Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In retrospect, he should have known much sooner that something was wrong with Cas, but hindsight was 20/20 as the saying went, and Dean’s eyes weren’t as sharp as they used to be.

It had started with Cas being somewhat twitchy, and the angel soon lost any ability to stand or sit still. During their whole, albeit short drive to Seward, Nebraska, while Sam bombarded them with intel on their potential case - a couple of dead people, all of them married women and all of them killed by their husbands - Cas seemed to be distracted. But at first, Dean only blamed the fact they decided to take Jack with them. Cas was always a bit uneasy about bringing Jack to a case, since he was an overprotective son of a bitch, so Dean didn’t think twice about it when Cas, completely uncharacteristically, asked him to repeat a question or when he totally spaced out while Sam was talking. He probably should have known that something was going on, because if he thought about it, every single time Cas had been behaving weirdly in the past, it was because something was very wrong (because things were never easy with his best friend, were they?).

Still, Dean didn’t really pick up on it until Cas started the glowy eyes thing. During the first two days of their hunt, while talking to distraught relatives and meddlesome neighbors, Cas was grumpier and more on edge than usual, but it was on day three when things got really weird.  On their way to the local police station, when Cas’ eyes started to glow in random intervals, and the angel apparently couldn’t control it, even Jack got nervous. 

“Is something going on, Castiel?” Jack asked, clearly bewildered.

“Everything’s fine,” Cas assured them, but he could have saved his breath, because ‘fine’ didn’t mean shit in the Winchester family. 

“Alright then, if you say so,” Dean said shrugging, because Dean had always believed in running away from his problems until they caught up with him, and Cas’ eye thing seemed like a ‘later’ problem to him.

“Are you sure though?” Sam asked.

Dean could see Sam looking at Cas with his goddamn puppy eyes that practically screamed ‘you can tell me everything, I’m here for you’. Of course, Cas was unimpressed. 

He had seen this look on the younger Winchester’s face way too often already to have any effect on him and he just sent a pleading glance in Dean’s direction before saying, “I’m multiple millennia old, Sam. Don’t you think I would know what I’m talking about? It’s nothing, don’t worry about me.” 

Even Sam shut up then, just glancing over at Jack who didn’t do more than shrug, and they decided that it would be best if Cas sat out questioning the locals for the time being but trusted Cas on the issue.  

On day four, they were pretty sure it was a siren who was responsible for the murders. It had been a good ten years since they had their last siren case, but Dean still felt uncomfortable thinking back to the guy that had him almost go after Sam. 

“Dibs on not playing bait,” he said, just because he didn’t want to go there again. 

We’re not using anyone as bait,” Sam said with a frown.

“Yeah, just wanted to clarify. I don’t need another fake brother incident or anything like that.”

“Wouldn’t it be more likely for the siren to take the form of a romantic partner, seeing that your relationship with Sam is stable, you have what I hope is a fulfilling friendship with me and of course you have Jack, your surrogate son?” Cas asked, pacing up and down their small motel room, apparently unable to keep his hands still.

Cas had shed his trenchcoat and the suit jacket at some point and was violently scratching a spot between his shoulder blades - yeah, definitely nothing wrong with him - all while looking at Dean with a tilted head and squinted eyes. 

“I don’t do romance, you know that,” Dean grumbled, but he supposed the angel was right. Maybe a romantic partner was what he longed for most - someone to wake up to every morning, someone he could be himself around. Someone who meant home for him. 

Cas only regarded Dean’s response with furrowed brows, but was soon again preoccupied with scratching his skin. When the minutes dragged on and Cas seemed nowhere nearer to relieving his itchDean got up from his chair and made his way over to his friend who still had his hand on his neck, scratching his fingers over the skin. 

“Here, let me, I can’t watch this anymore,” Dean said, mostly to draw attention away from himself, and before Cas could react, he stretched out his arm and scratched the spot on his upper back it seemed the angel wanted to reach so desperately. For a moment, everything seemed fine - Cas relaxed into Dean’s touch, maybe a bit too much, which was definitely awkward since they were standing in the middle of the motel room, with Jack and Sam both looking at them. But it was Cas and the angel still seemed to be completely oblivious towards human conventions from time to time, even after what had to be a decade of living mostly on Earth. 

Dean knew something was going completely awry about a millisecond before it happened. Cas turned his head halfway to him and he could see the angel’s wide eyes, glowing blue, followed by what felt like a mini explosion that knocked him completely off his feet. The shock wave didn’t make a sound, so the thud of Sam falling off his chair was the only thing he could hear and when he looked up, Sam’s hair was definitely puffier than before and even Jack looked a tad ruffled. 

“What the hell was that?” Dean shouted while he scrambled to his feet. “Did you do this?” he asked Cas, who apparently also got knocked out and was kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily. He didn’t answer, and for a moment Dean could have sworn there was a shimmer right above Cas’ shoulders, like something very heavy moving slowly. 

“Castiel, are you -,” Jack started and looked at him curiously, but Cas shook his head almost violently. He seemed to have trouble standing up, so Dean offered him a hand but the angel scrambled back on all fours.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed and got up, slightly swaying. After a moment, he seemed to have regained his balance and strode over to the farthest bed away from Dean, where Jack was sitting. 

“I’m alright,” he said before either of them could say anything. “It’s a slight... energy imbalance, nothing worrying.”

“Does this mean you’re getting your full powers back?” Sam asked after an awkward silence in which Sam, Dean and Jack came to the unspoken agreement that no matter what Cas said, it was definitely worrying. 

Cas only shrugged helplessly, mumbling something about it being highly unlikely due to the circumstances and then went on to grab a book on siren lore before he left the room. 

“Yeah, uhm, any idea on where to find our siren?” Dean asked, still standing somewhat lost in the middle of the room. What the hell was happening?

Against all odds, Cas seemed to be better after the incident in the motel room. His eyes had stopped randomly flashing blue and he seemed to be more attentive, so on day five of their hunt, Dean found himself in the Impala with Cas next to him riding shotgun, on the way to a couples therapist. 

Sam had found a few connecting links between the victims the day before and Dean decided against checking out the bar the victims’ husbands all had admitted to frequenting and instead opted for the therapist, a guy in his late thirties.

“So, what is our plan here? Should we pose as a couple or as FBI?” Cas asked because apparently nobody gave Dean any slack today and Dean just shook his head and reached over to the glove compartment to wordlessly pull out one of Cas’ fake badges. 

“I’ll talk to him; you’ll excuse yourself and look for clues. If he’s the siren, which I doubt, he’ll most likely come after me immediately, but we know how he looks like already. He can’t shapeshift into someone I’d be interested in right in front of me, I think, so he won’t be as effective. Also we both have bronze daggers, so we should be safe.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be bait,” Cas told him. “Didn’t you explicitly say that?”

“Firstly, this is not me being bait , I’ll just distract him, and secondly, we can switch roles if you think you can keep the guy occupied while I’ll have a look around? This means lots of smalltalk, Cas, are you up for it?” Dean asked, and yeah, maybe he was a bit harsh, but he wanted this siren case to be over.

Castiel glared and pursed his lips and Dean thought he could sense something like disappointment or maybe hurt, and he momentarily asked himself why he was such a dick to Cas sometimes, but he decided that this was something to think about for later. Right now, however, he had a case to investigate and a monster to kill. 

Dr. Porter greeted them with a broad, welcoming smile. He was a tall man, handsome, Dean supposed (not that he knew anything about it), with black curls, bright, green-blue eyes and a short beard. He looked kinda similar to Cas, that was, if Cas would exchange his perpetually confused and sceptical look for a smile. 

“Agent Crosby and Stills, we’re here concerning the murders?”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard.”

 “So, according to our records the victims have all been clients of yours at some point,” Dean said. Dr. Porter frowned nervously, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. No matter how innocent, people got nervous when talking to FBI. 

“It’s a small town. As far as I know I’m the only therapist offering marriage counseling. So… I’m afraid I can’t help you, I haven’t noticed anything strange, but you are welcome to come in, of course,” Porter said, taking a step back. They followed him into a cozy room and the man offered them coffee, which they both politely declined. 

“Can I use your bathroom? I, uh, need to relieve myself,” Cas said and Dean was thankful he was standing slightly behind his friend and could freely roll his eyes at how utterly suspicious and plain weird Cas managed to make it sound. 

Dr. Porter didn’t seem fazed though. “Third room on the left,” he only said and his smile returned as Cas walked out of the room. 

“So, how can I help you?” he asked Dean while sitting down on one of the comfortable looking chairs. 

Dr. Porter talked about his clients for a while, or at least told Dean the little he could tell him, which was hardly anything due to doctor-patient confidentiality, so Dean soon went over to more general information, like how long Porter had been practicing in Seward and any other details he could later give Sam to double-check. 

Porter was charming, Dean found after around twenty minutes of talking to the man. He had a very dry humor and Dean found it increasingly difficult to lie to him. He felt like the type of person who would understand Dean’s struggles, his fears, his complicated family history, and Dean fidgeted with his fake badge while trying his hardest to stick with his FBI persona. 

“Is your partner alright?” Porter asked after some time, and Dean had to think for a moment - what partner - until he remembered that Cas was probably rummaging around in Porter’s office, looking for something to incriminate him. He should send him a text, tell him that he could come back, since the man was obviously innocent, Dean thought and nodded at the therapist’s question.

“It was just a long ride,” he said. “I’m sure he’s fine.” 

“He seemed tense, your partner,” Porter said. “Is everything alright between the two of you?” He chuckled. “Forgive me, I can’t turn off the therapist inside of me,” he added. 

“I was a bit of an ass to him earlier, it’s probably that,” Dean mumbled. “He’s… competent and resourceful and knows what he’s doing - most of the time at least - but sometimes, I… I just make fun of him or doubt his abilities. I don’t know why.” The words seemed to plummet out of him and Porter reached him a glass of water he gladly accepted, while scooting a bit closer. 

“You seem to have a very close bond but it’s conflicted, isn’t it?” Porter asked and Dean nodded, wondering how the hell the guy got that from the two minutes he had seen Cas and him in the room together.

Dean nodded. “He’s been my friend for over ten years but sometimes… it feels like we’re from different worlds,” he finished lamely.

“It’s alright,” he said soothingly, his hand only inches away from Dean’s arm, when the door behind them opened and Cas entered, panting. 

“Dean, get away from him,” he commanded, “he’s not who he says he is!”

“Hunters!” Porter hissed, his friendly face instantly distorted by an angry snarl. “You’re too late, though, I’m afraid,” he added, looking at Castiel. 

Dean knew he should probably get the hell away just as Cas had said, but Cas had to be wrong, Porter was a nice guy, not a siren.

“Your friend was really desperate for some heart-to-heart,” Porter added and grabbed Dean’s arm, yanking him away from Cas who was lunging towards them.

Multiple things happened at once. Cas’ eyes began to glow even brighter than they had before. There was the shimmering again, more prominent this time, though, as if something huge was hovering over Cas and Dean was pulled back, away from Porter and towards Cas by some invisible hand, right before he witnessed the second explosion this week. Only this time, Dean didn’t feel a thing, he was just standing there, facing Cas and watching his eyes get wide before glowing blue energy surged out of him and flattened everything around him. Cas sank to the floor right as there was the unmistakable sound of someone being exploded into tiny pieces behind him. How he was able to  recognize this sound was beyond Dean, but as he watched the energy flow through him, he thought that they had to add whatever this was to their journal under “Ways to kill sirens”. 

For a minute, it was almost unbearably still. In front of Dean’s eyes something was floating down to the ground in front of him and Dean caught it, still beside himself - it was a small, black strangely glossy, feather. It must have flown in from one of the windows, his mind supplied, since the room was a complete mess and every window had bursted in the blast. Dean instinctively put it into his pocket, while turning and looking at the space where Porter had been just a moment ago, but there was nothing left but a pink-red splatter.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he got out after a few moments of just staring at the the pink stain on the wall.

“We need… we need to go to the bunker,” Cas rasped, and when Dean didn’t immediately reply, he added a pained, “now.”

Chapter Text

“You pulverized a siren.” Dean said as he rolled down the window and flicked a bit of siren goo that had stuck in his hair out onto the street. 

They were sitting in the car and Dean was still waiting for an explanation, but Castiel only sat next to him and almost stoically stared out of the window.

Dean tried again. “Okay, let’s go back to the motel room and get our stuff and -”

“No.” 

Cas wasn’t looking at him and when Dean glanced over, he had the feeling that Cas wasn’t his usual self He had his eyes closed shut and was slightly hunched over, but not of exhaustion - instead it looked like he was crammed into the car, like there was too little space for him to comfortably sit. 

“What do you mean, no? Sam and Jack are probably on their way to the bar now and we do need to clean up the mess we made. We can’t just leave, man.”

Eventually, slowly, Cas turned to him and opened his eyes that were once again shining so bright they were almost blinding and Dean automatically threw his hand in front of his face to shield off his eyes. 

“Dean. Please don’t argue with me. We need to go to the bunker and we can’t take Sam and Jack with us,” Cas growled with grit teeth. “Drive, before I have to do something I would regret,” he added, almost whispering. 

Dean gave him a side glance and shook his head in disbelief, but whatever was going on with Cas, it seemed like something the angel could hardly contain, so he started the car.

They were halfway out of Seward, when Dean couldn’t stand the silence anymore and called Sam. 

“Did you find out anything?” Sam asked. “I could use your help, Jack isn’t…” Sam stopped, apparently looking for an adjective to describe what Jack was. 

“We took care of the siren,” Dean said. “Look, Cas isn’t doing too well and we need to go back to the bunker, in fact, we’re on our way there already. Could you and Jack go to Dr. Porter’s place and… clean up pulverized siren goo?”

“Did you just say siren goo? What’s up with Cas?”

Dean glanced over to Castiel, who had his head buried in his hands and was breathing rather heavily. 

“Listen, I’ll call you later, okay?” he said and hung up. 

“I’m fine , Dean, it’s just an inconvenience,” the angel muttered. 

Yeah, sure, tell yourself that , Dean thought and turned on the radio. 

As soon as Dean opened the door to the bunker, Cas slid past him, and when Dean reached the bottom of the stairs, his friend was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Dean hauled his duffel bag into his room and shrugged off his jacket, which he noticed, was definitely a bit filthy. He remembered the goo in his hair and made his way to the bathroom, hanging up the jacket on the clothes hook right outside. He would need to do the laundry later, but it could wait until after a long, hot shower, during which he definitely would not think about how he managed to be somehow under a siren’s spell again , or what the fuck was wrong with Cas. No, he would think about absolutely nothing, sing a song or to keep his mind from wandering off and then afterwards watch some Netflix and drink a beer or three. 

He showered for as long as the water was hot, until his skin was pink and pruney and only got out of the tiny shower cabin as the water got progressively cooler. When he got out he could hear the sound of footsteps outside, close to the door. 

“Cas, you need anything?” Dean called the to angel, but there was no response. Not that Dean was surprised by that after Cas’ weird behavior earlier. He shook his head. What had happened was weird, to say the least, even for Cas, but the way the angel handled it, not telling Dean or anyone what it was all about, was unfortunately very consistent with Cas’ character.

Wonder if he got it from me , Dean thought to himself, because it wasn’t like he had a different approach when it came to personal problems. Still, for the last couple of days, Cas had definitely been not even close to okay and he obviously knew more about what was going on with him than he led on, so Dean should start digging for answers sooner rather than later. 

He put on a new pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, and got out of the room, absentmindedly reaching for the jacket he had hung on the clothes hook, but he grasped at nothing. Indeed, when he turned around, his jacket wasn’t there. Maybe Cas brought it into the laundry room already? Dean had shown him how to wash blood stains out of clothes a couple of months ago, so maybe Cas felt responsible for ruining his jacket and tried to wash it?

“Cas?” Dean called out, but again, there was no reply, so he made his way to the laundry room down the hall, but when he opened the door, the lights were out and the angel was nowhere to be seen. 

“Dude, where did you run off to?” Dean mumbled, frowning. What use would Cas have for his dirty jacket? He turned around and walked to the room Cas sometimes used when he was staying with them. The angel didn’t sleep but Dean figured that he would like a place for himself nevertheless and although the room was basically empty, Cas had started leaving a couple of things there. Dean had had a strange, warm feeling in his stomach when he first noticed that Cas was slowly filling the empty shelves and drawers with books and random trinkets. What could he say? He liked to keep his family close.

He knocked on the door. “You in there?” 

Still no response. Dean almost turned around - so Cas was probably in the library or the war room (or, a small voice supplied, he’d taken off again) - but he stopped, instead slowly opening the door.

He didn’t know what he had expected - an empty room, or maybe Cas sitting on his bed, giving him his trademark apologetic look - but instead, the room was in disarray. The shelves were empty and their contents were lying on the floor and there was a heap of random things on the bed. He could make out clothes and blankets but not much more since the light was off, so he stepped inside and turned on the light.

“Cas?”

There, on the floor next to the bed, was Castiel, clearly passed out,  clutching his dirty jacket. Dean practically leaped at him, shaking his shoulder, but Cas didn’t stir, so he turned him around and made sure he was still breathing. His breaths were shallow and there was a thin trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth. 

“Shit, Cas, wake up,” Dean shouted, shaking the other man’s shoulders, but Cas only stirred slightly. 

“Dude, come on,” Dean muttered and got up, shoving the stuff off the bed and heaving Cas on it. 

Although he always seemed so slight under the trench coat, the man was heavy, but in a matter of moments, he was lying on the bed, looking almost peaceful aside from the blood in the corner of his mouth. Dean hurried into the bathroom and came back with a wet washcloth. Back inside the room, he looked around for a chair, but the chair got seemingly destroyed during whatever Cas was doing inside, so he scrambled onto the bed to sit beside the angel and started carefully wiping away the blood. Cas’ breathing sounded more normal now and he looked like he was sleeping, which would be reassuring except that Cas was an angel and never slept except for when he was badly hurt or otherwise fucked up. Maybe his grace was low? Maybe it was a side effect of his weird energy imbalance thing that was going on? 

