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Title: Hairballs
Author: Gedry
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4382
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am making no profit from this fanfiction.
Beta: none
Spoilers: none
Warnings: werekitty!Dean
Summary: Follow up to the creatures prompt. I’ve added the 100 word snippet at the top so everyone knows where this story came from.

Author’s Notes: I’m writing a porny sequel to this. It just felt like this was the natural place to finish this story so please don’t kill me.

Dean/Sam– Dean Werekitty

He’s trying not to be a slut about it, he really is. But the fact is that Sam has this way of hitting just the right spot on Dean’s back, down low, right above where his tail starts.

He’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t know it’s a hot spot. Dean really doubts his little brother is purposefully trying to turn him on. Either way though, shit, it feels good.

He mewls like a kitten and scoots a little closer, Sam’s never satisfied until Dean starts in on his low, rumbling purr.

Being turned into a werekitty hasn’t been all that bad.


Getting bitten hadn’t exactly been part of Dean’s plan when he went to go face off with the werecat. He’d had a plan all ready for action, a weapon sharp enough to cut off its head, and beer sitting in the cooler in the trunk of the Impala for afterwards.

Yeah…Dean should have known the after party was going to get shot to shit as soon as he realized there was more than one of them. But he was feeling a little cocky at that point, too much time gone by without he or Sam having any accidents. He was thinking he was a little bullet proof.

Whatever higher power is out there watching him sure has some sick-ass sense of humor.

He took the bite high up on his shoulder, almost on his neck. It could have been fatal, and the verdict is still out on if that might not have been better for both of them. But Sam’s one stubborn son of a bitch and he don’t give up easy. They had cleaned up the pack and then Sam drug him bleeding and sick back to the car, back to the motel.

He nursed Dean like a baby for weeks while Dean vacillated between unconsciousness, anger, and pleading for death. They waited the time out on pins and needles until the moon made it’s rotation in the sky.

Time for the change, time for Dean to lose his humanity and become a monster.

But it doesn’t happen that way.

It goes more like this…


“You should just shoot me,” Dean orders from where he’s slumped in the corner of a cabin out in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere land South Dakota.

Sam pointedly ignores him like he’s been doing for weeks as they’ve waited for tonight.

“I mean it,” Dean snarls out, scratching at his chest and panting while sweat drips down the side of his face and soaks through his shirt. He’s hot, so fucking hot. Dean can’t stand himself right now, ready to peel off his skin and claw his way out of his own body. It’s wrong, so wrong and alien and dirty. He hates this, just wants Sam to end it before he has to actually become something other than who he knows himself to be. “Just do it before I hurt you. Please, Sammy!”

And okay, he’s begging. They’ve been here before but Dean’s not sure he’s ever felt so scared, not even when he was getting sent to Hell. At least he knew then that Sam would still be alive. Any minute now the moon’s going to hit its peak in the sky and Dean’s going to go feral and rip his little brother’s face off.

Sam just keeps sitting there, the last moments of their brotherhood slipping away and Sam’s staring at the wall in front of his chair like Dean’s not suffering on the floor a few feet away.

“I hate you,” Dean growls out and it’s then he notices that his voice is changing, timber deep and growly. It’s too late, it’s already started.

He watches with blurring vision as Sam finally moves, shoving the desk and the bed in front of the already bolted door before crouching down and crawling across the floor to Dean’s corner and flattening himself out on his belly next to Dean’s side. Sam’s extra large hand coming to rest carefully, but firmly, around Dean’s quivering wrist as he turns his head and meets Dean’s eyes.

“I love you, Dean.” Sam whispers. “No matter what, I’m here.”

It’s like his world rips apart into a million little pieces, Dean feels constricted and enormously free at the same time. He opens his mouth to scream and hears a yowl instead. Totally disconnected from his body except for being able to focus with intense detail on the twisting and changing of the bones in his wrist under Sam’s hand.

