Chapter Text
Ryn was having a really bad day. A bad day which now lasted for centuries, as it seemed. The witches keeping her prisoner had taunted her with a newspaper today. Being taunted with a newspaper was rather tame in comparison, but the nerve-wracking thing about it was the date of publication. The twenty-first century.
She had had no idea how long she had been in the clutches of these witches.
As she pressed her small furry body further into the darkest corner of the cage she was in, shaking with distress, bits and pieces of her last hunt flashed before her mind’s eye. The one hunt which had ended her here. In a cage. As the pet of those bloody witches. Her hackles rose and with effort she managed to stem the memories from overwhelming her. It would do no good to keep reliving those dark times again. Once was enough.
So, all in all, having a bad day after realizing that the witches she had been hunting, had not only turned her into a bloody cat, but also held her prisoner all this time, should be understandable.
The only good thing in this mess was that apparently the witches weren’t aware that Ryn was still “home”. As a result, they had absolutely no qualms to talk shop in front of the caged cat. Ryn herself did her best to further the impression that she was “just” a cat. Albeit one with a very long lifespan. It had taken all of her iron will not to react to the date on the newspaper. But she’d managed.
Now, Ryn observed the witches as they did something they had never done before. They panicked. It was glorious. The hags were running about, stumbling over each other in their haste. Ryn wasn’t quite sure what they were trying to do, but whatever it was they failed spectacularly. An evil smirk flittered over the cat’s face. There was only one thing that made experienced witches loose it like that – hunters. Good ones. Perhaps this day still had potential.
Soon enough, shots echoed through the big cellar, each of them felling one of the witches. Bullets that killed witches? How interesting. No more need for all those pesky rituals.
Two men worked their way through the room, killing the witches one after the other. Ryn watched them closely, how they covered each other, always keeping each other’s backs free. They moved like they had done this countless times before, a well practiced team at work.
She perked up from her crouch in the cage’s corner and slunk into the middle of the cage. It was a joy to watch the two hunters rid the world of those darn witches. Her keen cat eyes passed over the dead witches at the floor, then narrowed. Where was that bitch Magda? Ryn quickly scanned the dark areas of the cellar. Magda had always had an affinity for cowardly attacks, stabbing her victims in the back. There she was, hiding onto one of the crates, preparing to strike from above.
Ryn hissed and arched her back, trying to make the two hunters aware of the threat poised to jump at them.
The taller of the two hunters heard the cat hiss, and followed its line of sight, quickly spotting the remaining witch. He aimed and fired, and the last witch of the coven fell lifeless to the floor.
Ryn’s fur settled and she sat on her haunches, very satisfied with herself as she cleaned her left front paw.
The hunter with the bow legs turned to the other. “Nice shot, Sammy, glad we didn’t miss that one. I hate getting whammied by those witches. We sure that’s all of them?”
The tall one –Sammy?– secured his weapon and put it away after another careful glance around. “Yeah, that’s twelve witches as ordered.” He inspected the wall with the empty cages, then turned to the single cage that sat separately. Its cage was on top of a very altar-like looking table, and was the only occupied one in the cellar. The black cat in it was cleaning its front paw very meticulously and seemed smug. He stepped closer, making the cat stop and fix him with a wary stare. “Actually Dean,” he crouched, so that he was on eye level with the cat, “actually, I think I would have missed the last witch, if it weren’t for that cat.”
“Oh come on now, the cat told you?! Psh.”
What was that supposed to mean? Credit, where credit’s due! Ryn was not impressed. She unsheathed her claws, flexing them as she bared her fangs. For good measure she let a dry hiss hear and fixed the moron with her best stare.
An amused chuckle came from the crouching hunter, but she wasn’t willing to stand down from her death glare match with the moron, with Dean.
“Uh, Sam, that cat is staring at me.” Dean took a step back an to the side, but Ryn stayed focused at him, hissing all the time.
Call her petty, but Ryn found she quite enjoyed how the experience hunter squirmed under her stare.
“Hey Cat, do you want out?”
Hearing that nickname shocked her out of her duel. Cat? Really? She’d hated the name, even before those witches had cursed her, but now? She absolutely detested it. A deep growl startled out of her.
“Ookay, Cat-“ she growled louder, “I take that as a no…” Sam trailed off, cocking his head as he thought. The growl subsided. “Hm, I wonder- Cat.” The growling started again. “Kitty?” The growling stopped, and the cat seemed only slightly miffed. “Cat.” The growling again.
“Do you really have to wind the cat up? Can we not just leave it here?”
Ryn fixed Dean with another of her death stares, slightly raising her upper lip to show her sharp fangs again.
“I am not trying to wind it up, I am trying to prove a point. Just give me a minute Dean, yeah?”
Dean huffed, but didn’t argue further.
Ryn turned her attention back to Sam, who was still crouched in front of her cage.
“So- Kitty, do you want out?”
Slightly embarrased about her involuntary reaction to the nickname Cat, Ryn sat on her haunches, wrapping her tail around her body. She wasn’t quite sure yet if she wanted to throw in her lot with these two and show her paw, so to speak, that she wasn’t actually a cat. She simply didn’t know enough about them, or the time they lived in. She didn’t know what had happened to her family, to her friends, or if any of her enemies were still around and kicking. And since she didn’t actually have a choice about staying a cat for the time being, at least until she figured out how to lift the curse, she might as well keep hiding as an ordinary cat.
But for her to learn about this new age, to find out what happened to her family, and to break this curse, she had to get out of this cage. Plan made, she did what any self-respecting cat, ha!, would do, when trying to coerce a human. She put on her best ‘I am a helpless kitty, please take care of me’-face and meowed.