“Dean,” Cas murmured next to him and opened his eyes. He sat up, slowly and in clear discomfort, immediately hunching over. 

“You were passed out on the floor, what the fuck is going on?” Dean said harshly. 

“That’s… unfortunate,” Cas mumbled. “I didn’t want to cause you any inconvenience,” he added. He swayed slightly, and Dean had to hold him by the shoulders in order to keep him steady.

“What do you mean, cause inconvenience? Cas, buddy, something’s wrong with you and you clearly know more than you’re telling me.” 

“Dean, it really is nothing to worry about,” Cas said, trying to sit up straight again, but failing. 

The trench coat and suit jacket were sliding from Cas’ shoulders, so when Dean steadied him again, the thin dress shirt was the only layer left between Dean’s hand and Cas’ skin. Cas felt hot to the touch, but Dean didn’t have much to compare it to. Cas was always dressed in a suit and trench coat, so maybe it was his normal body temperature? Maybe angels just ran a bit hotter than humans? He put the back of his hand against Cas’ forehead and no, this was definitely a fever.

“Dude, you’re burning up,” Dean muttered and put the wet washcloth against Cas’ forehead, causing the angel to sway and slowly sinking against his chest, but the angel had his eyes closed again.

“You’re an idiot,” Dean said softly, and then, at a loss of anything else to do, he awkwardly patted Cas’ hair with one hand while trying to cool Cas’ skin with the washcloth. As he held Castiel, he felt something stir in him, some kind of energy, and he almost expected it to seep from his fingertips for a second, but there was nothing. After a few minutes he was sure that Cas’ body temperature decreased again, but he still kept on pressing the washcloth against his forehead, just in case. Sitting there, under the light of the almost dying light bulb, Dean was once again almost sure that something solid, something big and moving was surrounding Cas. He would have sworn he could see something whenever he wasn’t looking at the angel directly, but when he turned his head or tried to touch it, it was gone again. 

At some point his body started protesting and he gently scooted back, propping Cas up on one of the pillows. He was still pretty out of it, but he clearly didn’t feel as hot anymore, so he hoped he’d just wake up in a couple of hours and be his normal, weird self again. There was something poking against his fingers when he tried to slide from the bed quietly and he almost didn’t notice since the bed was full of junk, but whatever it was, it was somewhat hard and pointy so he grabbed at it and pulled it from between the covers. It was another feather, or part of it, at least. Dark but not quite black, like the one he found earlier, but this one was larger and heavily damaged. Dean held it in his hands and brushed his fingers over it - there were parts missing, the shaft was black and porous in some places and the tip of the feather was completely missing, along with a substantial amount of the barbs (Cas had explained feather anatomy to him and Sam at one point). It looked like it was burned off and for a moment, Dean hoped that the feather hadn’t been damaged while it was still attached to whatever bird it belonged, but then he looked back to Cas. Cas, who had damaged wings and couldn’t fly anymore. Did angel feathers look like this? 

“What do angel feathers look like?” he asked Sam on the phone without saying hello. 

“Thank you, Sam and Jack, for taking care of everything,” Sam answered. “Seriously, dude? Jack and I had to scrub siren goo from a wall and I showered twice and still feel filthy.. What the hell happened, man?”

“Yeah, uhm. Thanks. So, Cas made the siren explode, told me to drive back to the bunker and passed out after we got back. I think he has a fever, he was awake for all of two minutes to tell me he was fine and didn’t want to be inconvenient .” He purposefully left out the part where he had totally been under the siren’s spell - his brother didn’t need to know everything . “So. Back to my question. Angel wings.”

Sam didn’t answer immediately, apparently passing on the question to Jack. 

“They’re not that different from bird feathers, except that angel wings are on the metaphysical plane and therefore not visible to humans,”he could hear Jack answer.

“Huh,” Dean said. He was sitting in the library, looking for some books on angels, but most of the stuff he found had to do with their powers, and he found about a dozen books on Enochian already, but nothing on their physiology. The Men of Letters apparently didn’t have angel ornithologists, and if they had, nobody ever thought about stocking the bunker with their books. 

“You don’t happen to know what Cas’ wings look like, do you? Like, if he has dark feathers or whether they’re burnt?” He twirled the feather he had found in Dr. Porter’s office between his thumb and forefinger.

“The metaphysical plane doesn’t exactly have colors, at least not in the way you know them,” Jack answered and Dean involuntarily rolled his eyes. Angels, man. “But… Castiel’s wings are burnt pretty badly. Why are you asking, Dean?”

“I think there’s something wrong with them. I think whatever is wrong with Cas has to do with his wings.”

“Oh,” Jack said, apparently clueless as well.

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Cas said with a sigh and Dean turned around to the angel to see him flopping himself on the chair heavily. He looked worse for wear - the ever-present bags under his eyes were darker than usual and his hair stood up in every direction possible. Cas reached for the glass of whiskey Dean had poured himself earlier and downed it with a frown and Dean would have protested, but something in Cas’ gaze made him shut up. 

“I’m molting,” Cas mumbled, barely audible.

“What did he say?” Sam said and Dean put him on speakerphone. 

“I’m molting,” Cas said, and maybe it was the fever but Cas seemed to be slightly blushing. 

“Wait, angels do that?” Jack asked with a mix of horror and curiosity and Cas only shrugged helplessly before realizing they couldn’t see him.

“No, not while we’re in vessels, not usually, which makes this situation very… unique. I apologize for my behavior. I would just go to heaven for a while but since I’m bound to my vessel I don’t see how this would make any difference.”

“So, what you’re saying is you’re growing new feathers?” Dean said, finally putting the feather he was still holding back on the table. If it was Cas’ - and he was pretty sure about it now - he guessed it was really weird fiddling with it. Cas seemed to think the same thing as he watched him with an unreadable expression and snatched the feather from the table as soon as Dean let go of it, putting it in one of the pockets of his coat.

“Maybe. I doubt the molt will be very effective, the circumstances are… less than ideal.” He looked down into his lap, clearly embarrassed.

“We’re packing right now,” Sam said, “so I guess Jack’ll just zap us back then. I’ll do some research when we’re back, or maybe Rowena-”

“Don’t,” Cas almost shouted. “Don’t come here. I’m afraid you can’t,” he added more quietly. One of the reading lights on the table shattered and Cas winced, slumping a bit further into the chair.“You can’t come back to the bunker right now,” he said again, almost inaudibly.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, we can’t?” Sam sounded pretty agitated. “Dude, I’m pretty sure we can help you.”

“This is embarrassing,” Castiel muttered between grit teeth to no one in particular and Dean handed him another glass of whiskey. He wasn’t sure if the angel could feel its effects but he nevertheless seemed to accept it gratefully and downed it immediately. 

“Angels are very vulnerable when they are molting since we are rendered unable to fly until it is over.”

“Like ducks? I read somewhere that they change all their feathers and can’t fly for some time,” Sam asked, because of course this was something his nerdy brother would ask. 

Next to Dean, Cas just shook his head tiredly. 

“No, not like ducks. I’m not a bird , Sam, I’m an angel. So while angels are unable to fly during molt, although we don’t have access to all of our grace the way we usually have, our grace can still protect us. In fact, it reacts very strongly to threats. I thought I would be able to control it but my grace seems to classify every intelligent life form as a threat right now and I’m afraid I don’t know whether I could survive another one of those… outbursts while I’m bound to my vessel.”

Dean didn’t know when he got up, but he instinctively made a few steps back. Cas had been practically passed out on top of him an hour ago, and yet somehow he was a fucking time bomb threatening to explode anything  he thought was a threat? And Cas didn’t even know if he’d survive another grace explosion himself, so what the fuck was Dean doing here? He was on the verge of angrily shouting at the idiot angel, but Sam was faster.

“What about Dean? Isn’t he with you?” Sam said, concern in his tone.

“I-I don’t know. He doesn’t register as a threat,” Cas said quickly. He was quiet for a moment, pointedly not looking at Dean.

“Maybe you’re not a threat either, but I would rather not test that,” Castiel added hastily. 

“How long does this usually take?” Sam asked. “Dean, you should probably leave the bunker to be on the safe side. I don’t want either of you to spontaneously combust.”

Dean looked over to Castiel, who still chose to not meet his eyes, but he could see a rather sad and lost look forming on his face. 

“Yes, uhm. You’re right, Sam. It would be for the best if Dean left,” Cas muttered. 

Dean often chose to stay oblivious when it came to Cas. He knew the angel looked at him for way too long sometimes (okay, pretty often), he knew even after all those years he still only had a very loose concept of personal space and he knew that there was definitely something between them that didn’t quite feel like friendship. Cas was family and as far as Dean was concerned, he was like a brother to him, but then again, he wasn’t. Not quite. And Dean honestly didn’t know what to think of it, so for the most part, he just didn’t think about it. 

Cas was staring daggers at him, but in a way that was less looking at him and more staring directly into his soul. Dean squirmed in his seat, but when he turned to look directly at his friend, there was this sad, embarrassed and guilty look again, the look that basically screamed ‘I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience,’ and Dean sighed.

“No,” he said. “I’m staying. If Cas says I’m not a threat I believe him, and I found the guy passed out on the floor earlier, so he should probably not be left alone,” he said to Sam, not quite sure where the words came from.

Castiel looked at him and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but he closed it again and turned his gaze back to the table.  

“You’ll tell me if your grace decides to make me the enemy, right?” he asked Cas who just nodded, but at the same time looked like he really wanted out of this conversation. He couldn’t blame him.

The phone call went on for a while, Sam trying to extract as much information out of Castiel and Castiel apparently trying to withhold as much information as possible. It was painful to listen to and Dean didn’t really feel they got anything out of it, so he eventually just got up and snatched the phone from the table.

“Hey, uhm, battery’s low. I gotta charge my phone, talk to you later, okay?” he lied without really waiting for a response and hung up.

“Thank you,” Cas said, staring straight ahead and looking like he had just died a little on the inside. 

“You really need to learn how to stop Sam from asking too many questions, man. He doesn’t stop on his own,” Dean muttered and poured Cas another glass of whiskey.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said again, pointedly.

“Yeah, you said that.”

“I mean, for staying.” Dean looked up and their eyes met and there was something in Cas’ gaze that definitely shouldn’t be there, because that wasn’t how you looked at your best friend, so Dean only shrugged. They sat in silence for a while, Dean playing on his phone while Cas fidgeted with the whiskey glass. There had been less awkward silences between the two of them, but Dean didn’t mind too much. It had been a long day, they were exhausted and had been in a series of pretty weird situations, so a semi-awkward silence was probably the best outcome he could have wished for.

“I’ll go to my room. I probably need a few hours of sleep,” Castiel said and as he got up, it looked like a heat haze as his surroundings wavered a bit with the movement. As if his wings didn’t want to stay hidden anymore. Castiel followed Dean’s gaze and shrugged apologetically.

“It’s hard to keep them in the metaphysical plane right now,” he admitted. “It takes more energy than usual, hence the need for sleep.”

“Why do you keep them hidden then?” Dean asked and bit his tongue a moment too late. It wasn’t like this was any of his business and it definitely did not seem as if Cas wanted to talk about it. 

“Metatron’s spell destroyed them. I’m not quite sure how and why but they’re burnt.” He fished the feather out of his pocket. “The feathers are damaged, the ones that are left at least. They’re hideous.”

“Dude, it’s not like you need to impress anyone with them. You don’t need to hide them away from me , is all I’m saying.”

Castiel gave him a pained look that very clearly stated that he especially wanted to hide them from Dean and Dean really wished he would have just left earlier.

“Okay, then, I’ll…,” he started and Cas nodded and left the library. 

Dean went into the kitchen to raid the fridge for something to eat to keep his mind off things for a moment. It was late already and he just wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn’t really sleep on an empty stomach, so he made a sandwich out of what he found. He ate slowly. Although he felt like he was able to pass out within a moment or two, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyway, so there was no reason to rush. He had a lot on his mind, and none of it was something he wanted to spend much time on thinking about, so he cleaned the kitchen, poured himself another glass of whiskey and played Candy Crush until he was positive he would fall asleep before his head hit the pillow. Only then did he finally allow himself to lay down. 

He woke up to the alarm of the smoke detector only a few hours later. When he opened the door to the hallway, sleepily and bleary-eyed, he was welcomed by the smell of burnt food and Castiel letting out a series of absolutely filthy curses. He was positive Cas couldn’t have gotten them from him, he didn’t curse that much. 

“The hell are you doing, man?” he said gruffly when he entered the kitchen and watched the angel standing on a chair and attempting to turn off the alarm. 

“It seems like I burned breakfast,” Cas said helplessly, pointing towards the frying pan. 

“You need to push the button for at least 10 seconds,” Dean told him, and he watched Cas sigh with relief when the high-pitched alarm finally stopped. Dean took the frying pan and he poked at the black, charred remains of whatever it had been Cas had tried to make with a spatula, before he dumped them in the trash and put water into the pan to dissolve the rest. 

“So… do we talk about the fact that it’s four in the morning and how normally you also… don’t eat?” he said as casually as possible, hoping that Cas would appreciate that his tone was non-accusatory. 

“I…,” Cas started, clearly embarrassed, but he pulled his eyebrows to a frown and stared at the frying pan as if he wanted to smite it for merely existing.

“It seems like I am hungry ,” he eventually admitted with so much disdain in his voice that Dean was pretty sure he was angry at his body - or vessel - for putting him through this. 

“Dean, I slept for four hours and I woke up with a growling stomach ,” Cas told him with disgust. “Now I need to spend time cooking something and eating it; this is a complete waste of time,” he added. He stared at the floor when Dean wasn’t answering (mostly because Dean did his best to bite back a grin) and mumbled, “What if I need to use the toilet later? I don’t want to go through the process of having bowel movements ever again,” and when he looked up, his eyes were so full of horror that Dean had to break out in laughter.

“What is it with you and toilets?” he asked but Cas closed his eyes and sighed, as if to brace himself. Dean stopped, since he definitely hadn’t forgotten the fact that Cas’ grace was unstable right now and he very much did not want to get on the angel’s hit list by annoying him too much, so he awkwardly ran a hand through his hair and focused his attention on the fridge instead.

“Is there anything you like, food-wise?” Dean asked.

“PB&J, but it seems like you neither have peanut butter, jelly, or bread, and I wouldn’t be able to taste it anyway, I think.”

Dean opened the fridge and peered into it. They were gone for almost a week, so there wasn’t much going on in there, but he pulled out a carton of eggs and even found some of Sam’s emergency vegetables in the freezer. “Guess this counts as an emergency,” he muttered more to himself, ignoring Cas’ confused look. 

“So, I’ll make you a veggie omelette, since you won’t be able to taste it anyway, but if you want, we can stock up on stuff you like later,” Dean said and cracked two eggs into a bowl. 

Cas stood behind him and looked over his shoulder, everything Dean had ever told him about personal space clearly forgotten, but Dean didn’t comment on it. Poor guy had obviously enough going on and the memory of the pulverized siren was still fresh in Dean’s mind. He really shouldn’t be a dick right now. He cooked in relative silence. Cas had a few comments, but it was mostly weird stuff about how humans first learned to eat eggs or what the various types of vegetable looked like before they were cultivated, and Dean wasn’t exactly interested, since he was mostly tired and under caffeinated, but he listened and nodded and smiled and eventually put a plate with a perfect looking omelette into Cas’ hands. 

“Here, eat,” he said and Cas thanked him with a nod and grabbed a fork on his way to the table. Dean followed him a few minutes later with two freshly brewed mugs of coffee, since coffee and booze were the only two things in existence Cas had never had much of a problem with drinking, and he put one of the mugs, a blue one saying “Best Dad”, in front of him. Jack had given each of them a “Best Dad” mug in different colors and although Dean was pretty sure that Sam was the only one really deserving the title, there was no point in denying the tears in Dean’s eyes when Jack had given him his mug, because although he was pretty sure he was doing a shit job of being a father sometimes, he loved the boy. Cas however, had hugged Jack for what had seemed like forever and when he had finally pulled away the smile on his lips had been the happiest Dean had ever seen the guy. He told himself that the reason he sometimes thought back to this smile was because he liked seeing his best friend happy. Because that’s all there was, right?

Cas hadn’t started eating yet, but instead had a carrot skewered on his fork and was poking at it with a curious look. 

“It’s fascinating that food changes its consistency when it’s exposed to heat,” he told Dean. 

“You know, the omelette isn’t going to get any better if you let it get cold,” Dean said and blew on his coffee.

“I’m indifferent to temperature, Dean. I don’t feel heat or cold unless I choose to,” Cas informed him and, as if to prove it, he took the coffee mug into his hands and took a sip of the still scalding hot coffee. He winced.“Ow,” he said, perplexed, and put the mug back on the table.

“Did you… choose to feel heat?” Dean asked but Cas shook his head. “I may have overestimated my current powers,” he said quietly, and began cutting up his omelette into tiny, painstakingly symmetrical pieces and slowly eating them. 

“So, what does it taste like?” Dean asked after a while. Cas seemed to be the slowest eater on the planet, but something about the way he pulled each piece off the fork with his teeth, about how sometimes he would inspect a piece with his tongue made Dean look away, and so he read the folded menu of some pizza place they sometimes ordered food from at least four times until he had the courage to look up again.  

“It’s… spongy,” Cas said carefully. “A weird but somehow intriguing texture.”

“You don’t like it, huh.” Dean couldn’t help but grin when the frown on Cas’ face deepened and he looked at him with guilt.

“I can definitely taste it,” he said, slowly scooping up another piece. “But… I think I really don’t like carrots.” He took another bite and scrunched up his nose. “Or spinach.”