Fingers become toes, skin gives way to fur, nails turn to claws, and Dean…is still Dean.

He hisses, jerking up, disoriented on all fours to shake his way out of his torn and soiled clothing. He backs into the corner away from Sam who’s still watching him from the floor, prone and still. There’s noise, wind against the windows, crackling of a fire in the fireplace, a wind chime on the porch clanging far too loudly to be pleasant and the lights so bright. He growls, tries to raise his hands to cover his face and promptly falls over, gracelessly to floor yowling out his displeasure.

Sam…laughs at him. It’s soft, if he had been human he would probably have missed it, but Dean’s not human anymore, and like this, he hears fucking everything. It hurts, and head spinning or not he’s going to show Sam why laughing at a werecat isn’t a good idea.

Pouncing is less complicated than it looks, a weird combination of instinct and skill that Dean manages to pull off even it is a little wobbly. He snarls in his brother’s face as they roll across the room and takes a little bit of satisfaction in seeing a moment of terror in Sam’s eyes. He lands on top, using his weight and the tips of his claws to make sure Sam’s not going anywhere, at the last second, feeding from some place inside himself that he can’t identify it seems like it would be perfect if he could just get Sam’s throat in his mouth…so he does.

The sweet-salty taste of Sam’s skin erupts on his tongue, just the tiniest tang of sweat, aftershave, and some weird smelling hair product all being categorized by Dean’s new senses. It’s so good, so Sam that Dean feels his over stimulating world narrow down to just his brother and Sam’s scent, taste, breath, and steady heartbeat.

He’s not sure when he started purring.

“Dean?” Sam questions in a shaky voice.

It’s not like he can answer, not really, not like this. But Dean pulls his mouth away from Sam’s neck to lick a broad swipe of his tongue across his brother’s face with as much drool as possible and then relaxes his body until he’s sprawled across and on top of Sam, his long tail swinging lazily back and forth in the air behind him.

GROSS!!!” Sam erupts, shoving at Dean’s body before using his sleeve to wipe his face. “What the hell, Dean?!”

He ignore Sam’s questions in favor of dropping his head closer to Sam’s chest and listening to his heart beating, drowning out all the other, more annoying noises in their cabin. After a long time Sam’s arms slide around his feline body to slip through his fur. It makes Dean shift at first; uncomfortable with the new feeling, but once he settles Sam’s hands get bolder. After a while Dean is lounging on his brother while Sam’s hands make strong, soothing sweeps from his neck all the way down his back again and again. As dawn breaks Sam stops petting him, instead wrapping his arms around Dean’s body and squeezing him tightly.

“Oh my god,” Sam’s voice breaks and Dean nuzzles his cheek as tears leak out of Sam’s eyes, uncertain what else he can do. “Oh God, we’re going to be okay.”


That first time Dean stays a cat for three full days before suddenly changing back into human form halfway through distractedly cleaning his fur with his tongue.

Sam’s nice enough not to mention it.

In fact, Dean realizes pretty quickly that Sam’s not one hundred percent sure how much of Dean is really there in cat form.

“Do you remember anything?” Sam asks him over breakfast as Dean is all but inhaling his pancakes.

He hesitates. It’s a hard question to answer. Yes, Dean remembers in vivid detail every second of being a cat. He remembers the sound of his brother’s heart soothing him, the smell of his brother’s scent easing his fears, the whispered reassurance of Sam’s voice as Dean curled tightly against him in bed at night and purred them both to sleep.

He also remembers the uncontrollable urge to chase Sam’s laser light across the cabin floor every time his brother shined it and wiggled. Sam was really mean with that thing.

Dean’s not sure which of those trains of thought he is more embarrassed by. “It’s hazy,” he finally answers. He hates lying, but there’s an ease to the way Sam is with him as a cat that they’ve lost somehow as humans. It’s a connection Dean doesn’t want to give up, can’t stand the thought of losing again now that he knows it’s still lurking there in the shadows.

