author's note: I am not attempting to imply in this short tale that all dogs hate cats. I have had dogs who lived quite happily with cats, some who even wanted to play with the cats, and others who hated them so intently I could not walk the dog without a leash because she would light out after any and every cat with the intent to kill. (Not that a ten pound dog chasing a twenty pound cat isn't amusing, but it can turn nasty pretty quick – usually for the dog.) I currently live in a household with two cat-tolerant dogs and a cat who started out as an extreme dog-hater. She has mellowed. Some. Cats do growl. I have proof.

Sam and the Cats – L&D 'verse (If you haven't read Light and Dark, this won't make a lick of sense.)

Dean stood stubbornly on the sidewalk, steadfastly refusing to even approach the house. "Sam, you know why," he argued calmly.

"Dean, you have to," Sam insisted. Every cell in his body dreaded walking up to that front door.

Dean motioned to the large dog by his side. "If you can convince her to stay out here with you, I'll go. Otherwise you have to, dude."

Sam stared down at Hillary. "Please?"

She snorted at him before lowering her furry butt to sit on Dean's feet. Stubborn damn dog. Of course, she was the reason he didn't want to go in there in the first place.

"I'll wait out here with you," Sam tried. "I think I left some treats in the car."

Hillary's ears perked up a little at the mention of treats. Deep brown eyes stared at him carefully before her massive head shook with another derisive snort.

"You heard her," Dean stated. "Go on, Sam. It never used to bother you."

Yeah, and he never used to be bonded with a cat-hating dog before, either. Okay, this was Hillary's hang-up, not his. He could do this.

Crap. Sam inhaled deeply before turning his back on his brother and the dog. He would like to blame Hillary for her obsessive attachment to Dean, but he couldn't. After the number of times Sam had taken off on Dean, his biggest fear had grown to be waking up one day to discover Dean gone. Fortunately for him, Dean assumed Hillary was just a possessive mutt.

Irony sucked. Big time. Sam thought about that as he approached the bright blue front door with leaden footsteps. Hillary wouldn't leave Dean's side, so Sam had to do this interview alone. He knocked lightly, hoping if the woman was home she wouldn't hear his knock or, if she heard it, that she still would not open the door.

The door opened far enough for the elderly woman, easily in her eighties if not nineties, to peer out. She had to be Missus Brogan. "Yes?"

Sam's attention darted from her face down to floor level. He was having a difficult time concentrating. "Uh, ma'am, I'm with the, uh, Herald." Surely there was a paper called the Herald around here. Right? "If you're Missus Brogan, I was wondering if I could ask you a few, uh..."

A furry face with long white whiskers and pointed ears poked out the door between the woman's leg and the doorframe. Sam froze at the sight.

"Get back, William," Missus Brogan fussed, gently prodding the cat back inside with her foot. "I'm sorry. He's too adventurous for his own good. Now is this about what happened at the restaurant?"

Sam nodded as he forced his gaze up from the curious feline face studying him. "Yes, ma'am. I'd appreciate it if I could just ask you a couple of questions."

"Why certainly." The old woman's face lit up. "Come on in. Would you like some coffee?"

"Oh, uh, no. That isn't necessary..." Sam attempted to lodge a protest.

"Nonsense," she replied, clearly used to having her own way. "You come on in." Her hands were deceptively strong as she guided him inside, past the sentry cat. "William!" Missus Brogan fussed again, shooing the cat out of the way of the door.

Sam passed through the small entryway to a decent sized sitting room with a heavy floral design. The walls were done in a dusky rose floral pattern, the sofa fabric was large print roses, and even the carpet was flowery. A grouping of framed photographs caught his eye. They all had people in them, people holding bunches of flowers.

"Those are my grandchildren," Missus Brogan explained. "Aren't they beautiful?"

"Nice family," Sam replied, trying to sound agreeable. Maybe he could escape faster if he went along with what she wanted. "Ma'am? About the restaurant?"

"Let me fetch that coffee for you, young man. Now what is your name?" She walked away into the kitchen.

"Sam," he called out to her back. All the small hairs on the back of his neck stiffened, like someone was watching him. Sam turned to survey the room again. Now instead of all the horrible floral patterns, Sam saw eyes. From under the sofa as well as the back, inside the bookcase, on top of the table and piano were sets of eyes staring at him. Five cats. A mewing caught his attention and Sam looked down. Correction: six cats. The one Missus Brogan had called William stood a few feet in front of him mewing. He wondered if it was saying hello or bitching him out for being here. Either way, he was surrounded by the enemy.

The muscles in his shoulders tightened and his eyes narrowed on the small furry critters. Who in their right minds would keep six freaking cats? Unless they were for target practice?

Sam tried to shake off the disturbing thoughts. That sounded more like Hillary than him. He backed away until he was in the kitchen with Mrs Brogan. "Ma'am?" he asked in his most polite voice. "Would you mind telling me about what happened in the restaurant?"

"Oh, certainly. Why don't you sit down?" She patted a wooden chair with a rose-shaped cushion on the seat. "Sam, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am." Sam sat slowly, watching intently for the small felines to follow him in there. It felt like they were stalking him, as if he were prey.