“Oh God, Sam owes me 20 bucks.”

Cas tilted his head, and for a moment he looked like back when he had first come into their lives, utterly perplexed by humans in general and Dean in particular.

“What does my dislike of certain vegetables have to do with Sam’s debt?” 

Dean grinned. “So, Sam and I had this bet running. Should you ever become human again, would you prefer real food or rabbit food. Seems like I won,” Dean told him with a smirk.e would have expected Cas’ little half smile or a quiet laugh or even a lecture on how Dean could not possibly  know which food Cas liked just based on the fact he didn’t like carrots and spinach, but instead, Cas shoved his plate away from him and got up.

“I’m not human,” he said coldly and stormed out of the kitchen. 

“Okay, then,” Dean muttered quietly when Cas was out of sight. He pulled the half eaten omelette closer to him and began chewing on it absentmindedly. It was gross and he hated Sam for storing his stupid vegetables in the freezer which basically makes it Sam’s fault for Dean making a stupid remark that somehow hurt Cas’ feelings. 

He sighed, as he took a sip of his coffee that was cold by now and grimaced when he pulled out a small feather that had somehow landed in it. 

He was too fucking tired for this bullshit.

Chapter Text

Cas avoided Dean for the rest of the day and Dean really couldn’t care less. Between trying to get a few more hours of sleep (because he had to face it- his usual four hours were slowly becoming eight- he was getting old ) and answering Sam’s concerned texts, he was glad he didn’t have to talk to anyone, especially not to a moody angel. Dean spent most of the day lying in bed, watching tv shows on Netflix, munching on chips. Dean always had a couple of bags of Doritos in his room, out of Sam’s sight. He was forty years old - having his brother lecturing him on what constituted a balanced diet really was not what he needed in his life and he was glad for his foresight. 

He felt a pang of guilt whenever Sam texted him and mentioned Cas. His mind was drifting off to the angel whenever Netflix didn’t quite catch his full attention and he debated what he should do. Part of him wanted to go over to Cas’ room or wherever the angel was (he just really hoped he was still in the bunker), and apologize for whatever he said and check in on his friend. He might be hungry, or might have another fever - the possibilities were endless - but he stubbornly thought that Cas could also tell him if he needed anything, so Dean stayed in his room. 

It was evening when Dean finally decided to leave the room for something other than going to the bathroom. He craved some beer and Sam had asked him to look up lore on some Eastern European monster he’d never heard of for a hunt he and Jack were looking into, since they couldn’t come to the bunker so he went to the library. Of course, sitting in the library, bent over a book, was Cas. He looked worse for wear. His hair was a disheveled mess and when he looked up at Dean, he could see prominent bags under the angel’s eyes. Again, he didn’t wear the trench coat. Instead he only wore the dress shirt, but it looked dirtier and more rumpled than usual, as if Cas didn’t have the energy left to take care of his clothes. Dean stopped in the entrance, ready to turn around again but Castiel’s look pinned him to where he was standing and he felt unable to move. He couldn’t read Cas’ stare, but it sure as hell wasn’t friendly.

“Dean,” the angel said after what felt like an eternity and part of Dean was definitely impressed by how Cas managed to make his name sound like a  threat. 

“Cas, look, I-,” Dean started, fully knowing he would be interrupted anyway, because when it came to arguments, they never let each other utter full sentences, so he didn’t even bother to think about what he wanted to say.

Of course, because Dean couldn’t have good things, Cas didn’t cut in. Instead he waited, unimpressed, his lips a thin line. 

“It was a dumb joke, okay?” Dean barked after an awkward moment in which they both stared at each other expectantly, but Cas only shook his head.

“I never expected you to apologize,” he started and Dean thought good , because whether you blame his upbringing or whatever, he was emotionally stunted and his apologies sucked. 

“But as you can remember, I was human for many months. I lived on the street, I didn’t have any idea of how exhausting it would be to just exist - finding warm enough clothes, all these bodily needs, food, sleep. As an angel, I don’t normally have these needs. I remember being so relieved and happy when I finally got here, with you and Sam, and so utterly devastated when you sent me away.” 

His voice was lacking any emotion whatsoever and Dean wished he knew what to say, because hell, Cas was right, but he could also clearly remember Gadreel’s threat looming over him, so he said nothing and momentarily forgot to breathe when Cas stood up and walked over to him. Somehow, his rumpled state made him feel taller, or maybe it was the constant shimmer in the air above him that didn’t seem to go away anymore. 

“I remember being afraid for the first time. Afraid because all of a sudden I was thrown into this life and I was so weak, I had nothing and nobody to lean on and when you kicked me out I understood that I didn’t have a purpose anymore. Of course you would tell me to leave. I was human then, you didn’t need me anymore.” 

“You know that wasn’t the reason I kicked you out,” Dean muttered but Cas only gave him a disapproving look and made another step towards him, until they were standing almost nose to nose.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But in that moment I didn’t. I’ve never felt more useless or alone, Dean.” His eyes flashed bright blue and Dean automatically took a step back, but Cas held onto the collar of his shirt.

“Angels can control their emotions,” he continued. “But as a human, everything felt like… more. More intense, more cruel.” His eyes were glowing almost white now, but Cas made no move to let Dean go. This is how it ends then, Dean thought, and wasn’t it funny? They survived the apocalypse, Amara, even God, they’ve hunted werewolves, demons, creatures he couldn’t even pronounce right and ultimately, he would die at the hands of his best friend for making a dumb joke?

“I know you did what you did to protect your brother, Dean. You did what you had to do and my feelings were only secondary. I know that, Dean, and I forgave you for it, but I will not be the subject of some dumb bet between you and Sam. When I was human, I ate whatever I could get, I couldn’t afford to think about whether I liked it or not most of the days, in order to survive, and for a long time I thought that you were to blame, so… don’t. Joke. About. It.”

Dean nodded, but he wasn’t quite sure if Cas registered it, since the glow in his eyes was blinding and his wings manifested as black shadows behind him. The lightbulb above them blew and from the sound of it it wasn’t the only one, but Castiel was glowing so much now that it didn’t make a difference. Still, he held Dean by his shirt collar, obviously too absorbed in his anger to care about his surroundings, but suddenly he shook his head and made a step back. 

“Cover your eyes!” he shouted at Dean and let go of Dean’s shirt so suddenly Dean almost lost his footing. Dean threw an arm across his face and ducked, but before he did, there was a fluttering sound and he registered something shielding him off from Cas. It took a few moments until he opened his eyes again and he blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. 

There, right in front of him, was Castiel, his eyes a normal, not glowing color anymore. For a moment, Dean thought Cas had somehow thrown on a dark, somewhat ill-fitting trench coat, but no. Framing his shoulders and halfway spread out was a pair of huge, dark, and glossy wings. Castiel stood hunched over, as if he still had to figure out how to balance himself with those huge appendages in a human body, but when he stood steadily on his feet a few moments later, he straightened up and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice less deep and gravelly than usual. “It seems that I’m unable to control my emotions very well.” He looked at Dean and in the half-light, none of them said a word. 

“Cas, I’m sorry for joking, you… you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean mumbled when he couldn’t take the silence anymore. He took a step towards the angel, toward his still outstretched wings that were hovering in the air. They were damaged in places and some of the feathers were practically burned off, but what Dean could see from them in the dimly lit room, he thought was beautiful. The feathers reflected light in a way a bird’s feathers wouldn’t and the wings themselves, damaged or not, were huge. Cas looked so different, dangerous and otherworldly. He wasn’t Cas, the weird, nerdy guy who didn’t get social cues most of the time; no, he was Castiel, a warrior, and former commander of a garrison. A millennia old being, graceful and powerful, created to fight and kill. The sight did something to Dean and he licked his lips while keeping his eyes on the angel. 

Castiel nodded. It seemed like he was thinking of commenting on Dean’s shitty apology, but he didn’t; instead he focused his attention on his wings. He brought one of the wings to his hands and started fidgeting with the feathers, brushing along the length of the flight feathers and feeling them between his fingers. 

“I’ll try to put them back,” he whispered, “but it could take a while, my grace is very weak.” He examined a spot where there weren’t any feathers left and Dean could see light skin shining through. Castiel frowned, carefully touching the skin and closing his eyes while doing so.

“For millennia they carried me and now I can hardly remember what it feels like to fly. They are useless. Hideous. Even if the feathers ever grow back, they were so damaged that they’ll never return to their former power. I’m sorry you have to see me like that, Dean,” he said without looking up. 

“What?”

“The wings, are they not bothering you?” Castiel asked.

“Cas, they’re…” Dean took a step closer and stretched out his hand. “Can I?” he asked softly and Cas nodded, an unsure expression on his face, so Dean lightly put his fingers on the feathers. They were warm and the tips of his fingers tingled when he brushed against them, like energy was flowing between him and Cas’ wings. The feathers were soft and sleek at the same time, unlike anything Dean had ever touched. Without thinking about it, he dug his fingers into the feathers, careful not to hurt Cas, but after a moment of surprise, the angel closed his eyes and hummed. 

“T-they itch,” he admitted breathily when he noticed Dean’s curious glance. 

“Oh,” Dean said and somehow, moments later, he had both his hands working through the feathers he could reach without standing even closer and Cas was drawing in a deep breath, his eyes closed. It was weird, if he thought about it, standing in the library touching Castiel’s wings, and even weirder taking into account the sounds Cas was making, small gasps and something that could easily be mistaken for moans, so Dean chose not to think about it. He could panic about any implications later. For now, he was just helping his friend out, and judging from Cas’ closed eyes and puffed feathers, he was quite successful. 

And if Dean was completely honest, he enjoyed the feeling of Castiel’s wings on his fingers. The tingling was so pleasant he could hardly keep himself from getting even closer to him. What it must feel like to be covered in Cas’ wing, he thought, but he immediately shoved the thought back into the furthest corner of his brain. It was Cas. He didn’t think about Cas this way. Or at least he tried hard not to think about Cas this way. And that hard work was being destroyed by him fantasizing about the angel’s wings. 

The wings were nothing short of beautiful, Dean thought but judging from Cas’ wary look the angel still wasn’t too sure about what Dean thought about them. 

“They’re so cool,” Dean muttered, because cool was a rather safe choice of words, wasn’t it? And they were cool. Cool and badass, they made Castiel look dangerous, even now, with an unsure half smile on his lips.

“Thank you, Dean, but I’m sure you’re only saying this because-” Cas started, out of breath. Theyt were standing so impossibly close and Dean suddenly realized that Cas wasn’t the only one breathing harder. He studied the angel’s face, flushed cheeks and unruly hair, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. Castiel slowly licked his lips and Dean was almost sure of where this was going but then the moment was over and Cas suddenly took a step back, shaking his head. 

“Oh, never mind. But thank you. I’ll try to put them back though,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. Dean almost wanted to protest that he didn’t need to, that he really didn’t mind seeing them but before he could open his mouth, Cas continued. “They are highly inconvenient. I mean… I ripped my shirt.”

He quickly withdrew the wings and folded them up behind him, where they towered above his head. For a moment, none of them said a word and Dean let his hand that was still outstretched fall to his side. Then, Castiel unbuttoned his shirt and reached behind him, where the back of the garment was shredded in multiple places and he tugged on it some more until his wings came completely free. He shrugged out of the destroyed shirt and held it in his hands a bit awkwardly, still looking at Dean, who was pointedly not looking at Cas, out of politeness, of course. It wasn’t like Cas, half naked with a pair of huge wings did anything for Dean. He didn’t swing that way and he certainly didn’t sometimes ponder whether Castiel could be the exception. He didn’t, not even a little bit. Not even the fact that Cas was so incredibly old and knowledgeable and practically immortal did anything for him, and the fact that Cas didn’t know anything about personal space or social conventions definitely didn’t make Dean think sometimes he was equal parts hot and adorable. Most certainly not the wings. Not even the tiniest part of him was thinking about those wings. In any case it didn’t matter, so Dean didn’t look at Castiel’s surprisingly buff upper body and he certainly didn’t notice that Cas’ pants were riding low on his hips or the way the angel’s shoulders tensed when he moved his wings a bit. 

Dean licked his lips, still looking at Cas’ face and wondering about his unreadable expression. 

“Dean, I need to tell you-,” Cas started suddenly, his brows furrowed, but he didn’t get much farther because Dean’s phone suddenly rang. It was Sam, so Dean lifted a finger to signal to Cas to hold that thought and picked up. 

“Did you find out anything on Mamunas?” Sam immediately asked, and when Dean didn’t immediately react, he went on. “Pretty sure there’s a book on them somewhere, in the European section I think,” he told him. Dean only registered half of it, because his eyes were still glued to Cas, who was suddenly looking kind of lost, chewing on his bottom lip and still fidgeting with the shirt in his hands.

“Uhm,” Dean said, dumbfounded. “Yeah, I’ll… go look for it there,” he mumbled. 

“Is everything alright?” his brother wanted to know immediately, because of course Sam immediately picked up on the distracted tone in Dean’s voice. Dean huffed and rolled his eyes, finally being able to peel them away from the angel in front of him.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s alright,” he said while going over to the bookshelf on European creatures.

“Mamuna, you say? Doesn’t sound very dangerous.” Dean said, pulling out a few books that sounded promising, and even when Sam pointed out that it was some kind of sex demon that was stealing babies, the only book he found that mentioned them had nothing in it that Sam didn’t already know. 

“Hey Cas, do you know anything about Mamunas?” Dean asked but he didn’t get an answer. When he looked over his shoulder, the angel was gone and the ripped shirt was thrown over the back of a chair. 

Chapter Text

Cas hadn’t yet put his wings back into the metaphysical plane when Dean next saw him. Dean checked on him after he had found the book Sam had been talking about and emailed his brother pictures of the relevant pages and he found the angel passed out in his room, this time on his bed. He was lying on his stomach with his wings spread over most of the bed and Dean shook his head when he saw that Cas still hadn’t made any move to clear his bed from all the stuff that had been thrown on it. Cas looked like he was lying in the middle of a huge nest made of clothes, random trinkets and pillows. It was fitting, seeing that Cas looked like an overgrown bird at the moment, but Dean still decided that he needed to take his friend aside and tell him that beds were usually emptier than that. 

Cas seemed to be completely out of it for the rest of the night. Dean couldn’t sleep much for reasons completely unrelated to what had been going on with his now considerably feathery friend the last couple of days. He decidedly did not think about how it would feel like to just faceplant into Cas’ feathers and he definitely did not wake up with a chubby after dreaming about dangerously glowing blue eyes and black wings. He somehow made it to 6:30 am until he took a (very cold) shower and went into the kitchen, shivering and hungry, but Cas must have found and eaten Jack’s cereal, which meant that a jar of pickles and Sam’s non-fat yogurt were the only food items left, so with a frustrated groan, Dean put on his jacket and collected his car keys from the kitchen table and made his way to the Impala. Great - going grocery shopping in the middle of the morning, while hungry and still weirdly horny wasn’t how he wanted to start the day.

Nevertheless, he drove to one of the bigger supermarkets instead of the one he usually went to. Now that Cas had his taste buds back, at least for a little while, he decided it probably would be nice if they took advantage of the situation - especially after their falling out the day before. Honestly, Dean just wanted to make it up to him somehow, and sue him, but this was the best he could come up with, so he loaded his cart full with what he knew Cas liked (namely peanut butter, jelly and bread) and various other things he thought the angel could enjoy or should at least try. He even went out of his way to pick up weird, healthy stuff like tofu and vegetables, although he steered clear from carrots and spinach. 

Maybe he went a bit overboard, he thought when he took out his credit card - it was probably four times the amount he usually had to pay, but then again, maybe he could teach Cas a thing or two about good food. He didn’t linger too long on the realization that he was actually looking forward to cooking for the angel - because of course he was. It meant food, and Dean loved food. Dean was probably only looking forward to cooking in general. 

When he went back to his car, he decided to call Cas just in case he was wondering where Dean went, but when he patted his pockets, he couldn’t find his phone. He guessed he forgot it at the bunker - something that hardly ever happened, he was better than that, but he did go grocery shopping without drinking his morning coffee first, so there was that. It couldn’t be very late anyways and he was a fast shopper, so chances were that Cas was still fast asleep, or otherwise occupied doing some kind of angel stuff, so it was unlikely he had even realized Dean was gone by now. 

When he opened the door to the bunker half an hour later, he knew something was going on around a second before he heard Cas’ footsteps. By the time he closed the door behind him, the angel had already climbed the stairs and when he turned around, he was suddenly face to face with Cas’ still naked torso, his outstretched arms and flurrying wings. 

“Dean,” the angel growled and threw his arms around him as if he hadn’t seen him in a month. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said awkwardly and tried to pat his back but instead of skin his hand came into contact with one of Cas’ wings and there was the incredible feeling in his fingertips again, a tingling that seemed to scream don’t let go. For a second, both of them seemed to marvel at the touch, but then the moment was over and Cas swiftly moved his wing so it was out of Dean’s reach.

“Dean, where have you been?” Cas asked, his voice rough. “I tried calling you but I found your phone on the kitchen table and your other phone went straight to voicemail, so I tried Sam, but he didn’t know where you went either…” Cas trailed off, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and seemingly unwilling to let go. It struck Dean as strange, even for Cas, but he didn’t comment on it and let the angel hug him instead.

The hug was going on for about five times as long as a normal long hug would, but Cas was obviously agitated, so Dean kept on stroking the smooth feathers. There was a tension in the angel’s wings - they kept pressing against his fingers, seeking Dean’s hands and Dean had a joking remark on his lips, but he swallowed, when Cas’ words sunk in. 

“You called Sam ? Dude, I was out grocery shopping. You ate the last of the cereal, so I thought I’d buy some food for us.”