He just hopes Sam can forgive him when he realizes Dean’s lying. They’ve done this dance enough times to know how it’s going to end.

They go back to hunting. Dean can’t really say nothing’s changed between them, because everything is different. He’s different. Sam seems to have taken it all with a grain of salt and a whole lot of gratitude. For a few weeks everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

But the week before the shift is due to happen, Dean starts changing. He’s nervous, irritable. He snaps at every little thing Sam says or does and can barely stand to be near him for more than a few minutes at a time. They argue almost non-stop on their way to the next town they’re planning a hunt in and that night at the bar they stick to opposite sides of the room.

Or Dean tries to, until this little blond starts rubbing herself all over his brother like she’s in heat. He doesn’t think about it, launching himself into her personal space and baring his teeth at her on a snarl. He’s only dimly aware of Sam dragging him away from the bitch and stuffing him in the car. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sam demands as he drives out of town before they even get the hunt started.

Dean ignores him, hot face pressed to the passenger side window. He knows he fucked up, made this hunt impossible. But the rage, the call of mine, mine, MINE, inside his soul just won’t let go.

Sam belongs to him, damn it.

Sam belongs with Dean.


He scents the relief coming from Sam as soon as he turns. It has Dean slinking across the room on his padded feet to rub and mark his brother as his territory. Sam should smell like him, always.

Sam just snorts out relief and laughter, tugging on Dean’s fur and bending down to nuzzle against his face. “Big stupid old Tom cat,” Sam sighs with a smile. “That’s all you are. Possessive little shit, Dean.”

Dean mouths at Sam’s arm in reprimand, enough to remind Sam he has big teeth, but not enough to break the skin.

It’s been a few months, the transitions are less disconcerting than they used to be. They’ve run into a few road blocks during the process, some of which are self imposed. For one, Sam won’t hunt with Dean close to changing. It’s not something Dean likes or agrees with, at all. He’s made the argument several times for the benefits of him hunting as a cat and Sam shoots them all down instantly with his one infallible argument.

Dean isn’t fully in control in his werecat form.

Or, at least, Dean’s lead Sam to believe that’s the case. So he can’t really own up to it not being true without making his brother want to strangle him.

The problem that Dean considers to be the only other huge drawback to his condition, is that the television holds no joy for him as a cat. His eyes don’t pick up the screen like he does when he’s human. So he and Sam don’t watch much TV when he’s furry.

It’s kind of…nice, really. Sam reads to him sometimes, some of Dean’s old favorites rolling off Sam’s tongue as Dean presses close to his side in the king sized bed and drifts along this instinctual concept of home that always comes from being with Sam while he’s a cat.

Other times they wrestle, Dean tries not to think too hard about all the reasons why Sam almost never touches him when he’s human. When they’re together like this all the rules and boundaries they’ve made over the years seem to fall away. Dean’s at peace like this, and more than that…Sam seems like he is too.

His favorite times are right before they drift off to sleep. Sam will sprawl beside him, lazy and relaxed as he strokes his way through the scruff around Dean’s neck and he’ll whisper in his half asleep voice all the secrets he’s scared to tell Dean when Dean can talk back.

It’s like having his brother back again.

It as close to perfect as Dean’s ever hoped to have, and more and more often he dreads waking up human and fights off sleep as long as possible.


By eight months in he’s able to shift back out of his cat form pretty much at will. Well, except for during the full moon, he doesn’t really have a choice at that point. But it’s still a secret he’s hiding from Sam. Dean feels terrible about it when he allows himself to ponder it for too long. But the facts are that Dean knows with explicit clarity by this point that he has a huge problem.

He went to Bobby, they did the research. Dean knows why he isn’t a stark raving monster covered in fur like every other Were seems to be. It’s because of Sam.

Sam, his brother.

Sam, his…mate.

