Sam holds the black kitten up, one hand under his arms, another supporting his bottom. He makes a face, tilting his head as he stares at Castiel, now in a whole new visage.
Castiel kicks his back paws, head turning this way and that, his paws flailing. His tail swishes back and forth in the air, the cat’s blue eyes widening in alarm. Sam is a very tall person, and being lifted up by him in such a tiny form makes the distance to the ground a bit terrifying. Without his angelic power in him, he does not like heights, not up for testing the age old “Cats always land on their feet” myth.
“I think he wants down, Sam,” Dean says, watching the feline angel open his paws, revealing his claws as he fidgets in the younger Winchester’s hold.
Sam doesn’t hear him, too busy observing Castiel, like he can crack the spell just by staring. But the longer he stares, the more displeased Castiel grows, wiggling and scratching lightly at Sam’s hand.
Dean rolls his eyes, reaching out and grabbing Castiel from his brother, holding that kitten against his shoulder, supporting him like he would an infant. He hears claws digging into the fabric of his jacket—his favourite jacket—but refrains from commenting, mentally repeating that this is only temporary and Castiel can barely function as a human let alone a kitten.
Castiel relaxes, pressing against Dean’s shoulder, practically melting in his hold. He turns his head, the tips of his ears tickling Dean’s neck as he rests his chin on the leather, shutting his eyes as he calms down.
Sam smirks, stifling a chuckle, “I didn’t know you were a cat person.”
Dean just shoots Sam a glare, hand stroking the angel’s fluffy black fur, “Shut up.”