“I thought you left, Dean. I thought you went to Sam and Jack, I... “ His fingers dug deeper into Dean’s jacket before he reluctantly let go and Dean noticed Castiel’s glowing blue eyes. 

“Cas, your grace is showing,” Dean muttered and Cas blinked at him with confusion.

“Of course it is, it’s -,” he started, but shook his head. “Nevermind. It’s not important. I’m… I’m glad you’re back, Dean. I apologize for being so… emotional . I’m afraid it’s a by-product of this process. I’ll try to ‘tone it down’.” He spat out the words as if being emotional was something to be deeply ashamed of, but coming from his experience with Sam and Dean, Dean wasn’t even surprised about it. It wasn’t as if he or his brother had ever taken Cas aside and told him it was okay to be anything other than stoic or angry.

Cas was down the stairs and out of Dean’s way in the blink of an eye and when Dean finally heaved the grocery bags down the stairs and into the kitchen, the angel was nowhere to be seen. Dean shook his head. Cas’ behavior didn’t exactly get any less weird. What exactly was happening to him? He was hot and cold, either up in Dean’s personal space, way too close and disturbingly vulnerable or he did everything to avoid him with not much in between. He sighed while putting  the food into the fridge. At least, Castiel’s weird behavior had the advantage that it kept his mind preoccupied. At least he didn’t have to think about his own weird behavior, such as not being able to keep his hands from Cas’ wings or the disappointment he felt when Cas let go of him after hugging him for so long. 

“I need to get laid, that’s what it is,” he muttered to himself and switched on the coffee maker. That was it, wasn’t it - nothing a hot, busty brunette couldn’t solve. 

His phone was ringing a moment later and he didn’t even have to look at the display to know that it was his brother. 

“Dean, where have you been? Cas was out of his mind,” Sam said without saying hello. 

“I was grocery shopping, it’s not my fault that he somehow thought I’d leave him here,” Dean snapped, suddenly angry. He wanted to do a good thing, why couldn’t it be appreciated? Somehow he had the feeling he fucked up without even knowing why. 

“Why didn’t you tell him, though?” Sam said. “He was anxious. He wasn’t even making sense, talking about your bond snapping or something and he kept muttering about it all being his fault for not telling you, but I don’t know what it is he didn’t tell you.”

“Hell if I know. He hugged me for about ten minutes and it seemed like he wanted to tell me something, but you know how he is…”, Dean said, taking out some bread and slathered peanut butter and jelly on it. If he fucked up (which he was still sceptical about), he at least could try to lure Cas out with his supposed favorite food. 

“He’s behaving even weirder than before now that his wings are out,” Dean mumbled, putting another slice of bread on top of it and put the used knife into the sink. 

“Did you just say wings? He has like, actual wings now?” Sam sounded excited, almost giddy, and in the background he could hear Jack ask him what they looked like. 

“Shouldn’t Jack be able to see them?”

“The metaphysical plane doesn’t have colors, well, not in the same way as here,” Jack explained after Sam put him on speaker. “So I know what Cas’ wings look like, but at the same time I don’t.”

“They’re…” Dean started. Beautiful , he thought. They were incredibly beautiful and majestic and Dean wanted to know what they looked like in sunlight. “Black,” he settled for instead when he realized that his thoughts had entered a not very straight territory again. “They’re black and huge. Cas is basically an oversized raven now.”

Sam snickered. “Hey, if Cas is okay with it, I want a picture.”

“Sure,” Dean grumbled, but something in him protested. Maybe Cas would be okay with it, but how about him? If he was completely honest, he didn’t want anyone else to see the angel like that. A wave of possessiveness washed over him, but luckily, Sam and Jack changed topics soon and Jack told him excitedly about the hunt they were on. In Dean’s opinion, kidnapped babies didn’t seem to be a topic to be excited about, but Jack was a weird kid, so he listened and congratulated him on finding the correct clues. Dean noticed how relieved he was to hear that Jack and Sam seemed to be doing okay working together and that their case was as good as finished.

“Call me if you need me to come over, okay?” Dean told them anyway, because they still were his little brother and his kid and he wanted them to be safe.

“Sure, but I think you need to stay put and look after Cas,” Sam said. “He doesn’t seem to like being alone at the moment.”

Dean was immediately reminded of Cas’ bone-crushing hug, of the way he growled his name and seemingly didn’t want to let go anymore. Sam was probably right, but still. If Sam or Jack were in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate, even if this meant that Cas needed to be left alone for a bit.

Ten minutes later Dean balanced Cas’ blue coffee mug and a PB&J on a small tray as he made his way to Cas’ room and knocked. In the relative silence of the bunker Dean could hear a female voice and some music coming out of Cas’ room. 

“W-wait, just a moment,” Cas shrieked from the inside and then, a moment later, “You can come in now.”

Cas - still only in pants - was sitting on his bed that was still weirdly cluttered. He had both the overhead light and his bedside table light on and his wings were basically wrapped around him in a weird angle. There was a half-closed laptop in front of him, the one Sam had gifted him, and Cas still had a very alarmed and embarrassed look on his face.

“Brought you breakfast. I don’t know if you’re hungry, but, anyway,” Dean said a bit awkwardly, shrugging. He struggled a bit with finding a place to put it, since even the bedside table was full with stuff - but eventually he put the plate onto a stack of books.

“This wasn’t necessary, Dean,” Cas said, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, so you’re not hungry anymore?” Dean asked him, slightly disappointed. He would need to put stuff in the freezer then. It was definitely too much for one person.

“No, no, I very much am, but… you don’t need to make me stuff. You’re probably already annoyed about staying here with me and I really don’t want to be a burden, Dean,” Cas stammered. “But thank you.” 

He gave Dean a half smile and reached over to the plate, but one of his wings knocked over the laptop in the process. Decades of hunting monsters gave Dean the reaction speed necessary to reach for it before it hit the ground, but in doing so, he smashed his fingers on the keyboard. 

A female voice started talking and Dean saw that Cas went absolutely still, his eyes wide in horror as they both listened to her. 

“Once the feather is developed enough, the blood flow will start to recede. As the feather continues to develop, the bird will groom the sheath off and when the feather is revealed, the bird will continue grooming the feather until it’s shaped the way it is supposed to be,” they heard the voice explain until Cas fully opened the laptop and hit pause.

“Are you… watching a YouTube video about molting?” Dean asked and lowered himself on the bed next to the angel, who buried his face between his hands. His feathers rustled and he wrapped his wings even tighter around himself.

“Can we not talk about this? This is embarrassing,” Cas muttered behind his hands.

“No.” Dean was all for not talking about it, usually, but how was he supposed to help Cas in any way when the guy didn’t tell him anything?

“What’s going on, Cas?” he asked for what felt like the tenth time in the last couple of days.

Cas sighed. 

“Dean…” he said, pleadingly, with a level of annoyance and disdain he hadn’t seen in Cas in quite a while, but Dean shook his head. 

“Come on. I can’t help you without you telling me what’s going on.”

Castiel closed his eyes to brace himself and then looked at Dean, his fingers wrapping around one of the longer feathers - his primary feathers from whatDean could remember.

“In heaven, molt occurs around once every 5000 years, but it’s not the same as what you understand as molt. We don’t exactly shed our feathers, it’s more figuratively, an exchange of energy, a cleansing of sorts. Angels don’t molt when in a vessel, at least it shouldn’t be possible, since we need to leave the physical plane in order for it to happen, but somehow I seem to be molting, just… more literally. I can’t seem to put my wings back into the metaphysical plane and it seems there is more to molting than just losing and regrowing feathers. It seems I have to groom my wings so that the feathers grow the way they are supposed to,” Cas muttered into his wings. 

“So, to recap, you have no idea what’s happening to you and now you’re watching YouTube videos about pet parrots as a last resort?”

Cas nodded, not without scowling. 

“Why didn’t you say sooner? I thought, you know, that you had it under control.”

“So I should have told you that on top of having outbursts of grace that could potentially kill me, being weakened to the point where I need to sleep and eat and my wings moving to the physical plane, I have not much of an idea what is going on and how long it will last? Sure, Dean, this seems like a conversation I would love to have with you,” Cas said snidely. 

“Well, now that I know, let me help you,” Dean said, slightly annoyed. His reactions to bad news couldn’t be that awful, could they? “Your wings are huge, let me help you groom them. These sheaths need to come off, don’t they?”

Cas’ wings twitched and for a second, he seemed inclined to take on Dean’s offer, but then he shook his head and looked at him as if what he had suggested was complete and utter nonsense.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself, Dean,” he said then. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“But I-” Dean started, but Cas only shook his head again, more vehemently. 

“Thanks for making me breakfast,” he told him and looked at Dean pointedly until he left the room. 

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t really have better things to do, so he continued binging TV shows until he couldn’t remember the details. He talked to Sam and Jack and when that got old, and he even called Jody and Donna, checked in with his mom and played Words with Friends with Claire. He longed for sitting in the library and actually talking face to face with someone, but instead he got through about half a bottle of whiskey in the evening, waiting for the angel to come out of his room, but Cas didn’t do him the favor. 

The next morning, peanut butter, jelly and bread were missing from the kitchen. If he was Sam, he would probably tell Cas that he couldn’t live on PB&J alone, but he wasn’t, so he frustratedly made himself breakfast. Later, when he went by Cas’ room, he only hesitated for a little bit before walking past it. Cas had been pretty clear about not needing any help, and anyway, if he needed something, Cas could always ask. 

“Whatever,” Dean grumpily muttered on the way back to his room. He didn’t care. He really didn’t. He was just bored, that was all. After he binged another entire show he didn’t really care about, he switched over to YouTube. At first, it was just to watch recordings of some classic rock concerts, but eventually he typed in the title of the video Cas was watching the day before. 

“Helping your bird through molting in five easy steps”

He found the video after a few moments - apparently the lady was some kind of parrot expert and explained molting in different birds, starting with what molt was exactly, but also venturing into different cage sizes. Dean had to chuckle when he imagined Cas in a birdcage, but he forwarded the video until the woman started talking about the five steps she advertised in the title. She talked about birds needing more nutrition while molting, which was definitely true for Cas, who usually didn’t eat. Despite Cas’ instance he didn’t need help, Dean wrote down a few things. According to the video, birds needed more protein and a number of vitamins, and he suspected that PB&J didn’t provide Cas with much more than fat and sugar. He groaned a bit, remembering Castiel’s reluctance when it came to accepting help, especially food, but maybe he could somehow convince Cas to be alright with Dean cooking for him. This whole situation was nothing short of frustrating. Dean just wanted to help the angel get back to normal and he didn’t understand why Cas was resisting the help Dean offered.

The bird lady talked about birds usually showing signs of fatigue during molting season since the process was very draining for them, and that it was therefore important to let them rest and make them as comfortable as possible. Then she went on to say that birds needed access to water to cool their wings in, since the skin was extremely itchy and sensitive during molting. Dean’s mind drifted off to Cas bathing his wings - not that he would be able to do that in the tiny shower in the bunker, but he nevertheless thought about what the angel’s wings would look like underwater. He barely took notice of the bird lady talking about the birds needing enough exposure to natural sunlight, just jotting a quick note about getting Cas to leave the bunker for a bit.

He was torn from his daydreams when the bird lady went on to explain how feathers were formed - it was the part of the video that was playing when Dean went into Cas’ room the day before. 

“As the feather continues to develop, the bird will groom the sheath off and then the feather is revealed,” the woman explained and the video soon cut to a sequence of two birds grooming each other. “In the wild, birds normally don’t go through molting alone. Their companion will help them groom the feathers that the bird can’t reach on their own. If they don’t have a companion, you need to help them get the sheaths off their pin feathers for them. If you don’t help them, they will continue to feel uncomfortable and in the regions they can’t reach on their own, their feathers won’t be waterproof and won’t keep them warm.”

Oh. 

Dean paused the video, staring at the grooming birds. Maybe… maybe Cas wasn’t supposed to go through this alone. Of course, Cas wasn’t a bird and angels were a whole other species, also Cas only had feathers on his wings and was probably able to reach most of them on his own, but still. Maybe molting, whatever it normally meant for Castiel, was done with a partner, and not just a partner. Someone specific. Maybe Cas didn’t want Dean to help because Dean wasn’t the right person to help. 

For some reason, this realization was painful in a way Dean hadn’t imagined it to be. 

He closed his laptop after that, feeling somewhat numb and he spent a long time lying in bed with his eyes open, wondering what the hell was wrong with him, until he finally fell asleep.

He dreamed of wings - of softness that was at the same time silken and velveteen, brushing against his body, slowly and hesitantly at first but increasingly enthusiastic as Dean moaned at the touch. Dean was drowning in feathers, but he didn’t gasp for air, instead he basked in the steady warmth and the constantly intensifying tingling sensation. He could spend forever like this, existing in this state, but he suddenly felt a pair of hands exploring his skin, mapping out each and every square inch of his body. Was he naked? It seemed like it. He couldn’t remember how and why, but it felt right, and when there were fingers on his face, exploring his chin and cheekbones, he opened his mouth, eagerly sucking the finger until it pulled out of his mouth again. He moaned its loss, but the finger was soon replaced by something else, a pair of lips hungrily crushing against his. The kiss was everything but gentle, and different from any other kiss Dean had ever experienced. There was a force behind it and he knew , he knew with a certainty that what kissed him wasn’t human, but the thought was nothing but exhilarating. At last he opened his eyes and stared into blue ones - so blue they were almost white, looking at him with sincerity and lust. 

Cas , he breathed, Cas, I want-

Even his dream-self couldn’t articulate his wishes, but Castiel seemed to understand. 

Don’t move , he told him and the next moment there was something between his legs, rubbing against his cock. Dean’s instinct was to squirm, but Cas’ hands were on his arms, pressing him down and there was something keeping him in place. The tingling feeling was everywhere as the feathers of Cas’ wings caressed his cock. Dean’s body screamed for release but the more he pushed against his restraints, the tighter Cas’ grip got around his wrists. 

Don’t. Move. Castiel, who watched over him with a hunger in his eyes, growled and the pressure around his cock increased. 

Cas, please, I want - ,Dean moaned again but Cas only smirked and bent down to kiss him with feverish intensity before he caressed his cheek with his hand for a moment and vanished. Suddenly the heat of the feathers was gone and Dean was all alone.

Dean woke up with a start, blindly and unsuccessfully reaching for his blanket. He was freezing - the bunker got cold at night.e found the blanket at the foot of the bed. It was only four in the morning, he had been asleep for three hours at best, but there was no way he could fall asleep now. Not after whatever this had been. He touched his lips with his fingers, wondering how a dream could have felt this real when he felt his cheeks heating up in shame. For the third time or so, he had dreamed about Cas. Cas, his friend, Cas, his brother-in-arms. Cas, the angel that had next to no understanding of human sexuality. Cas, who maybe wasn’t a man strictly speaking, but was still inhabiting a guy’s body. A body Dean shouldn’t have this reaction to. It was confusing and embarrassing, Dean found, even in the safety of his own room. Embarrassing and wrong. But then his mind took him back to being held by the angel, burning blue eyes looking at him, and his dick twitched at the thought of Cas’ physical power alone. 

He grabbed his laptop, scowling at the video that he had paused. Five easy steps . “Easy my ass,” Dean muttered and closed the tab. Bird lady probably never had the problem of having wet dreams about her best friend who happened to be an angel. Reluctantly he opened Pornhub and watched two girls eating each other out, just to get his mind off Cas and it almost worked until the dark haired one’s ass was in focus and Dean could see that she had a tramp stamp consisting of some lame quote and a pair of wings. Dean groaned and closed his laptop again. He needed to get laid, sooner than later, fuck Cas out of his system. He needed to have sex with some hot chick again and forget these weird dreams. He wasn’t even that into feathers if he thought about it (not that he did think about it). 

Dean finally saw Cas again the next day, when the angel stumbled out of his room in the middle of the day, with huge bags under his eyes and his hair sticking into various directions. His wings were still visible and Dean raised his eyebrows when he saw that the glossy, beautiful feathers were dull and there were more bald patches than there had been before. It should be weird to see him after his dreams, Dean mused, but this Cas - rumpled and tired - wasn’t at all like the powerful, dangerous being of his dreams. 

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas mumbled without looking up and shuffled past him to the bunker’s common area. 

“It’s four in the afternoon, but sure,” Dean said. Seriously? They hadn’t talked in days and this was all Cas had to say? Cas only shrugged but didn’t look back, so Dean followed him through the library into the kitchen, where the angel immediately put ground coffee into the coffee maker and only turned around when the smell of freshly brewed coffee started to fill the room. He moved carefully, his wings pressed tightly to his body, but even then he could barely move without almost clearing the countertop. 

“Why did you follow me?” Castiel asked. “Do you need anything?” He looked up at Dean, his uncharacteristically pale face only more prominent due to the dark stubble of his beard. His eyes were red-rimmed in a way that indicated he hadn’t slept as much as his body needed him to right now. Even with the two large almost black wings carefully pressed to his back he looked more human than ever.

Dean furrowed his brows in concern and anger. “Why did I follow you?” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve been holed up in your room for days and you won’t tell me shit. Maybe, just maybe I care about you, Cas. I left you alone because you made it pretty damn clear that you didn’t want my help, but I’m worried, dude!”

Dean breathed out shakily and unclenched his fists he didn’t realize he was clenching. 

“There’s nothing to worry about. If a parakeet is able to go through this twice a year, what makes you think I’m not? I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this on my own, Dean.” He reached behind his shoulder to scratch himself, scowling when the itch apparently wouldn’t go away. 

“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? Birds don’t do this on their own,” Dean said, because the bird video and the mention of companions was still fresh in his mind. 

“What are you saying?” Cas nervously averted his eyes and looked hopefully at the coffee maker, but it wasn’t finished yet. 