As Mrs Brogan related her horrifying tale of floating cutlery and flashing lights, whiskers poked past the kitchen entry. The whiskers were followed by a pink nose and a set of beady cat eyes. He heard a soft sound, barely audible over Mrs Brogan's voice, and his eyes snapped to the kitchen counter. A solid black cat stood there, watching him. Its head tilted to one side, sizing him up. Sam's shoulders tensed. When another cat appeared behind the black one, he had to swallow hard and found the old woman's story impossible to follow. She was saying something about screaming, but he had no idea why. The cat with the white nose sat only a few feet in front of him, staring at him with those nasty dark cat-eyes.

His hand clenched around the mug of coffee, which felt good and solid against his palm.

A fourth cat sauntered in past the others to drink from a small bowl of water against the far wall, never even casting a glance in his direction. Sam decided it was trying to lull him into a sense of false security, because he was seriously outnumbered now.

When the fifth and sixth cats appeared leaping over the backside of the kitchen counter, Sam had had more than enough. It was time to leave, before they could mount a full-scale attack. He stood slowly with coffee in hand, not wanting to tip them off before he was ready.

–

Dean waited calmly outside the cat-woman's house. This wasn't the first elderly woman Sam had interviewed, he should be able to handle it. The old lady was probably baking him and his puppy-eyes cookies right now. Dean started to chuckle to himself when he glanced down at the dog sitting on his left foot.

Hillary stared at the house and all of the fur between her shoulders stood straight out. As he watched, the fur down her spine began to stand up too. Uh-oh.

"What is it, Hill?" Dean demanded as he rested one hand on the top of her head. "Something happen?"

A low growl started deep in her chest. Cccccaaaaattttt.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. That's why you're out here and Sam's in there."

The growl grew louder as more fur on her back stiffened. Bbbbbbaaaaaaddddd cccccaaaaaattttttt.

"Hill?" Dean asked as he cocked one eyebrow at her. "What's going on? Is Sam all right?"

She stood with a careful slowness Dean had learned was part of the big dog's stealth mode. She took two steps before Dean decided to stop her, knowing if she were out of physical reach and thought she knew better, Hillary would ignore him.

"Hillary," he said in a warning voice as he moved closer to her. Her head snapped up to look at him, deep chocolate brown eyes staring. Next he heard a loud crash from inside the house, followed by the noise of a breakable object slamming into a wall.

Dean broke into a run, charging at the house on Hillary's heels. She reached the door first, barking and growling as she jumped against it. Now Dean could also hear the woman who lived here yelling and screaming.

"What do you think you're doing? … Get out! Just get out!!"

With one hand he yanked Hillary off the door while using his free hand to reach for the doorknob. Dean flipped the door open, revealing an extremely pissed off Sam glaring over the four foot tall elderly woman into the main room of the house.

"Sam!" Dean snapped, one hand on Hillary's collar. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam backed slowly out the front door amid the woman's shouts and a cacophony of feline hissing and angry small growls. Cats could growl? Who knew?

Hillary planted her paws firmly on the doorsill to growl at the interior of the house until Sam was safely outside.

"And if you come back, I'll call the police!" the old woman yelled before slamming the door in their faces.

Dean released the dog in favor of spinning Sam around and away from the house. He marched his brother to the street and their parked car, trusting Hill to follow. "What was that, Sam? What happened?" he demanded.

Sam's face was still red and he seemed to be seething with anger. "Crazy old woman," he muttered under his breath. "Stupid cats."

"Sam!" Dean snapped as he slapped his brother in the back of the head. Hard. Maybe something loose in there would knock back into place.

Sam turned to glare at him. "No more cat ladies," he said with a low growl. "I mean it, Dean."

"Since when have you had a problem with cat ladies?" Dean demanded in utter disbelief.

"Since I figured it out!" Sam shouted at him.

Dean took a couple of deep breaths as Sam threw himself into the passenger seat. With deliberate movements, he opened the door for Hillary to load up. She jumped into the back seat and then stomped over to stare out the passenger side window at the house. A low growl came from the big dog as Dean slid into the driver's seat.

"You said it," Sam grumbled, also glaring out the window.

"Figured what out?" Dean asked as he turned to face his brother.

Sam had a strange but determined look on his face. "Cats," he spat out.

Dean glanced quickly out the window toward the cat-house, assuring himself there was no mounted retaliation for Sam's bad manners, before resting his gaze on the stress and boiling anger beside him. "What about them?" Dean tried to keep his tone calm, cool and collected.

"They're evil," Sam spat as he crossed his arms over his chest. He glared over his shoulder at the house. "Are we leaving or what?" A low growl punctuated his question.

Dean started the engine and waited until they were well away from the old woman's house before trying to talk to his brother again. Then he looked over at the identical expressions worn by his brother and his dog. Oh good grief! Stupid freaking bonding. Dean felt like slamming his head against a wall. Hard. Yeah, some people did need a freaking brick wall to fall on them. What had he been thinking, sending his little brother who was bonded with a cat-hating dog, in to interview a cat-lady? He should've done the stupid interview by phone.

"No more cat ladies," Dean stated. "Ever."

He felt the warm, humid breath on his neck before the slobbery muzzle rested on his shoulder. Dean reached up to scratch Hill's head affectionately.

"Really?" Sam asked in a small voice from the passenger seat.

"Really." Dean shifted his hand to massage one of Hill's ears, a sure way of calming her down. Maybe if Hill settled down, Sam would too.

"Good," Sam said in a drawn-out sigh. Dean glanced over to see that the massage was working. Sam was stretched out in the passenger seat, tension dropping from his shoulders and the scowl disappearing. Then again, sometimes this bonding thing really had its perks.