It worked like a charm. Sam smiled and reached for the bolt keeping her cage shut. “Alright, let’s get you out of here.”
Dean groaned. “But we are not taking the cat with us, Sam! You know I am allergic to them.”
As the cage door swung open, Ryn stepped out carefully, bumping her head affectionately into Sam’s hand as a thank you. Sam scoped her up with big hands and startled an undignified mrew out of Ryn.
“Come on, Dean, we can’t just leave her here.” Sam cradled the cat’s body against his chest. Ryn was more than a little bit embarrassed, when she felt the purr start up in her own chest. But after so long in that cage, all alone, the petting strokes felt so good on her fur.
“What if it’s not a cat, but a familiar? Trusting a cat is one thing, but trusting a cat that can shapeshift and grow opposable thumbs? Sounds like a highway to ‘get dead fast’,” Dean scoffed.
“She is not a familiar. We just killed all the witches in the coven. If she were a familiar, her witches’ death would’ve killed her as well.”
Ryn hissed at the thought of being a familiar and having to follow the orders of those bloody witches.
“Right, right, I knew that. What about shapeshifter?” Dean tried again.
“Well, let’s take her through the paces.” Sam shrugged.
With a sigh, Dean gestured towards the stairs. “Alright then, get going, I want to get back home before tomorrow and we still have to clean up here.”
Bickering back and forth, the two hunters left the cellar. Ryn was still in Sam’s arms, when she saw her first car. She’d heard the witches talking, so she recognized it, but still – she was fascinated. Sam saw how the cat in his arms perked up at the sight of Baby.
“That’s our ride, a ’67 Chevy Impala, or as Dean likes to call her ‘Baby’” He continued to stroke the cat soothingly.
Dean arched an eyebrow at Sam. “Explaining the world to a cat, Sam? Really?!”
Sam flushed a bit, but stayed silent. That wouldn’t do, found Ryn, and started purring vehemently, in an effort of positive reinforcement – trying to get the point across without words. Sam smiled at the loudly purring cat in his arms; apparently she liked to hear him talk.
Dean had opened the trunk in the meantime, fetching a silver knife and flask of holy water. Holding the two items, he looked at the cat in Sam’s arms, then down at the knife. After a moment of thought, he put the knife back and reappeared with a silver coin.
Wise decision douchbag. Ryn was almost a bit disappointed. Now she didn’t have a good excuse for clawing him up. What a pity. She sighed internally.
Dean handed the coin to Sam, who pressed it to the underside of the cat’s front paw. Both hunters visibly relaxed when nothing happened. Dean cleared his throat, “So, not a shifter.”
Sam hummed in agreement.
Ryn watched as Dean poured holy water into his palm and offered it to her. She pondered biting him, just because, but then she found she was actually quite thirsty, so she amused him and drank the holy water. It was refreshing, if a bit stale, but nothing happened.
“See, just a cat.” Sam threw Dean a ‘told you so’-glance, and added, “Probably a hungry cat.”
Dean stashed coin and flask, and got salt and gasoline. “I’m gonna go ahead and burn the bodies. Knock yourself out, Dr Doolittle.” With that he vanished down the stairs of the cellar.
Sam placed the cat on the roof of the Impala and rounded the car to the trunk. “Let’s see if we find anything tasty for you.”
Ryn stretched on the warm car roof, flexing all of her muscles. Then she padded on silent paws to the rear. She coiled her body and jumped up on the opened lid, peering into the trunk.
Sam startled a bit. “Hey there, you curious?” He smiled.
Ryn watched as he rifled through the contents of the trunk. It was quite the arsenal. Shot guns, ammunition, blades of various lengths, charms, and whatnot. It reminded her of her own saddle bags, a long time ago.
Sam grumbled, and went to look into the freezer on the backseat. Ryn followed him on the car roof, perching on the edge and peering inside. A moment later, Sam reappeared, holding a wrapped sandwich. “Tuna sandwich it is!”
He moved to the other side of the car, where the car’s shadow touched ground. Here, he placed the deconstructed sandwich on the ground. After some more rummaging in the trunk, he added a small bowl with water.
Ryn jumped down from the roof and sniffed at the food carefully. It smelled like fish. She glanced sceptically at Sam. Eating fish in a landlocked region, in the middle of the summer, on an especially hot day seemed like a daft idea.
“I made it myself this morning. See, it’s not bad.” He scooped some of the tuna and ate it.
Since he didn’t keel over immediately, Ryn decided tuna sandwiches made by Sam were her new best friend and attacked the food.
Sam chuckled and stroked the cat. “I’m gonna help Dean.”
Later, once all the bodies were burned and the cellar was cleared out – they couldn’t just leave all the witchy stuff lying around, could they? – Sam and Dean repacked the car.
Sam had cleaned up both, the sad remains of the tuna sandwich and the empty bowl, after another annoyed glance from Dean. The cat was nowhere to be seen. While Dean didn’t seem very sad about that, Sam had looked around a little bit, but he couldn’t spot it.
He couldn’t help a sad sigh leaving him, as he got into the car. Just as Dean slammed the trunk shut, Sam saw something on the floor of the foot room. A sleek black tail swished back and forth. Careful, as not to hurt the cat, Sam pushed the tail under the front bench, out of sight. A blink-and-you-missed-it smile darted over Sam’s face.
“What a pity that the cat ran away, right Sammy?” Dean didn’t even try to hide how not sincere he meant that.
“Yeah, what a pity…”