“I’m… Cas, do angels have mates? When they’re molting, I mean?”

Cas nodded. “It happens sometimes,” he muttered. 

“How are they determined?”

Cas is silent for a long while. “When the molting begins, the angels touch each other’s wings until they are bound together. It is quite an intimate process - molting partners are usually very close, something similar to  human lovers. They are more vulnerable together - they have to stay in close proximity to each other due to their bond, but at the same time the power of their combined grace easily fends off enemies,” he says at last. “It’s not required to have a molting partner, since molting can be done alone, but it’s faster and more efficient with a companion.” Cas finally looked up and there was something strange in his eyes. Like so often lately, it seemed as if the angel wanted to say something else, but although Dean waited for his response, he stayed silent. 

The coffee maker beeped then and Castiel poured them fresh coffee into their usual mugs and pushed Dean’s green one in his direction. 

“This is why you don’t want me to help you, right? Because I’m obviously not your… uhm, molting partner,” Dean said quietly, his eyes on the coffee instead of Cas.

Cas just shrugged and looked at his feet, and they stood next to each other for a while, drinking coffee in silence. 

This time, when Dean snuck out, he made sure Cas was asleep first. He didn’t want the angel to worry again, but at the same time he somehow couldn’t tell him where he wanted to go. So he waited until Cas started yawning and went back to his room, checked on him half an hour later and found the angel passed out in his bed again. Cas sure needed a whole lot of sleep now; in fact he seemed to be permanently tired. 

Dean showered and shaved quickly and threw on some better clothes, and then spent a few moments looking at himself in the mirror and liking what he saw. He looked good, he found, especially considering his hard life as a hunter, but even apart from that. Definitely good enough to find some nice lady for the night. Still, when he tiptoed down the hall to not wake the angel, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He stopped in front of Cas’ door and part of him wanted nothing more than to open it and find out if the real Cas was anything like the one in his dreams, but he shook his head, slightly embarrassed at the thought and walked towards the garage instead, ignoring that he felt like his heart wasn’t in this.

The drive into town was short but at the same time every minute seemed to drag on forever and by the time he reached the small bar, he felt worn out,  like he had been driving for 12 hours straight. . There was a tightness in his chest that didn’t want to go away but nevertheless he went inside and it didn’t take long until he found his target, a petite brunette who had been talking to some other girl just a minute ago. She was drinking a cocktail, some ugly, multi colored thing but the way she sucked at the straw made Dean smirk, so he went over to her and put on his most charming grin. It was easy, almost too easy, and soon he knew pretty much everything about Brenda, most importantly how incredibly horny she was. He hadn’t even done much besides talking to her but her hand had somehow landed on his knee already and she was leaning over to him.

His phone rang. “Just a moment, sweetheart,” he told her and fished it out of his pocket. He hoped it was Sam needing something case-related from him, but when he saw the caller ID, he couldn’t say he was surprised.

“Cas,” he said when he picked up and he could immediately hear the labored breathing on the other end. 

“Dean… you… you need to come back now ,” Cas rasped. There was rustling and a pained groan on Cas’ end of the line and Dean cursed inwardly. 

“Where the fuck are you? Are you running?” he asked brusquely because shouldn’t Cas know better? What was he doing? Wasn’t Cas the one saying he couldn’t go near people right now?

“Edge of the woods,” the angel said quietly. “Please.” He hung up and immediately the feeling that something was incredibly wrong and he needed to go right now was back in full force. He muttered some half-assed apology to Brenda and found himself back in his car, driving towards the bunker a minute later. Somehow, he knew exactly where to find Cas and although some tiny, rational part of his mind knew that it was weird and that he should probably freak out, somehow he didn’t. 

Instead, relief flooded over him when he stopped the car and saw Cas retreating from the shadows, seemingly out of breath and looking like he was in pain somehow, but smiling his sad half smile. 

“Dean,” Cas said. As he stopped right in front of him, Dean could see cuts on Cas’ bare upper body that hadn’t healed yet. The angel must have come running right through the underbrush. For a fleeting moment, Castiel seemed as if he wanted to hug him, but his shoulders slumped forward instead and he settled on putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder hesitantly. 

“Dean, I have to tell you something. I haven’t been completely honest with you. When I started molting, my grace accidentally bonded to your soul. You’re my molting partner.”

Chapter Text

“After all these years, what did you think you would gain by lying to me? What, Cas?” Dean shouted after an especially tense ride back to the bunker. He was furious - not only because Cas once again thought that withholding information was the way to go, but also because the angel was a complete idiot who would prefer potentially killing himself to telling Dean the (uncomfortable) truth. 

“Dean, I didn’t want to bother you,” Cas said weakly, but both of them knew that this wasn’t the whole truth. Why were they that bad at communicating in the first place? Ever since they met they had been blatantly lying to each other’s faces- a silent agreement between them to never quite tell the truth, even when it was obvious. So even now, Dean only huffed but ultimately let it slide. 

“What do you even mean, your grace bonded with my soul? When did this happen? Why did it happen?” Dean stormed into the kitchen and came back to the library with two glasses and his last bottle of emergency whiskey. Cas thankfully accepted the booze but didn’t drink it immediately, instead thoughtfully looking into the amber liquid.

“You touched my wings. Back in the motel room in Seward. They itched and you touched the base of my wings. You couldn’t know but when you placed your hand on the base of my wings, you initiated the bonding ritual. Of course, it only worked since we share a… a close friendship.” He finally took a sip.

“That’s why my grace doesn’t see you as a threat. And why it… it hurts , when you’re too far away.”

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Dean said tonelessly and watched Cas nod. “What I don’t understand is… why did you almost let me leave? You agreed when Sam said it would be better for me to leave. You didn’t try to make me stay, why?”

Cas shrugged helplessly. “I… I thought I could do it on my own. I thought that maybe, since you’re a human, the bond wouldn’t be that strong and I could wait it out. Of course, I didn’t anticipate that molting while in my vessel would be quite so… intense.”

“Goddamnit, Cas.” 

They sat in this weird, semi-awkward silence again for a while, drinking and avoiding eye contact.

“You know I’ll help you with whatever it is you need, right?” Dean asked. “Just need to tell me what it is.”

Cas shook his head. “Thanks, Dean, but I’m fine. It’s over soon, I… I hope and I wouldn’t want to… I’m fine and as soon as I’m done, I’ll be ‘out of your hair’, as you say.”

Dean’s heart clenched as he thought about the implications of Cas going out of his way in order not to bother him. How did he come across? Why did Cas insist on doing everything on his own, even ensuring him that we could leave as soon as possible?

“Okay, then,” Dean eventually said, because as much as he wanted to tell Cas that he wasn’t actually okay with it, as much as he wanted to scream that it wasn’t fine, goddamnit and it sure as hell didn’t feel great to be rejected like that, he couldn’t. Although it hurt that Cas,, still didn’t want his help,  even though he was obviously not having a great time right now, Dean knew that he didn’t want to go there. 

They didn’t talk about anything else, and Dean tried his hardest not to ask the questions that were building up with each minute of silence passing between them. The tingling in his fingers when he touched Cas’ wings. The odd feeling of wrongness when he drove to the bar. Most of all, what it meant for them now. What was it Cas needed? Should they just exist next to each other until it was all over? Cas’ apparent reluctance to tell him anything useful didn’t sit well with him, but he had the feeling that trying to pry information out of his friend was not unlike pulling the scab off a wound before it could heal properly. 

The longer he sat there, watching Cas, tired and stubbornly quiet, he felt that something was broken between them. Something that maybe had once been just lost in translation had driven a wedge between them over the years. 

But he was still Dean Winchester, he was still a stubborn son of a bitch and the angel’s recklessness made him still furious, so eventually, although he was pretty sure he should just suck it up and try to talk to Cas, despite everything, he left the library and went to sleep. 

Nothing changed the next day. Cas’ door was closed most of the time and the angel looked rumpled and tired every time their paths crossed. Dean found himself in front of Castiel’s room from time to time but every time he kept himself from knocking. He kept himself busy, cleaning Baby, cleaning the common areas, washing all of his, Sam’s and Jack’s laundry, cooking and cleaning some more. By the end of the day, he was so tired he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

Not even excessively cleaning all day long made the weird sex dreams go away though, and so he woke up, sweating, hard, and utterly confused about what the hell everything meant. In the end, he stayed up for the rest of the night and when he finally got up, he was cranky and bleary-eyed.

Sam was the first who fell victim to his bad mood when he called to check in. Dean almost didn’t pick up, just because talking to Sam would obviously mean talking about Cas. And what was there to talk about anyway? But he imagined Sam being worried about him so the guilt got the better of him and he reluctantly answered the phone.

“How are you?” Sam asked him. Dean’s reply was barely more than a “Hmpf,” but it was enough of an answer for his brother.

“That bad?” he asked, his voice soft, and for a second Dean resented him for trying to be so goddamn caring. Of course, it was Sam, and he loved his brother more than anything else, but he didn’t need sympathy. He needed Cas to tell him what was going on, that was all. 

“How’s Cas?” his brother tried, a bit hesitant (rightly so, Dean thought) and Dean groaned in frustration.

“Hell should I know?” he barked. 

“Because… he’s with you?” 

“He doesn’t talk to me, so there’s that. Well, he did talk to me but…” Dean stopped. It didn’t matter anyway, Cas clearly didn’t want him to help. But when Sam asked “But what, Dean?” it nevertheless tumbled out of him. 

He told him about everything, Cas’ secrecy, turning down Dean’s help, that Cas was continually looking worse. Well, he didn’t tell him everything , of course. He carefully left out the small bit about the dreams, about the amazing feeling of Cas’ wings, and about his conflicting emotions. So when he mentioned his nighttime adventure to the bar, he gave Sam some mumbled nonsense about feeling antsy in the bunker and having to get out for a while. 

“So, molting partners,” Sam laughed when Dean was finished, because apparently his brother didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. 

“You know, if you just talked to him and asked him what he needed, I’m sure he-” Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“Yeah? You should have seen his face when he told me, though. He doesn’t want my help, Sammy, that much is clear.” Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“He doesn’t want anyone’s help, it’s not you, it’s him trying to ask for as little as he can,” Sam said. “Figure it out, Dean.”

And that was that. Figure it out. It took a while, of course, for Dean to finally come up with the courage to knock on Cas’ door, but he didn’t do so empty handed. He balanced the bowl containing freshly grilled chicken with a whole lot of vegetables (no carrots) and rice in his hand - a way too healthy food choice, but he still had the bird lady’s advice in mind. Molting birds needed enough vitamins and protein, so maybe molting angels needed it too and even if not, Dean just hoped that Cas would appreciate the food. 

“Come in,” Cas said after a few seconds of silence in which Dean already considered leaving. Again, Cas was seemingly half asleep on the bed, his wings full with pink patches where little black needle-like feathers were growing. Pin feathers, Dean knew - Cas had to get off the sheaths of every single one of them and groom them, at least if angel wings worked the same way. 

“I made you food, if you’re hungry,” Dean told him and the corners of his mouth involuntarily lifted to a small smile when Cas’ head perked up. 

“Thank you,” Cas said weakly. He sat up but had barely enough strength to lift his wings, so they slumped down on both sides of the bed as he took the bowl and started eating hungrily. Dean was relieved that Cas at least accepted the food - he knew for a fact that the angel hadn’t been using  the kitchen and he could see the empty jar of peanut butter on the cluttered nightstand. The lack of protest as Cas devoured the food also spoke volumes, the guy had to be starving.

“Cas,” Dean started and Castiel looked up with furrowed brows. “You’re obviously not fine.”

Cas shrugged. 

“I wanna help you, and if it means being your molting companion or whatever, then so be it,” Dean continued. “So just tell me what you need me to do and don’t pretend you’re okay.”

“You don’t know what this means,” Cas said, lowering his spoon. “I told you that molting companions share a intimate bond-”

“What, do we have to bone or something?” Dean interrupted, blushing, not sure which answer he wanted.

“What, no, why would you think that?” Castiel said, scandalized. “Angels don’t share the same understanding of intimacy. Of course, in human vessels they are not impervious to certain desires, but…,” his gaze dropped and he turned his head away.

“Molting companions care about each other deeply and they never leave each other’s side. They normally draw power from physical contact - but not necessarily intimate physical contact.”

“So... hugs?,” Dean said. “You’re talking about hugs and spending time with each other, right?” Cas nodded. 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You aren’t a very… physically affectionate person.”

Cas was right, of course, he wasn’t exactly affectionate, or at least he didn’t show his affections as easily as his brother did. But what Dean was was competitive, and so he only raised an eyebrow and smirked (although his confidence felt fake). 

“Bring it on, Cas,” he told him with a slightly conflicting feeling in his stomach, but he walked over to the angel nevertheless. He wanted to help and be a good friend, so he could suck it up.

“Scoot over,” he said even though Cas hadn’t said anything yet and was still rather preoccupied with eating and eyeing him suspiciously. But his friend made space for him on the bed and Dean, for the second time in a week, found himself in Castiel’s bed, surrounded by junk. He paid the mess no mind, since as soon as he settled down next to the angel, Cas visibly relaxed. He paused shoving food into his mouth for a moment and gave Dean a timid smile, and so they sat in companionable silence next to each other, their shoulders barely touching and Cas’ huge left wing awkwardly propped up on the headboard so that Dean wouldn’t directly lean on it. It was nice, somehow, even as he watched Cas balancing the empty bowl on top of the peanut butter jar in disbelief. 

“Would it bother you if I leaned against you?” Cas asked and Dean found with fascination that there already was more color on his cheeks and the dark circles underneath his eyes weren’t as horrific anymore. 

“Uh, sure,” he said, spreading out an arm and reaching behind Cas, who let himself fall against him, his head suddenly on Dean’s shoulder. Dean took one of the too many pillows that were lying on the bed (seriously, where did Cas have all those pillows from?) and stuffed it between him and the angel so that Cas had something to lean his elbow against. 

“Oh, you destroyed the nest,” Cas noted, but he didn’t sound particularly mad about it. However, he bent forwards to rearrange some of the pillows and now that Dean looked at it - really looked at it, he noticed that the pillows were lining the corners of the bed and that there was some kind of pattern to the junk lying around.

“Wait, this… is a nest?” he asked, barely able to bite back a comment about the mess but Cas only shrugged.

“I tried to make one. In Heaven, we weave nests out of memories and heavenly possessions, but it doesn’t translate too well, so it’s mostly…” he stopped and Dean could see the hint of a blush. “Well, I used clothes and a few items that are dear to me and gathered most of the bunker’s pillows here.” Dean made an effort to look at the various trinkets and the clothes woven between the pillows. There were a few pairs of jeans, what might be one of Jack’s jackets and - “Dude, are those my flannels? And wait, was this why you wanted to steal my dirty jacket?” He shifted and craned his neck to examine the row of flannel shirts that were lining the headboard. 

Cas nodded but looked down at his hands and Dean was almost certain the angel nervously chewed his lower lip. He would love to tease him a bit, he found, but then again he didn’t really want to go there. Sitting this close to Cas and pointedly ignoring his tingling arm from where it barely brushed against the angel’s wings (and trying his best to keep his thoughts from wandering back to his dreams) was hard enough without thinking about the implications of Cas having several of Dean’s flannel shirts in his bed. He so didn’t want to go there. 

He felt Cas getting limp against him and when he looked down he could see that the angel’s eyes were closed. Castiel’s lips were slightly parted and he had his arm tossed over Dean’s lap and Dean couldn’t help but smile. Castiel, angel of the Lord, leader of a garrison, fell asleep on top of him. With his unruly hair and pink cheeks he looked almost - 

“Huh,” Dean said quietly. Yes, Castiel looked quite cute with his long lashes and parted lips, there was no denying it. 

He frantically looked for something in his reach - his phone or a book, anything to keep himself occupied with, but his phone and Cas’ books were on the bedside table, and he couldn’t reach it without waking the angel, so he leaned back and closed his eyes, quietly panicking. 

What even had his life become? After years of hunting monsters and fighting against demons and gods, he thought he had seen it all, but over the last week Cas sprouted actual wings, he was having…  dreams and now this? He was too old to have a fucking gay crisis, and this - having his angelic best friend sleeping on top of him - wasn’t the right time nor place.

You could have had this revelation at any point in the last ten years , an unhelpful voice in his head told him, because hadn’t there always been something more than friendship between him and Cas? Hadn’t they always had a ‘profound bond’, as Cas had put it once? It wasn’t even the first time he thought about it, to be completely honest. A few years back, when he was so sure Cas was gone and he found him again, and he knew he should have been angry at him for working with Crowley and breaking the dam in his brother’s mind, but all he could feel was relief. Every time he had thought he had lost Cas for good now, he had lost part of his heart, too, and every time he had come back again, he had noticed something growing inside him, but he had ignored it all those years. There had always been more urgent stuff, there had always been something he could conveniently preoccupy himself with to keep him from thinking about his relationship to Cas. There had been moments, of course, where he couldn’t help but wonder - when Charlie and Dorothy went to Oz together, clearly having a crush on each other, or when Sam and he met Jesse and his husband Cesar, who were so… normal in Dean’s eyes. So down-to-Earth, nothing about them screaming ‘gay’. There, for a moment, Dean had imagined Cas and him. It hadn’t been more than a fleeting thought here and there, though, too heavy had his father’s influence been, and although John Winchester had been dead for more than ten years now, Dean could still feel his grip, could still perfectly imagine the disdain his father would express. Not that it mattered.

Dean looked down to Cas, oblivious to his inner turmoil, sleeping peacefully and soundly. Like so much of Dean’s life, this, too, would probably be left unsaid. He couldn’t possibly imagine himself ever getting up the courage to tell Cas, older-than-dirt-Cas, the heavenly being, that…

Well, he couldn’t even think it.  