He had begged Bobby to not tell Sam, gotten down on his knees in front of the man he’s come to think of as more of a father to him than his own Dad ever was and out right pleaded for Bobby to hold onto this secret. Dean can’t lose Sam now, not when losing him means not only being alone, but becoming a monster.

It’s only his soul-tie to Sam that’s keeping him human. That would be okay, if it weren’t for the rest of it. If it weren’t for the urges he’s having more and more often to claim what’s his.

Dean’s eaten up inside with need to mark Sam as his so no one else will try and take him. He’s restless, prowling in the dark when Sam goes out for the few hours for what he calls, “Alone time,” and Dean knows he really means, “Getting laid.” He can smell it on Sam when he comes back, sometimes for a day or two even after a shower. The horrible- bad-wrong scent of other that makes Dean have to lock himself in the bathroom and shift back and forth a few times to get himself under control.

He’s starting to slip down the slippery slope into something to be hunted, and he knows it.

Now, Bobby knows it too.

“You have to tell him, Dean,” Bobby cautions as they get ready to hit the road again, plans to hook back up in Minnesota in three weeks time.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Dean says petulantly only to have his adopted father figure back him up against the wall of their temporary home and growl, “If you hurt him, Dean…”

“I expect you to take me out,” Dean answers, meeting Bobby’s gaze as levelly as he can. “I expect you to kill me, don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, Son,” Bobby sounds exasperated as he tugs Dean in for a rarely given hug.

Dean closes his eyes and imprints Bobby’s smell to his memory. He wants to be able to scent him if he should ever need to.

This whole thing is stupid, he should have had the balls to end it himself before it got this far.

There’s only so much pretending Dean can take and he knows, as he gets behind the wheel that night with Sam in the passenger seat and drives away, he knows he reached his limit a while ago.


“I’m going out,” Sam says conversationally as they settle into their hotel.

Dean slams the laptop down onto the table too hard and Sam flinches.

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Dean growls, he can feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “My problem is you. Why do you have to be such a slut, Sammy?”

Sam’s bitch face morphs into immediate anger. “Since when do you give a shit who I sleep with?”

“You need to learn you place,” Dean snaps, the words flying out of his mouth before he considers them. “You need to show a little respect. The way you act, just rolling out of one bed and into another. It’s like you don’t even care.”

“Care about what, Dean?” Sam snaps. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for,” Dean breathes out through his nose and rolls his shoulders as he tries to hold back the need to change, to shift, to bite down and force Sam to stay with him. He’s not an animal, he’s not. “You haven’t stopped for a second to figure it out. You just brush it aside, I know you do. There’s no way you can’t feel it, you have to feel it, Sam.”

Dean has to believe it, there’s no way he can be this connected to his brother on such a base level and Sam not feel something in return. If Sam doesn’t understand, then there’s just no hope.

“You know what?” Sam blurts suddenly, tone bitter and accusing. “I’m sick of your attitude. You’re so moody it’s like you have constant PMS. I can’t stand you like this, Dean. I like you better as a cat.”

It’s like a slap in the face.

“Oh,” Dean says flatly, emotions swirling inside him but he can’t pick one out to focus on. “That so? What is it you like better, Sammy? Is it the fur? Cuz you sure like to stroke it. The purring? You make that stupid little hum noise back at me when I do it. Or is the fact that I can’t talk back that makes you the happiest? You know, when your whispering every dirty little filthy thing you have ever lied to me about into my pointed, fuzzy ear?”

“You lied to me!” Sam barks out, taking a few steps forward with his hands out like he wants to grab Dean and shake him before he hesitates. “You son of a bitch. I trusted you, looked after you, hell worried myself sick over you, and you were lying to me. Go fuck yourself, Dean.”

He turns, stalking out the door into the night without ever looking back. Hours pass, Dean trying to call his cell phone again and again and having it go straight to voicemail. The sun rises and sets the following day and Sam never comes back.

