Look, guys, I know what's going on." He didn't so much mind their need to keep searching; he did understand it, but he didn't like them keeping things from him, and he liked lying less.

Sam glanced nervously over to Cas. "You do?"

Dean nodded, pulled out a seat, and sat down. "Look, I understand, but, guys, we have searched through everything—" Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Searched through . . ." Sam stared at his brother, a shot of confusion glancing across his expression. "Oh, right, the . . . uh." Dean was talking about the Mark. He thought he and Cas were discussing the Mark, which they had been doing over the last few months, trying to find a cure while keeping it from Dean. That's not the type of cover story he wanted to use; he couldn't let that little spark of hope jump up in his brother only to be squashed, not over something that was so small in comparison both figuratively and literally. "Uh, look, Dean, we . . . I mean, we're not going to stop looking for a cure, but that's actually not what—" Sam stopped as he spotted a tiny ball of fur waddle past the doorway behind Dean. He patted the air between them. "Uh, hold that thought," he said, taking off through the door.

Dean glanced over at Cas, who did no more than offer him a shrug before he ducked out through one of the other doors. Dean nodded with a slight frown. "Okay, then." His nose twitched again, and he let loose a bone-jarring sneeze. "Damn." He sniffled, rubbing at his nose.

It was long past nightfall when Sam turned the corner, nearly crashing into Cas as he came around from the other direction. "Anything?"

Cas shook his head. "Though I believe your brother is upset with us at the moment. He did not look too happy when he headed to bed."

Sam brushed hair back from his face. "We'll tell him once we find the cat and get it a new home." He blew out a breath of frustration. "How hard can it be to find one animal?" He glanced over at Cas. "You can't, like, sense it or anything, can you?"

"Sense it?"

Sam shrugged.

"It's a cat, not a homing beacon."

Sam held his hands up in surrender, then turned and started walking down the hallway, hoping to spot the animal. "There has to be an easier way to find it besides wandering around the bunker hoping to cross—" Sam paused, eyeing downwards and wrinkling his nose. "Well, at least we know it's eaten recently." Sam went into a nearby bathroom to grab a few paper towels before walking back out and pressing the paper towels against the angel's chest.

Cas glanced down curiously, took the paper towels, and looked back up to Sam.

"Hey, you brought it in here—you clean up after it. And if that cat leaves a present in Dean's room . . ." Sam chuckled mirthlessly. "Man, you're on your own."

Cas frowned. "Perhaps if I heal Dean of these allergies he'll be more receptive of the cat?"

Sam pulled his head back slightly, his brow wrinkling. "You can heal allergies?"

"I believe so."

"Huh." Sam turned, but before he could get very far a yell echoed throughout the bunker. "Crap." Sam started off toward Dean's room. He knew the tone of that yell, and it wasn't a I found a cat in my room tone. It was the same tone that Sam had woken up to almost every night for the last month or so.

"Sam?"

The hunter shook his head. "Nightmares. They've been getting worse."

They made it halfway down the hall when the yells tapered off and quieted. Sam sighed in relief; normally it took Dean much longer to pull himself from the nightmares, when he could at all. Still, Sam wanted to check on him before they resumed their seemingly fruitless search for the world's most evasive ball of fluff. The duo came to a stop in front of Dean's slightly ajar door. Sam carefully pushed it open, signaling to Cas to stay in the hallway. Sam had been in Dean's room enough times while his brother was asleep to know he could come and go without waking him, but despite being familiar with and trusting Cas, he knew that an extra person in the room was guaranteed to wake the sleeping hunter.

Sam stopped at the foot of the bed; Dean was lying on his side, curled slightly inwards, and he appeared for all intents to be sleeping peacefully and deeply. Satisfied that his brother was in fact sleeping and would not being waking up sick as he had done far too many times already, Sam started backing out of the room. He paused a step away from the bed, cocking his head to the side as he heard an unexpected sound that he was positive was not coming from his brother.

Changing direction and creeping closer to the bed, Sam barely caught a bubble of laughter that threatened to bounce up. Dean's arm was wrapped around the tiny kitten, who was lying snuggly against his brother's chest, purring loudly and happily. The cat lifted its head and gave Sam a long look before yawning and laying its chin on Dean's forearm like he was right where he belonged.

Sam debated with himself for a moment, torn between removing the cat before Dean woke up sneezing a hole through the wall, leaving the cat there in case Dean's calmed sleep wasn't just a fluke, or getting a camera for future blackmail material because his older, ass-kicking, knight-of-hell-killing, purgatory-surviving, badass hunter of a brother was curled up and cuddling a kitten that maybe weighed all of a pound.

Sam decided to go with the second option: he was certain Dean didn't even realize he was cuddled up with a cat and would most likely be pissed in the morning, but it would be worth it if Dean managed a full night's sleep.

Sam closed the door softly behind him and looked to his angel friend. "Cure allergies, you say?"

Two months later

Dean had initially been upset about the cat, not as much as Sam had expected, but unhappy. However, after Cas cured Dean of his cat allergies, Dean reluctantly allowed the animal to stay. But only until they found it a better home, Dean had told him. Two months later they still hadn't found him—who actually turned out to be a her—a better home. Sam was pretty sure Dean had stopped looking about a week after he agreed she could stay. Eva, Dean had named her, though he still refused to tell either him or Cas why Eva. Every time they asked he would just get a large childish grin on his face like it was some kind of joke only he knew the punch line to.

Thanks to Eva, Dean seemed to be sleeping through most nights. On the really bad nights she would curl up against his right forearm and purr loudly like she knew what was wrong and wanted to help. Dean had confided in him once that it did in fact help, not a lot, but enough.

Sam walked into the bunker's library; he yawned widely, causing his jaw to pop. The last hunt had left him exhausted, and he had slept well into the afternoon. He rubbed the remaining bits of sleep from his eyes, only to stop short at the sight that greeted him in the library.

"Dean," Sam started exasperatedly, shaking his head.

His brother was sitting at the table eating a cheeseburger while looking at something on the computer. Sitting balanced across the back of his chair and shoulder was Eva eating pieces of said cheeseburger that Dean would tear off and feed to her.

"Morning, sleepyhead. I was starting to think you were going to sleep the day away." He looked up from the computer as Sam took a seat across from him.

"You can't feed Eva cheeseburgers—it's bad for her."

Dean just smiled, scratching under her chin and behind her ears. "You're just mad because she wouldn't eat that crap food you bought her."

"You mean cat food? Food made for cats?" Sam sighed and shook his head; Eva's eating habits had become as much a matter of discussion as Dean's eating habits were. He had tried getting her some of the better, healthier cat food, and Dean insisted she should eat what she likes, not something that tasted like ass. For the most part they came to an unspoken compromise: Eva eats the food Sam puts down for her, and Dean feeds her table scraps. All in all it makes for a very happy cat with bad table manners.

Sam smiled lightly; he was happy to see his brother in a good mood, as they were starting to become rarer. He shifted his gaze from the pair down to Dean's burger, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

Taking notice of his gaze, Dean gestured back toward the kitchen. "There's a burger on a plate waiting for you. Wasn't sure when you were going to drag yourself out of bed."

Sam pushed himself out of his chair and headed toward the kitchen; he paused at the doorway, watching as Eva bunted her head against Dean's cheek, earning herself a chin-scratch and more burger meat.

Sam wouldn't say things were getting better; in fact, they were quickly getting worse. He knew his brother was hurting and doing all he could to cover, but Sam could see through the cracks.

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