Sighing, he let his head slump against Cas, breathing in the peculiar scent of fresh air and something earthy. There was the faint scent of pine in Cas’ hair as well - the angel smelled like a forest after the rain and Dean took advantage of the moment and tried to memorize this scent.

He couldn’t tell him. There was no way that Cas, an angel who was millions of years old, would have any interest in him, right? He closed his eyes, ignoring the hair tickling his nose when he noticed exhaustion overcome him. Just a moment , he thought. He would close his eyes for just a short moment. He wrapped his arm around Cas’ bare waist unconsciously, clutching him tightly and sighed, when he felt a wing wrap around him, before he drifted off. 

Chapter Text

When he woke up again, for a moment he thought it was another one of his dreams. His body was tingling - a chill ran down his spine and he felt electricity around him, like right before a thunderstorm, and everything was black. There was the faintest smell of pine, but he could hardly breathe - his face was buried in soft wings. Dean half expected Castiel’s face to appear, kissing him, but instead, as he pulled away from the soft feathers, he was blinded by a harsh overhead light. When he shook his head, still confused about his whereabouts, he heard the rustling of feathers and felt them brushing over his body. He blinked - was the dream after all? But no. Curled up in a fetal position, Cas slowly unfurled, stretching out his arms and yawning, but his movements stopped as the angel noticed Dean’s arms around him. When Dean finally got the memo that this wasn’t a dream after all, he hurriedly untangled himself from Cas, who turned around with a swift motion, pulling his wings as far away from Dean as possible and blinked slowly at him. 

Immediately, panic was rising in Dean - had he done something wrong? But Cas didn’t say anything, only blushing a bit and staring at him sleepily.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said after a while with a small, unsure smile. He looked better, Dean noticed, even now, immediately after waking up. The circles underneath Cas’ eyes were almost gone and he looked younger. Dean couldn’t help but stare. Cas’ eyes looked especially blue today, and the smile, albeit unsure and barely there, was a good look on him, Dean had to admit. Cas sat up and looked down on him and for a moment there, Dean couldn’t do more than admire the angel who stretched out his large wings and ran a hand through his unruly hair. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said and immediately wished he hadn’t when he watched Cas’ eyes widen. There was a beat of awkward silence between them until Dean cleared his throat and sad up.

“I feel better,” Cas declared then, his voice barely more than a whisper, but Dean could hear it clearly, since they were sitting with their shoulders pressed together. 

“I’m glad to hear that” Dean said and if he was being honest, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep like that in weeks. He actually felt well rested for once and when he grabbed his phone from the nightstand he could see that it was already 9 in the morning. They had been out for more than twelve hours, it seemed. He looked over to Cas who was preoccupied with examining his wings - and shouldn’t he feel weirder about the whole waking up spooning his friend thing? For whatever reason he didn’t, although this realization was what brought him close to freaking out, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to destroy the nest even further. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked as casually as possible, straightening his clothes as he got up.

“No, but I would like to eat something. I enjoy tasting things,” Castiel answered and oh boy, Dean thought, he should definitely not linger on that comment too long. 

“Alright then,” he muttered, thankful that Cas couldn’t see his blush. 

For a few minutes, Dean thought nothing much had changed between Cas and him. Cas walked into the kitchen shortly after him and leaned over the counter, his wings looking livelier and healthier than the day before. Dean was rummaging in the fridge, suggesting a few things to Cas until they settled on pancakes with fruit - a compromise on Dean’s part, who didn’t bring up bacon on purpose. Cas clearly favored similar food to Dean, but he should probably still make sure that the angel ate enough vitamins and protein. Not that Cas seemed to care about this in particular, but Dean suspected that Cas just wasn’t the best at taking care of himself,not unlike Dean. 

“Can I help?” Cas asked him. 

So Dean took out all the different fruit he bought and told the angel to cut up whatever he liked. He took care of the pancake batter and so they worked in relative silence for a good ten minutes until Castiel declared he was finished. He walked over to Dean, squeezing himself between the counter and the kitchen island carefully, his wings once again pressed against himself, watching over Dean’s shoulder while he poured the batter in the pan. He was rather close, Dean noted, but then again Dean was a few inches taller than him, so he had to get quite close in order to be able to look over his shoulder. He could feel Cas’ breath on his neck and almost missed turning over the pancake in time because all he could focus on was the angel standing behind him. The constant rustling of feathers and their quiet breaths were the only sounds apart from the sizzling of the pancakes. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine when Cas’ head shifted a bit and almost shrieked when he finally felt him leaning against Dean, tentatively putting his hand on his arm. 

“Is this okay?” Cas asked when he felt Dean tense up and he nodded silently, trying his best to ignore the way Cas rested his chin on his shoulder. It felt good, not only in a way familiar to Dean, but there was something else as well. Sure, he definitely enjoyed being close to Cas, and the fact that he could admit this to himself was something he probably needed to think about later, but there was some kind of energy flowing through him, as if Cas’ touch somehow powered him up. 

“This is the bond,” Cas told him as if he could read his thoughts. “Quite fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Fascinating,” Dean mumbled, all of a sudden way too aware of their proximity. It had been a minute since he last had the opportunity to have sex somewhere other than on a bed or the back of the Impala and the way Cas leaned against him made him painfully aware of the fact that the kitchen counter would be the right height to -

“And we’re done,” Dean blurted out as he put the last pancake on the stack, relieved as Cas let go of him in order to set the table. He couldn’t quite look at him when they sat opposite each other and instead focused on his breakfast. It was good, really good and Dean was as always pleasantly surprised about the cooking skills he developed over the last few years. 

“Dean?”

He looked up and saw Cas examining a piece of pancake on his fork. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks for making breakfast,” Cas said with a smile. “I might enjoy these more than PB&J.”

There was a warm feeling in his gut when he saw the angel smile, and Dean realized that it wasn’t new. It had been there all along, all those years when Cas had hugged him or expressed his gratitude or looked at him with his intense gaze. Dean had just never acknowledged it for what it was. 

During the rest of the day, Dean realized why Cas might have had reservations about telling Dean about the molting companions issue. For the last couple of days, they had gone their separate ways most of the time, only occasionally meeting in the library or in the kitchen, but now, Cas seemed to follow Dean everywhere. They were never more than a few feet apart from each other and Cas explained to him that he indeed drew strength from their proximity. This part of their arrangement didn’t take much getting used to for Dean, who basically grew up in the Impala and in small motel rooms and only a couple of years ago had learned how wonderful it was to have his own room and some privacy. So he didn’t mind that they spent all day next to each other, watching TV, getting some research done for Sam and Jack and playing card games when Dean decided he couldn’t spend a single minute staring either at a screen or a book anymore. 

So spending time with Cas without having to worry about some case was fun and Dean realized how much he missed it. He couldn’t really remember the last time he and Cas just hung out without anything hanging over their heads. Just talking. Dean teaching Cas how to play various card games and Cas defeating Dean in every single one of them. The hanging out part really wasn’t the problem.

Cas made do with the occasional bumping of shoulders, but by lunchtime, he seemed to become increasingly touchy and didn’t leave any room between them when Dean was looking through some obscure books to find the exact spell Sam needed for their case. 

“Is this alright?” Cas asked again, settling his arm around Dean’s shoulders. Dean nodded but didn’t react much to it - he was still kind of freaked out by the constant displays of affection and their implications. Cas needed physical contact - that much he got, and now that he knew Dean was okay with it, he was unafraid to do so. Sure, he pretty much asked for consent every time, seemingly still afraid that it would be too much for Dean, but judging by his looks, it worked. He looked healthy again, back to normal, albeit for the huge wings. But… Dean didn’t know what to do with himself when Cas leaned against him or hugged him. Should he… hug back? Should he initiate physical contact himself? What would Cas think if he just ruffled his hair or wrapped his arm around him? As far as he knew, it was just a means to an end for Cas. He had to get himself under control - he didn’t even know what he wanted himself and he knew even less about what Cas wanted (except for getting through the ordeal of shedding and regrowing his feathers), so he should just leave it, shouldn’t he?

If Cas noticed that he never quite relaxed, that his shoulders stayed tense and he carefully kept his hands to himself, he didn’t comment on it. 

The next couple of days were more of the same - Castiel practically didn’t leave his side anymore. They spent some time outside each day, cautiously walking around the bunker (there was never anybody near the bunker but Dean could understand Castiel’s reservations - the angel didn’t want to unintentionally smite some odd jogger). There, in the sunlight filtering through the trees, Dean noticed that Castiel’s feathers weren’t black, but instead shone in various hues of blue and green with the odd purple. Some of the feathers had what seemed to be golden edges and Dean was pretty sure that he hadn’t seen this color on Cas’ feathers before. As far as Dean could judge, Cas’ wings were almost back to normal. There were a whole bunch of pin feathers left and from what it seemed like, Cas had been right. Some parts of his wings were too damaged to produce any feathers, but they seemed more complete than only a few days ago. Dean watched Cas squatting down to examine some kind of plant and Cas went on about it, telling Dean about its importance to the ecosystem in excruciating detail, but Dean didn’t really listen - Dean was too transfixed  by the angel’s dazzling, enormous wings stretching out and shifting with every of Cas’ movements. It was chilly outside, but Cas still only wore his dress pants, so Dean could admire the play of his muscles when he rolled his shoulders. It would soon be over, he guessed. Soon, Cas would be back to the old, trench coat wearing angel. They would stop spending so much time with each other soon - there would be hunts for Dean, and angel business for Cas as it had always been and they would go back to the odd hug or pat on the shoulder. 

“Is something the matter, Dean?” Cas asked him, looking at him concerned. “You’ve been staring at me,” he added. 

Dean shook his head, suddenly aware how cold it was. “No, I’m… hey, I’ll go back inside, I’m cold,” he muttered at last and before Cas could answer he jogged back to the bunker’s entrance and down the stairs and in the kitchen, opening a bottle of beer. He was fucked, he was absolutely, completely fucked. 

Cas, as usual, didn’t press for Dean to tell him what was up, although for once Dean would have preferred his friend to demand an answer. Of course, he didn’t know what he would tell him - that he for his part couldn’t deny that there was something going on between them any longer? That a small selfish part of himself didn’t want Cas’ molting to end, that he didn’t want to say goodbye again after Cas was back to normal just like so many times before? The thought alone was terrifying. 

Thankfully (or not), Cas didn’t say anything though, and Dean tried his best to act like nothing was on his mind for the rest of the day until it was time to go to bed and he once again made his way to Cas’ room after showering. Cas was sitting in bed, brushing his fingers through the feathers of his left wing and gently picking off sheaths he immediately made disappear, spreading out the feathers between his fingers with a concentrated frown on his face. It was a weird angle, since he was trying to get close to his shoulder blades and although Cas was clearly flexible (Dean shook his head when his mind wanted to supply him with some more thoughts about that), he was obviously struggling. 

“I could help you with that,” Dean proposed, sitting down on the bed. He avoided touching Cas’ wings, since the feeling that was spreading throughout his body when coming into contact with them was… arousing, to say the least, but if Cas needed help, he could manage.

Castiel stopped picking the sheaths and lowered his arm looking at him for a long moment before he shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he simply said. “But thank you, Dean.” The soft smile that had never quite left Cas’ lips in the last couple of days was gone and Dean suddenly had the urge to leave the room. Why did Cas think him helping wasn’t a good idea? The angel apparently still wasn’t all too sure about trusting Dean with this issue, but Dean was at a loss as of why. Was he doing something wrong? Was it because he was human? Or was it because of Dean specifically? 

He glanced over to Cas and there was something in his look, like he was lost and in deep thought at the same time and finally Dean came to a realization. Of course. Maybe the whole reason why Cas was so shifty about molting was that this wasn’t the first time he had a molting partner. Maybe there was someone before Dean, someone Cas missed. 

“Cas? Have you ever had a molting companion before?” Dean blurted before he could decide otherwise.

Castiel hesitated but then he nodded. “Once,” he admitted. “His name was Zaphael. He… he died. Thousands of years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, although he wasn’t sure what exactly he was sorry for. Zaphael’s death or the fact that he must be a less than adequate replacement?

“It’s alright. It was long ago,” Cas said. “He was a warrior, like me. Losses had to be expected at some point.” He lay down on his side, facing away from Dean, his wings wrapped around him. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” he said, without looking at him again and turned off the light. 

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean whispered, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep.

That night, he didn’t sleep next to Cas. Instead, when he heard the angel’s breaths deepen, he slipped out of the bed and tiptoed back to his room, but even his memory foam mattress and fluffy blanket couldn’t make him fall asleep. So he watched some reruns of old comedy shows he could find on Netflix and let it wash over him for hours until he decided to get up. He brewed some coffee and treated himself to bacon and eggs, checking all of their phones for new voice messages and even looking into their email account to find something to keep himself occupied with. There was only an email from some old hunter from Ohio who apparently encountered a new sub-species of Vetala, but not much more, so Dean eventually just dozed off in one of the more comfortable library chairs until he was woken up by footsteps. 

“Where have you been?” Cas greeted him, his voice scratchy. Dean looked up at him and to his surprise, Cas pretty much looked like Dean was feeling, tired and grumpy. 

“Couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to wake you,” Dean mumbled and got up, walking over to the kitchen to make some more coffee. He didn’t know whether it had any effect on Cas, but he sure seemed like he needed some. 

Castiel followed him and Dean could hear the sound of fingernails hitting feathers and when he turned around, the angel grimaced, scratching both his wings.

“They’re so itchy, I don’t understand,” he growled. Dean almost stretched out a hand but he remembered Cas’ rejection the evening before and filled the mugs with coffee instead.

“You’ll flap around again in no time,” he muttered without looking at the angel.

“I doubt it, they’re still damaged and I’m not powerful enough to heal them properly,” Cas said quietly. “They’re completely useless and a nuisance,” he added in disdain, letting out a frustrated groan and continued scratching a particularly itchy spot.

“Hey, leave it,” Dean said, remembering the bird lady and her advice. “Don’t scratch too much, the follicles can start bleeding.” 

Cas looked at him darkly, but eventually lowered his arm. “I’m not a bird , Dean,” he said with gritted teeth.

Dean shrugged. How the hell should he know what applied to Cas and what didn’t? It seemed Cas was still rather clueless on the topic himself.

“I have an idea,” he proposed when he saw Cas’ fingers wandering to the itchy spot again. He pushed Cas’ coffee closer to the angel. 

“Drink up, I’m getting the garden hose. Washing your wings should help, but I can’t see you fitting in the showers, so we’ll have to do it outside.”

Cas nodded slowly and blew on his coffee.

“Thanks, Dean,” he mumbled to and reached out to him, but Dean dodged Cas’ attempt and went to the garage. Somehow, he couldn’t quite bear the thought of touching the angel.

“It’s not too cold, isn’t it?” Dean asked twenty minutes later. They were behind the bunker where Dean had found a junction to connect the hose to. It was sunny at least, though the air was chilly and underneath his flannel and jacket, Dean had goosebumps. Well, maybe the goosebumps came from looking at Cas, half naked and wet, his wings dripping. He didn’t seem to mind the cold, his skin barely reacted to it and so he looked more like a swimwear model, his naked torso glistening in the sun, a fact that Dean tried his best to ignore.

“N...no, Dean, it’s fine. Ah! There, please,” Cas mumbled when Dean hit the wing with a spurt of water. He was standing close, trying to get the water underneath the wings to soothe the skin, but he made sure not to touch the wings with his hands, which turned out to be quite the challenge. Nevertheless, after about half an hour both wings were drenched and Castiel looked somewhat relieved, or at least he seemed less likely to scratch himself bloody.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, clearly grateful, when Dean finally turned off the hose. Cas bowed down to take one of the towels Dean brought with him and started to meticulously dry the feathers.

“You don’t need to stay,” he told Dean, “I’ll just head back inside later, when I’m done.”

Dean almost let it slide, almost rolled up the hose and went back inside the bunker but the thought wouldn’t sit right with him, so he asked, hesitating, “Should I help you? I mean, I could, no big deal.”

Cas looked up, his eyes wide. “You probably shouldn’t,” he said then, but he didn’t continue drying his wing, and instead kept staring at Dean, something in his gaze Dean couldn’t quite read.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Dean blurted. “I’m sorry I’m clearly not who you need right now, I’m sorry I can’t be Zaphael.”

The towel fell on the ground. 

“This is what you think?” Cas asked, quietly.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know what you need, I don’t know how to do this and you clearly think something is wrong. You told me angels groom each other during molting but you won’t let me touch your wings, so-”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas whispered, taking a few steps forward. 

“I’m so sorry I made you think you were inadequate. You selflessly decided to help me although I withheld the truth, you took care of me, tolerated my mood swings, even accepted to be physically close to me although you’re uncomfortable with it. You did all these things perfectly, Dean, although you were thrown in with little context.”

“But… what is it then?” 

Cas’ hands were on Dean’s shoulders now and once Dean would have called the angel out for neglecting personal space, but now, he could only focus on his blue eyes shining in the sunlight.

“This process has been so much more intense than any molt I’ve ever gone through. In the metaphysical plane, molting is just a cleansing process, and of course bonding your grace to another angel can be exhilarating, but it’s nothing quite like bonding grace to a human.”

Finally, after days of craving for it, Dean tentatively reached out and put his hands around Cas’ waist. He didn’t pull him close, just put his hands on the wet and cool skin and watched with his mouth slightly agape when Cas closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the touch.

“My wings,” Cas continued, “they’re sensitive. I have quite a… reaction to you touching them,” he whispered and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“Dean, my grace didn’t just choose to bond with you because I consider you my best friend. You mean more than that to me, you have been for a while now. I just… I know that you can’t reciprocate my feelings and-”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean mumbled hoarsely and before he could change his mind, his lips were on Cas’, and at last, he pulled the angel closer to him. 