That night the moon rises full in starless winter sky, and Dean…Dean locks the hotel room door behind him, holds back the transition until he steps deep into the woods and strips off his clothes. He turns then, becomes the cat.

And goes hunting.


He’s not sure how long it’s been since he was human, time doesn’t mean as much when he’s like this. There’s no calendar, no schedule, no rules. He eats when he’s hungry, sleeps when he’s tired, wanders when he’s bored.

Dean’s almost convinced he could live out his life this way…almost.

There are moments when he dreams of soft beds and warm arms. He wakes hearing the low tones of a familiar voice against his ear and for a moment he remembers what it was like to be human, to be Dean Winchester.

I like you better as a cat.

Dean hates thinking about Sam.

It’s better to lose himself in his instincts and be the monster he was supposed to be. So that’s what he does. So far, he’s kept himself in check amongst the humans he occasionally crosses paths with…so far. But his urges are getting stronger and his mind more feral the longer he stays in this form.

It’s not going to matter soon, Dean knows it. He’s going to attack someone and once he does then there is no going back.

He’s slinking through the woods long the river one night exploring the new territory he’s wander into when he catches an almost forgotten scent on the wind.

Bobby. Bobby’s in these woods. Dean crouches down, senses on the alert. If Bobby is here then Dean knows he’s here to hunt, and most likely here to hunt Dean.

He’s trying his best to slip away into the darkness, away from the smell of his family. Dean doesn’t want a confrontation, doesn’t want to have to hurt one of his own. He’s not an animal, not yet, he’s still in control…mostly.

But as he’s moving there’s another smell on the wind, this scent more heady than Bobby’s, it makes Dean bare his teeth and pant in through his mouth to get a better feel for it.

Sam’s here. So close Dean can almost taste him on the breeze, and oh, he wants to go to Sam, throw himself at his mate’s feet and beg for attention. Everything in him screams for that connection just one more time.

But the sound of branches breaking and feet pounding across the ground snaps him out of his day dream. If they’re trying to sneak up on him they are doing a seriously shitty job of it.

Then the wind shifts and Dean smells something else out in the night, something gross and horrible and it’s barreling after his brother as Sam runs away.

Dean snarls, launching across the ground at lightening speed as he heads Sam’s direction. He’s still a hunter, even if he isn’t human and nothing in these woods is going to hurt his family so long as he can stop it.

He dashes along the ridge across from where he can see the beast gaining ground on his brother. Sam turns, firing shot after shot into the thing before he runs out of bullets and pulls his knife. Something in Dean lights up at the sight of it, his brother, his mate, willing to fight to end.

Sam never gets the chance to touch the thing. Dean slams into his head on, the impact hurtling them down the nearby hill and into a tree. He feels some of his ribs crack, but nothing matter now but the hunt, the kill. It’s over in moments, Dean scratched and beaten before he finally manages to gain the upper hand and clamp his mouth around the creatures throat. It snaps with a sickening click and Dean lets its dead flesh drop to his feet before staggering a few steps away and collapsing into an injured heap.

The night fades to blackness around him and he knows nothing else.



“Dean, please.”

“Dean, please wake up. We can’t help you like this. Please!

It’s on the fuzzy edges of his mind that Dean recognizes Sam’s voice. He’s so strongly centered in the pain rushing in his body that it’s hard to focus on the words, harder still to do what his brother is asking of him.

“Open your eyes, Dean.”

Sam sounds desperate; his scent charged with a fear that wasn’t present even when he was running from the monster in the woods. It’s the fear that makes Dean listen, opening bloodshot eyes and turning them toward his brother’s tear stained face.

Sam looks like hell.

“Dean?” Sam asks hesitantly, like he’s scared he’s hoping for too much.

Dean manages a blink.

Air rushes out of Sam as he pets along Dean’s neck. “We need you to change back, Dean. Can you do that for me?”