It wasn’t the most coordinated kiss - teeth were clashing into each other and Cas’ wet hair was dripping into Dean’s face, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that when Cas’ wings spread in surprise, Dean became instantly dripping wet, it didn’t matter that he would probably catch a cold, or that his hands started to get clammy. Cas’ mouth was hot on his and he sighed softly when Dean pulled away to let out a relieved laugh. The air around them crackled with electricity and Dean felt the exhilarating surge of their grace-soul bond inside of him when they touched, but nothing was as magical as Cas’ amazed gaze and his wide, hopeful smile.

Chapter Text

They stopped making out when Cas noticed Dean’s trembling fingers. 

“You should get out of these clothes,” Cas told him and Dean let out a shaky laugh. Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

“I don’t understand what’s supposed to be funny about that. Humans are prone to upper respiratory tract infections and you’re clearly cold, so you should get inside and change out of your wet clothes into something else,” the angel told him and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. Dean smirked. Even now that Cas understood most of the references he made, it was still refreshing that sometimes, he was completely oblivious.

“I’ll be right back,” he said and sprinted into the bunker and down the stairs, almost tripping over his feet. When he walked through the war room, he could feel his legs trembling, and it was definitely not due to the cold. He stopped to rub his eyes and put a finger onto his lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He still had Cas’ taste on his tongue but it didn’t feel real; it felt like a dream he hadn’t quite woken up from. What if he went outside again and Cas wasn’t waiting for him? He shook his head. No, it was real, he just needed some time to wrap his head around it. He went to his room and slipped out of his wet flannel and t-shirt, quickly changing into an old Zepp shirt and donned a green henley over it. His jeans just had a few wet spots on them so he kept them, but before he left his room again, he caught sight of himself in the mirror next to the wardrobe and took a hard look. 

He looked different, somehow, he found, and the thought freaked him out a bit. Did he look gay? Was there even a way to look gay? ( Was he even gay? He didn’t think so, but then again he had no idea how those things worked and he didn’t have Charlie around anymore to explain them to him.) But nevertheless, he felt like he had “I just kissed Cas” written on his forehead in huge, red letters, so he kept staring at himself. 

He was waiting for a voice in his head to tell him that he should be ashamed, that it was wrong, that kissing Cas had been a mistake, but although he kept staring, the voice didn’t speak up. It hadn’t felt wrong. It probably wasn’t the best kiss he’d ever had, he was clearly out of practice and Cas was rather inexperienced, but it didn’t matter. It had felt just right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. Dean cringed at the corniness of his own thoughts and took a last look at him. There was an excited glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there. No red letters. He just looked… happy, he guessed.

Cas came down the stairs when Dean walked into the war room and the sunlight that shone in from the windows above the angel made him glow in a halo of light. Dean stared open mouthed at him as Cas strode towards him, his wings slightly puffed. 

“You just looked very angelic,” Dean told him, closing their distance.

“I would hope so. As far as I know, I am an angel,” he said, bemusedly, and cupped Dean’s cheek. This close, Dean noticed that Cas looked a bit more tired than when they were outside, but he also saw that the wings, dripping wet mere minutes ago, were dry.

“I would have helped you dry them,” Dean pointed out. He wasn’t sure that their new… arrangement would mean that he got to finally touch the angel’s wings, but he sure as hell hoped so. 

Cas shrugged. “I could think of better ways to spend time with each other than trying to dry my wings,” he muttered and pressed his lips against Dean’s. 

“Yeah?” Dean said, smirking against Cas’ mouth. 

“Yes.” There was the rustling of wings and suddenly, Dean felt the tingling sensation again, starting between his shoulder blades. His breath hitched when Cas moved his wing down his spine, and even through two layers of clothing, the feeling was intense enough for Dean to sink against Cas.

“Fuck,” he mumbled when he saw the angel’s devious smile. Wasn’t Cas supposed to be the (almost) blushing virgin here? Instead it was Dean who was blushing furiously and whose knees could barely support his weight anymore. Suddenly not quite ready to touch the wings, Dean dug his fingers into Cas’ hair, enjoying the angel’s soft sigh. 

“I like your idea,” Dean told him and soon he was pressing open mouthed kisses along Cas’ jawline while the angel wrapped his wings around them and slid them relentlessly against Dean’s back. Dean stumbled backwards, pulling Cas with him towards the middle of the room to the map table and clung onto its edge. He almost moaned when Cas found his mouth, but Cas pulled away to look over Dean’s shoulder at the map table, which Dean was sure was cluttered with books. 

“How about,” Dean started and let go of the table, but he didn’t need to say anything else - Cas only smirked and flicked his wing, and Dean could hear a clattering as multiple items fell to the ground. Dean hopped on the table and for a moment Cas just looked at him, one of his hands at the nape of Dean’s neck, brushing his thumb over Dean’s hair. There was a hunger in Cas’ gaze as their eyes met, something Dean couldn’t describe at anything else than freaking hot . As Dean licked his lips Castiel almost groaned and pulled him by the collar. He slipped his tongue in between Dean’s parted lips and hummed contently as finally a moan escaped Dean’s throat. Their kiss deepened and Dean felt the need to hold onto something, his fingers scraping across the glass surface of the table. Somewhere between Canada and Alaska he gave up and clutched Cas’ arm instead. Feathers brushed against his hand and he shuddered involuntarily at the feeling, surprised when Cas did the same. 

“You can touch them, Dean,” Cas said hoarsely, “just be careful.” 

Dean nodded, and, not taking his eyes from the angel, he reached for one of the wings and moved his palm up the arch of it, applying barely any pressure at first. When he saw the angel’s eyes flashing bright blue and heard a breathy moan escape his lips, Dean became braver in his touches. When he reached the little winglet at the highest point of Cas’ wing, he stopped his movement and instead took one of the feathers gently between his thumb and index finger. Cas let out a deeper moan and the little winglet pressed against Dean’s hand, so he continued massaging the part of Cas’ wing. Something inside of him was telling him that he should probably be weirded out - he was massaging a wing and Cas was very clearly getting off because of it - but truth was, it wasn’t weird at all. Dean’s hands were trembling due to the intense tingling that touching Castiel’s feathers was causing. The air was charged with the angel’s grace and something else, coming from himself - maybe it was their grace-soul bond, he didn’t know and frankly didn’t care. All he knew was that it wasn’t like anything Dean had ever felt, but it was right where he was supposed to be. And Cas having extra erogenous zones? What was he not to like about that?

In between Cas’ moans, Dean marveled at the sleek and soft texture of the angel’s feathers. They were hot, several degrees above both Dean and Cas’ body temperature, and Dean still would love to do nothing more than just bury his face in them - well, he could, actually. He bent forward and pressed a timid kiss on the arch of Cas’ wing, looking up at the angel to watch his reaction. Cas didn’t look at him, instead his head was arched back and his eyes were closed.

“Deannn…” he moaned, somewhere between a plea and a command. Dean’s ears grew hot at how much he enjoyed seeing Castiel like that. He planted more kisses on the feathers, working toward Cas’ body and digging his fingers into the other wing he had neglected until now. He then moved on to Cas’ shoulder, his collarbone, and his neck, until the angel caught Dean’s mouth with his. Dean couldn’t help but sigh when their lips slid together. They were getting the hang of it, their movements more coordinated than their first kiss outside of the bunker. Cas’ head tilted to the side and Dean immediately took advantage of the angle and guided his mouth open. Immediately, he felt Cas shift against him. The angel’s hands were moving upwards, tugging on his flannel until Dean managed to shrug it off his shoulders without breaking apart the kiss. Cas’ soft fingers found their way underneath his t-shirt and Dean moaned against Cas’ mouth when the angel seemingly tried to map out his whole torso with his fingers. 

“Fuck, Cas,” he breathed when Cas found his nipples, gently brushing over them at first and rubbing them between his fingers when he noticed Dean arching forward. 

“I think you’re wearing too many clothes, ” Cas said, and somewhere in the back of his mind Dean was sure to have a retort, because why did he have to go change into dry clothes in the first place then - but he couldn’t argue with Castiel’s logic, so he reluctantly pulled back from Cas’ mouth and slipped out of his flannel and shirt. 

“Better?” he asked with a smirk, when he saw Cas’ gaze wander over his body.

“Dean, you’re...” the angel started, his mouth slightly agape. Suddenly there were hands and wings on Dean’s skin and Cas looked at him the way a blind man would look if he  was suddenly able to see. 

“Never seen a hot guy before?” Dean asked, because Cas seemed seconds away from saying something emotional and the longer Cas stared at him, the more Dean remembered he was making out with the angel. As much as he was into it, the concept was still sort of scary and he knew that he needed to stay in the moment. He wanted this, he really did, so before Cas could say anything else, he surged forward and kissed the dumbfounded expression off Cas’ face. The angel got the hint and kissed back immediately, and soon their tongues slid together and Cas made a number of noises Dean knew he wanted to hear more of, so he grabbed him by his arms and pulled Cas down with him. 

Cas broke the kiss to adjust himself but in a matter of seconds, Dean was lying on the map table, and Cas was on top of him, his knees on each side of his hips. Dean could unmistakably feel Cas’ erection pressing against his belly, as the angel bent forward and he was acutely aware of how tight his jeans were getting. 

The angel’s wings were like two huge shadows over them, and apart from a few glimpses of the war room’s light fixtures that shone through between the feathers, the illuminated table under them was the only source of light left. Cas dove right back to his mouth, his lips insistent against Dean’s and Dean gladly gave in again and welcomed Cas’ tongue. Cas kissed with the imprecision of a novice, but it seemed that as long as he knew Dean was up for it, there was not a speck of hesitation in his movements. 

“Dean,” Cas growled next to his ear in his deep, gravelly voice, “I want to be closer to you.”

“You mean, like…” Dean said with a cock of his eyebrow, but before he could decide on an idiom, Cas nodded.

“I mean physical intimacy. I want to be as close to you as you’ll allow it,” he said, his eyes glowing blue for a moment, and even in the dim light of the map table glowing underneath them, Dean was almost certain that Cas was blushing. 

“Of course I understand if you’re not ready, or don’t want to. We can stop if you want.” Cas went quiet and looked at him inquisitively as Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The world seemed to be completely still around them and their heartbeats, in almost perfect unison, were the only sounds he could hear. He wanted this, didn’t he? For a short moment, he felt panic surging inside of him, since Cas, angel or not, was still in an unmistakably male body and he hadn’t really thought too much about the very real possibility of touching another guy’s dick. But then, he saw the look in Cas’ eyes that he couldn’t really describe as anything but loving and he felt the tips of the angel’s wings brush against him, leaving his skin tingling and making him yearn for more. He wasn’t sure if it was their bond suddenly making him realize how incredibly hot Cas looked, his hair falling into his eyes as he was bent over him, his bottom lip between his teeth, the entirely human expression contradicted by his wings.

“Yeah,” he simply said. “I want to,” he said, tasting the words on his lips and finding that he liked the way they sounded, and the way Cas’ eyes flared up with want and lust. As Cas started nibbling on his neck, he closed his eyes and turned his head, and he moaned as the angel started marking his skin. 

Cas worked his way downwards again but stopped right above Dean’s navel, when Dean felt Cas hands on his fly and the shock of cool glass on his asscheeks and thighs as Cas pulled off his jeans and boxer briefs as if the angel couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Feeling a bit exposed like that,” Dean told the angel, when Cas sat up to look at him. “Your turn, angel.” From where he was lying on the table, he couldn’t reach Cas’ pants, but the angel soon complied and slowly pulled them down. He wore kind of long, white, unfashionable boxer briefs but Dean couldn’t care less. He had never had a guy strip before him but the way Cas wriggled out of the pants without taking his gaze off Dean, the way his wings flared to help him keep his balance as he was kneeling on the map table, Dean just knew. He knew, with every fiber of his being, that he wanted this, even though it was new, even though it was kind of weird to only notice it so late in life. For the moment at least, it didn’t matter what it meant for him as a person, Dean thought, he could deal with all of that later. Right now, however, the only thing important to him was getting Cas’ hands back on his body, touching those amazing, gorgeous wings again and allowing himself enjoy the exhilarating feeling.

“Touch me,” he whispered hoarsely. Cas nodded, but not without his gaze lingering for a few seconds more, his mouth slightly agape.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful. I… I knew this, of course, I’ve built your body back up, but sometimes… sometimes I forget,” Cas said, barely audible, as he bent down, his wings moving with him. He kept his hands firmly on Dean’s hips while he kissed a trail down from his navel, stopping at the base of his cock, where he replaced his mouth with his hand. Dean’s breath hitched when he felt the soft pressure of Cas’ fingers on the sensitive skin, and he let out a deep moan when Cas stroked his already half hard dick teasingly. He was fairly positive that the angel had no previous sexual experience other than with that reaper chick, but damn, it definitely didn’t seem that way. 

Cas looked up at him with a silent question on his lips and Dean nodded enthusiastically, which brought a smile on the angel’s lips.

“Get… get on with it, C-Cas,” he stammered as the angel gave Dean’s erection a couple of strokes, and it had been far too long since anyone except for Dean himself touched him there. Dean had no idea how long he was going to last. Cas was basically straddling his hips now, and Dean propped up on his elbows, wishing for a more comfortable surface. He was getting too old for fucking on tables, but although his back was protesting a bit, the angel got a moan out of him when he brushed his thumb across his cockhead. 

Dean reached forward, followed by a few moments of awkward shuffling but then, Dean’s fingers finally found Cas’ cock. It was incredibly hard and hot, and for a second Dean was bewildered by the feeling of a cock in his hand that wasn’t his, but then Cas breathed in deeply and mumbled “Oh, Dean,” with closed eyes as Dean gave the angel’s cock a few tentative strokes, marveling at Cas’ reactions.

“I like - oh, yes, Dean,” the angel muttered and his hand fell from Dean’s cock as he was barely able to balance himself on Dean’s hips. The lamp that hung directly above them was flickering dangerously, but Dean didn’t care, instead he slid both of their cocks together and closed his hand around them. 

Cas finally regained his capacity to think after a moment or two and pulled Dean up, supporting his weight as Dean worked both of them. Dean’s name tumbled out of Cas again and again and was joined by Dean’s moans and some variation of “Yeah baby, fuck, Cas, so good”. They were forehead to forehead, Cas’ wings encasing them like a cocoon and brushing over Dean’s back, sending shivers down his spine. Soon Dean couldn’t do anything else but pant and moan and try to somehow catch Cas’ lips. Their teeth clashed together, but it didn’t matter, and Dean’s free hand moved frantically over Cas’ body, grabbing and stroking, wanting to feel everything. Cas arched his head back in pleasure and then one of his hands joined Dean’s and they stroked their cocks together, and Dean was sure he wouldn’t last for much longer. They didn’t quite find a rhythm but Dean couldn’t care less - they still worked well enough together for him to become a writhing, moaning mess.

“Not gonna- not gonna last much longer,” Dean somehow got out and Cas took this as an incentive to pick up pace.

“I want to see you come, Dean,” Cas said, out of breath and somehow, this was all it took for Dean to get over the edge. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed that this, Cas’ voice, was what did it for him and he cried out as he orgasmed. His hands, barely able to function, grabbed Cas’ arms, and shoulders, until he dug them into the angel’s dark wings when his orgasm washed over him. He only noticed that he had let go of Cas’ cock when the angel let out a deep moan as Dean’s fingers stroked the wings, and he saw that Cas wasn’t even touching himself anymore, when he cried out Dean’s name as he came as well, with Dean not letting go of his wings. 

The lightbulb above the map table burst and Cas had just enough sense left in him to lift a wing to shield them just in time for the glass to tumble down as the angel, panting, but considerably less sweaty than Dean, sunk down on him.

They laid there for a few minutes, entangled into each other, Cas cupping Dean’s cheek and Dean petting Cas’ hair, not saying a word.

Dean was the first to move as he sat up, noticing his pain all over and coming back to his senses after the post-orgasmic bliss. The map table had been a bad idea, he found, wincing, and he grimaced as he noticed both of their half dried cum that had formed a sticky pool on his stomach. 

The reality of the situation hit him all at once but before the panic had any chance to rise up in him, Cas looked at him with a warm and exhausted smile and he just shook his head, kissing the Cas’ cheek instead as a feeling of warmth spread inside of him.

Time seemed to work differently as they lay exhausted on the map table, with Cas pressing small kisses to wherever he could reach Dean, and Dean stroking Cas’ wings, enjoying the tingling in his fingers.

“This was wonderful,” Cas mumbled against Dean’s skin. Dean hummed in agreement, but fell silent again as he saw that Cas’ wings, apparently fueled by their prolonged physical contact, looked much better than only an hour ago.

“Was this the bond?” Dean asked, suddenly anxious. What if this had just felt so good because their grace and soul were linked to each other?

“I don’t think my wings would react so… intensely to your touches without the bond, but other than that, it was all us,” Cas said, knowing exactly what Dean was worrying about. Dean couldn’t help but grinning at his response.

They stayed like that for a little longer, limbs tangled and exhausted, and Dean was surprised at himself at how natural this felt to him. Dean Winchester never cuddled after sex, but the angel seemed to be an exception.

“We need to exchange the lightbulb before Sam comes back,” Cas mumbled at some point, looking up.

“Well, we should probably also thoroughly clean the table,” Dean added. “And don’t say a word to Sam; this is his favorite research spot,” he added. 

Dean swallowed as realization dawned in him, because as soon as Jack and Sam could come back, they probably needed to talk to them, right? This hadn’t been a one time thing, had it? He wanted to do so much more, wanted to explore every inch of the angel’s body, wanted to feel him, to taste him - hell, maybe they could even go all the way at some point. But was this even something Cas wanted? 

He was pretty sure that Cas had enjoyed it as much as Dean had, but what if Cas didn’t see this as more than an enjoyable pastime? What if, as soon as Cas was back to normal, everything else would be too? He almost asked but the fear of Cas telling him something he didn’t want to hear held him back and so neither of them said anything. 