He’s honestly not sure is he can. It must show on his face because Sam’s eyes tear up moisture spilling down his cheeks. “Dean, please. Don’t give up on me now. Change back so we can help you. You can do this.”

Sam’s bending over now, face pressed against whatever Dean’s feline head is resting on as Sam pushes in close to his face and whispers, “Please…Mate. Change for me.”

Lips ghost across his muzzle and he’s overwhelmed with the dizzying need to kiss Sam, to be able to have at least that much if this is the end. He feels his body sluggishly responding to his urges and when he reaches out a filthy paw to touch Sam it’s his dirt covered, blood-stained hand that cups Sam’s cheek. Dean’s mouth opening, sliding across Sam’s lips weakly, just the smallest tastes of what could have been.

Then Sam jerks away, swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and exclaims, “Jesus Dean, your breath is rank. After we stitch you up I’m drowning you with Listerine before I ever let you kiss me again.”

Sam’s still petting his hair tenderly and Dean gives him a shaky smile. One Sam returns quickly. It’s all Dean can manage, exhaustion dragging him back under.

But human again, and finally home.



( 21 comments — Leave a comment )
Nov. 3rd, 2011 02:38 am (UTC)
OMG- Poor Dean!!!! They both have some major groveling to do at each other's feet! lol

Nov. 4th, 2011 08:16 pm (UTC)
Yes they do! Thank you!
Nov. 3rd, 2011 02:46 am (UTC)
*bouncy bouncy bouncy* So happy! Clearly something went terribly awry in my life that I have a kitty!boy kink, but whatever! This is LOVE!
Nov. 3rd, 2011 10:45 pm (UTC)
I'd like to point out that it's because of YOU I have a kitty! Jensen /Dean kink
Nov. 4th, 2011 08:17 pm (UTC)
You are awesome! I love you so much!
Nov. 3rd, 2011 02:48 am (UTC)
Hell yes this needs a sequel! :)
Nov. 4th, 2011 08:17 pm (UTC)
It's written I'm fixing it now!
Nov. 3rd, 2011 05:02 am (UTC)
The funny thing is, I kind of liked Sam better when Dean was a cat. So awesome!

Nov. 4th, 2011 08:17 pm (UTC)
Me too! LOL
Nov. 3rd, 2011 07:55 am (UTC)
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...dont leave it there...*wimpers* and *snarls*..lol....Lordy that was sooooooo good::DDDDDD
Nov. 4th, 2011 08:17 pm (UTC)
Follow up is already written! Thank you so much!
Nov. 3rd, 2011 03:29 pm (UTC)
Squee! I love this fic so, so much. I'm all warm and fuzzy inside, and i cant't wait for the sequel. ^_^
Nov. 4th, 2011 08:18 pm (UTC)
Coming up tonight!
(Deleted comment)
Nov. 4th, 2011 08:18 pm (UTC)
You have everything right but the color of Dean. You'll find out in the next one! *hugs*
Nov. 4th, 2011 04:11 am (UTC)
LOVED IT!!!!!!!!!! I was soooooooooo hoping you'd write a longer Werekitty!Dean fic! And I can NOT wait until the porny sequel :D !
Nov. 4th, 2011 08:18 pm (UTC)
Coming tonight! Thanks so much!
Nov. 4th, 2011 05:39 pm (UTC)
Aw, this was wonderful :D
Nov. 4th, 2011 08:19 pm (UTC)
That's you!
(Deleted comment)
Mar. 11th, 2012 01:44 am (UTC)
Yes, there is much to scrunch up your face at in this story.
Mar. 9th, 2012 05:39 am (UTC)
*snickers* oh its so them. I love how Dean just refuses to do anything that would hurt Sammy. It's not over the top or dramatic, he just digs his heels in and says no.
Mar. 11th, 2012 01:44 am (UTC)
( 21 comments — Leave a comment )

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