Somehow, they managed to go through most of the day without talking about much. Dean made them something to eat while Cas exchanged the lightbulb and meticulously cleaned the map table and although they leaned against each other a few times, nothing more happened. Later, Sam called the both of them to tell Dean that they were ready to come home as soon as Cas was back to normal, Cas assured them that he would be done molting soon. When Sam and Jack told them about the case they had just solved together, Cas casually leaned over to Dean and kissed his neck, as if it was something he had done hundreds of times before. Dean sucked in air, momentarily losing his train of thought and could only stammer some half-assed explanation of stubbing his toe when Sam asked whether something was wrong. He did yank down Cas on his lap as soon as Sam hung up however, kissing him feverishly. 

The next few days passed in a blur or making out and getting each other off everywhere in the bunker (he would never be able to look at the kitchen island the same way). Even when they weren’t entangled with each other, it was hard to keep their hands from each other.Dean helping Cas preen his wings and get rid of the sheaths was almost impossible to do without endingup making out after only a few minutes, forgetting about their plans. 

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had been so carefree. He couldn’t keep grinning like a complete idiot every time he looked at the angel. 

His sex dreams resurfaced again after a day or so, but this time, when he woke up, he was greeted by a sleepy but highly enthusiastic angel with a severe case of bedhead whose eyes flashed hungrily as he noticed Dean’s hard-on. When Dean came in Cas’ mouth, not even ten minutes later, he was pretty sure that the real deal was way hotter than any dream. 

They didn’t talk though. Well, they did, they talked about everything - Dean told Cas stories of his and Sam’s childhood he hadn’t told him before, Cas recounted tales of his days as a commander and they talked about their family. But even though Cas confessed that being a surrogate father to Jack still terrified him and Dean admitted that he wished his relationship with Mary would be different, they both carefully avoided the elephant in the room. 

What will happen when you’re finished molting? Dean more than once wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, and so he just tried his best to swallow down his worries and pretend that everything was fine for as long as he could.

“I think it’s pretty much over,” Cas told him about two days later when they went to bed, examining his wings. There were a couple of feathers left that weren’t quite fully grown yet, but at the rate Cas’ feathers were growing, it couldn’t take more than a day or so. 

They looked at each other, both with a question on their lips they didn’t dare to ask. What was Cas waiting for? Dean was pretty sure it must be obvious to Cas what he wanted, but the angel stayed silent and Dean knew that he should just ask the question and get it over with, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask. Instead he only nodded and managed a small smile when Cas eventually bent forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. 

That night, when Cas curled on his side, Dean nestled his face in between Cas’ shoulder blades, breathing in the warm and earthy smell of the angel’s wings and tried not to think of how much he would miss all of this. 

Even before he woke up, he knew something was different and when he opened his eyes the space next to him that was usually occupied by Cas was empty. He sat up, blinking, frowning when he saw a figure sitting at the edge of the bed. Cas clad in his dress pants and his shirt which he apparently mended together again, looked back at Dean with a lopsided smile. 

“Your wings,” Dean stated, because the dark appendages were gone. Cas looked smaller now, more mundane, like a regular guy, but he was sitting up straighter again as well, just as he did before. 

“They’re back in the metaphysical plane,” Cas only said. “I woke up a few hours ago. I guess my body doesn’t need sleep anymore,” he said, and he didn’t sound completely happy about it. He reached over for Dean’s hand, squeezing it. 

“So, you’re not molting anymore,” Dean muttered.

“It seems like it. Is everything alright?” Cas asked, and Dean only nodded, because he wasn’t sure whether he was able to answer. They got up then and went to the kitchen, where Dean rummaged in the fridge for something to eat. 

“Omelette?” Dean asked, holding up a carton of eggs but Cas only shook his head. “I don’t need to eat anymore, and I doubt I would like the taste,” he said sadly. “But I’ll have some coffee.”

Dean ate his omelette in silence. He was painfully aware of Cas watching him but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. He didn’t want to know the way Cas was looking at him - was it pity? Sorrow? Whatever it was, he was sure it would be different from the way he had looked at him the last couple of days. That was over now - carelessly kissing and fucking and spending time with each other. It had been an amazing vacation into some kind of reality that just couldn’t exist, not with them being the way they were. So it was back to hunting, back to their usual lives. Or… did it have to be like that? Could it be different? 

“I need to go outside, I need to try something,” Cas said, interrupting Dean’s spiralling thoughts. “You can come with me,” the angel told him but he was already up and halfway out of the kitchen when Dean followed him. 

He found Cas directly in front of the bunker, staring up to the sky with hopeful eyes and it pained him to see him like that, so beautiful and perfect, when he didn’t know what the future would hold for them.

Cas looked over to him when he stopped next to him and turned to cup his chin in his hand, kissing his lips and cheeks slowly and gently. 

“Dean,” he said, leaving it at that. 

Dean didn’t answer.

“I think I’m able to fly again,” Cas whispered then, as if he was afraid to say the words out loud, and Dean stared at him, open mouthed.

“You think?” he said, dumbfounded and at last, a small smile spread on his lips. Cas, his angel, would fly again, after so many years of being earthbound. 

Cas only nodded and frowned, as he turned to fully face Dean again. 

“Thank you, Dean,” he said. “Thank you for everything you did these last weeks.” He aligned their faces until they stood forehead to forehead, his blue eyes bright, and, for a last time, he brushed his hands against Dean’s cheeks and neck. Then, almost reluctantly, he pulled away, and, in a blink of an eye, he was gone.

Part of him expected Cas to be back an instant later, but when the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes dragged on, when he kept standing outside of the bunker, waiting for the angel to return, the realization hit him. Cas wasn’t coming back. Not now, at least. Cas had, unbeknownst to Dean, said goodbye to him. 

He didn’t realize he was crying even when the tears hit his cheek and his vision was blurring. Only when he found himself back in the bunker, bending over the kitchen counter and saw the teardrops dripping down from his cheeks onto the metal did it hit him. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck you, Cas.” He hit his fist against the metal surface until his knuckles started bleeding and there was a small, but unsatisfying dent forming, but slowly, the tears were ebbing and he stopped sobbing. He went over to the fridge, taking out a bear and downing its contents in a few gulps before he took out his phone to dial the number of the only person he wanted to hear right now.

“Sammy? You can come home. It’s over. And… he left.”

Chapter Text

In the five hours that it took Jack and Sam to arrive, Dean cleaned. He wiped down the map table again, cleaned the kitchen until the surface was almost sparkling, he changed the sheets of his and Cas’ bed and took apart the weird nest, putting everything back where it belonged, swearing when he noticed Cas’ phone on the nightstand. For a long time, he stood in the entrance of Cas’ room, his arms full with dirty laundry, and just stared at the small room, until he closed the door behind him. 

He was already three glasses deep in whiskey when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs and for a second he thought that it was Cas, but instead he heard Jack’s voice calling out to him.

He got up and welcomed the kid with a hug, involuntarily smiling at how long Jack clung onto him. 

“How was hunting with Sam?” Dean asked, and Jack grinned.

“I really enjoyed it,” he told him. “He told me I was doing great,” he added with pride in his voice and Dean couldn’t do anything else but pat his shoulder. The kid really enjoyed hunting, and part of him was proud that Jack grew up to be a capable hunter, but part of him just wished for him to be able to enjoy his life and keep his innocence. Jack ran off into the kitchen to fetch himself something to eat when Sam got down the stairs, duffle bags in hand.

“What happened?” Sam asked, dropping the bags onto the table. 

Dean only wanted to go for a clap on the back, but instead sunk against his brother, relieved when he felt an arm around him, steadying him. Sam didn’t press for a response, but when Dean found his steady footing again and pulled away, his brother looked at him knowingly. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam just said and Dean was glad that he didn’t have to explain, that Sam simply knew, even though he couldn’t get out a single word. Sam dragged him to the kitchen and so Dean watched as Jack and his brother were preparing dinner and making steady smalltalk with him. He didn’t contribute much, a reply here and there, but neither Jack or Sam pressed him to say more, so he left it at that. When they sat down to eat (pasta, Dean painfully noted and remembered licking tomato sauce from the corner of Cas’ mouth only two days ago), he only managed to swallow one or two bites until he put down his fork and watched the others instead. 

Every time there was a creak or any noise that didn’t come directly from them his head perked up, hoping to hear the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, but Cas didn’t show up.

“He will call,” Sam said at some point. “Even though he doesn’t have his phone, he knows our numbers.” Dean made sure to have every single one of their phones at hand, but none of them rang. 

Later, they watched a movie together. They couldn’t decide on which one, but Jack put on the Lost Boys with a small smile and not even Sam, who always complained about the movie, said a word. But Dean only stared at the screen, barely registering Jack curling up next to him, so deep in thought that he didn’t notice when the credits rolled and Jack had to gently shake him.

“He will come back, Dean,” he said solemnly, “He always does.” 

And Dean knew that Jack was right - Cas came back almost as reliably as he would leave, but that wasn’t what he was afraid of. He knew the angel would be back sooner or later, but… what then? Dean had tried to ask so many times what molting partners meant to each other when the molting was over but he hadn’t, too sure he’d be disappointed in the answer - because that was it, right? They’d had a great couple of days, but Dean couldn’t imagine Cas wanting to actually be with him. 

He didn’t go to sleep for a long time. Jack was the first to leave, and after that, Sam sat with him for a while, until Dean blurted, “He said he thought he was able to fly again and… he thanked me for everything and just took off,” and Sam only shook his head. 

“I thought you two would finally, you know, get your shit together,” Sam said quietly and Dean buried his face in his hands because for the last couple of days it had finally seemed they had. 

“You know I’m always there for you,” Sam told him later, yawning. “If you need anything, just knock. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

Dean nodded, knowing he wouldn’t disturb Sam’s sleep, but thankful nonetheless. He watched some other movie he didn’t care much about, not yet ready to go to sleep, afraid of the dreams he might have, but at some point he dozed off nevertheless, half sitting on the sofa. 

He dreamed of wings, dark, warm wings gently cloaking him, and of Cas kissing him lazily, his hands caressing every part of his body. 

You’re more than a friend, you mean so much more to me, you have been for a while , Cas told him and kissed his cheek gently. You are-, Cas started and Dean waited patiently for the angel to continue, but instead he just kissed him. 

You must understand that we can’t be together. I’m an angel and you are a human, it doesn’t work, Cas told him with a sad look and brushed back Dean’s hair.

But thank you, Dean, for everything. I’m free again because of you, dream-Cas said softly, his hands cupping his cheeks for a final kiss and he spread his wings, taking off and leaving Dean alone in the dark.

When he woke up he noticed that he was shivering and decided to take a shower when he realized that he hadn’t done so all day long. He took off the clothes he had on when he last saw Cas, and let the hot water run over his face, where Cas kissed him, scrubbing himself down until his skin was burning. Again he felt the sting of tears in his eyes but this time he could bite them back, fight them off. So many bad things had happened to him in the last few years. He had seen his friends and family die before his eyes, he had more than once been working towards a goal, only for the situation to worsen as soon as he thought he was finally done. He had seen Cas get killed in front of him, but he had never shed more than a few tears and went on with life. What was so different now?

Of course he knew the answer, deep down. He had been happy. For a few days he’d been almost carefree and happy and had seen what his life could have been if it had gone in another direction. Somewhere, in another universe, he was free of worries and content, he was sure of it. Some other version of him had what he himself hadn’t. And although he yearned for it, he was almost positive that this version of him couldn’t have this happiness. He was a hunter; he was Dean Winchester; there was always something more important, something more pressing, some monster to kill, someone to save, so he swallowed down the last of his tears and turned off the shower. 

He felt a little better, dressed in fresh clothes and smelling like his shower gel rather than a day’s worth of sweat, but the hot water had energized him somehow and so he didn’t go back to bed. Instead, he walked to the library, settling in his favorite chair and pulling Slaughterhouse Five from the shelf - he had read the book so often that it didn’t matter if his mind were somewhere else from time to time, he would be able to follow the plot anyway. For an hour or so it worked and he read a few pages until his eyes started burning and his vision blurred a bit (Sam was probably right and he needed reading glasses, but Dean didn’t want to go there yet), and so he closed the book, put it back on the table and rested his eyes for a bit.

Not for the first time this week he woke up to the sound of footsteps.

But this time, he woke up to the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs . Dean jumped up immediately, reaching under the table where he knew a gun was hidden, just in case, but when he saw the figure standing in the entrance of the library, he dropped the gun on the table instead.

“Cas,” he breathed, taking a few steps until he stood in front of the angel, who smiled at him weakly. His hair was more ruffled than usual and it had leaves sticking in it - Dean tried his best not to reach up to him and pull them out - and his shirt and pants were caked in mud. 

“Dean,” Cas said, sighing and slumped against him, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean stiffened, but he gingerly put his hands on Cas’ back, waiting for the angel to pull away. He didn’t. Instead, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and hugged him closely, as if they had said goodbye to each other a year ago, not mere hours.

“I wanted to come back sooner,” Cas whispered and despite the relief that the angel was back was almost overpowering anything else, Dean still felt a spike of anger. 

“Where have you been? I thought you left,” Dean choked out and this, at last, made Cas look up.

“I overestimated my abilities and crash landed in a forest,” Cas said. “My wings… they are still damaged. I can fly, but not for much longer than a few miles and it is incredibly exhausting,” he said, but where Dean would expect sorrow, he saw a smile on Cas’ face.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said nevertheless, tonelessly, but Castiel shook his head.

“Dean. I can fly . For the first time in years. I will probably never be able to fly as far or fast again as I had before, but… I flew.” He laughed a throaty, deep laugh. “All thanks to you, Dean,” he added. Dean stared at him, not able to move. His whole body stiffened as he breathed in the familiar smell of the angel and there it was again on the tip of his tongue, the question he had been asking himself for the last few days.

What now?

“Dean?” 

When Dean finally found control over his body again, he realized the angel was looking at him with furrowed brows and concern. Cas let go of him, but he was still standing impossibly close to him, and if Dean didn’t believe that he wasn’t made for happy endings, he would grab Cas by the collar of his shirt and kiss him senseless and never let go of him again. He didn’t do any of it, however, because he had learned the hard way that the only reason life would give him something good was to make taking it away even more cruel.

“What’s the matter, Dean?” Cas wanted to know, but they were interrupted by a gasp and footsteps, and seconds later, Cas was wrapped in a hug. 

“Castiel,” Jack exclaimed, “You’re back!”

Cas smiled at Jack with the pride and adoration of a parent and they soon chattered on about Cas’ wings and Jack’s hunts with Sam, and Dean retreated back into the library, grabbed his book and went down the stairs to his room. He passed Sam’s room and he almost took up on his brother’s offer, but… no. He was tired and he couldn’t think, the last thing he wanted was to talk to someone. He just needed to think. 

When he reached his room and his head hit the pillow however, exhaustion washed over him and he was as good as gone already.

He woke up to someone opening the door to his room and for a moment, his brain betrayed him, so he imagined Cas, finally going to sleep, lying down behind him and kissing his shoulder. For the last few days he had learned that he loved waking up to Castiel’s caresses, to lips or feathers on his skin - 

He was awake in a matter of seconds and turned around to the angel, who was sitting down fully dressed on the edge of the bed, back in his usual suit and trench coat outfit, no wings in sight. Even like that, Dean found, Cas was painfully beautiful. 

“Dean,” Cas said, almost pleadingly. “I think we need to talk.”

I’m free again because of you . The words Cas had said to him in his dream reverberated in his mind and he only realized he was shaking his head when Cas tilted his head in confusion.

“I don’t wanna talk, Cas. Just… just leave. I don’t wanna talk about it.” He didn’t want to hear Cas’ explanations, nor his excuses. If they didn’t talk about it, if Cas just left and dropped by in a few weeks, maybe with a new case or maybe because they needed his help, everything could go back to normal. They could pretend the last couple of days hadn’t existed - it wouldn’t be too hard, would it? He had lied to himself about what Cas meant to him for more than ten years, he could just continue to do so now. 

Cas didn’t get up. Instead he scooted closer to Dean, his hands folded in his lap, looking down on them. 

“Of course I will leave if you want me to. I just thought…” He trailed off and looked up and Dean, as always when he locked eyes with the angel, couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

“Dean, I love you. And even if you don’t reciprocate my feelings, I thought you should know.”

Oh.

Oh . 

Dean blinked, not quite registering the angel’s words, because it couldn’t be, could it? Castiel’s words made sense in an almost painfully simple way and of course Cas loved him. They loved each other, they had for so long. They were best friends, family. They loved each other because after so long, it was the only logical thing to do. 

But… this wasn’t what Cas was talking about, was it? 

No, it had to be. He didn’t quite dare to hope that Cas was speaking about something different, a different kind of love, one that Dean had given up upon long ago. One that he wasn’t quite ready to embrace yet for himself. 

The angel’s eyes were full with sorrow and pain and Dean could see himself in them. He wanted to say something, anything to wipe away all the sadness in Cas’ eyes but he couldn’t think of a single thing (or he could, but although he had been fighting monsters and even gods for decades now and had put his life on the line more than once, right there and then he couldn’t find the courage).

Suddenly, Cas reached into one of the pockets of his coat. It was a quiet and slow movement but Dean still almost jumped since they had been sitting across from each other and had done nothing but stare at each other for so long now. Cas pulled out a feather - was it the feather Dean had found in the fake therapist’s office, the one Cas had snatched back from him on their first evening back in the bunker? He examined it closely before reaching across the bed to Dean, the feather in his hand like an offering. Dean took it, still speechless and when his hand closed around it, he could feel the faint tingle like a vibration in his fingertips, an afterglow of Cas’ grace. 

His lips involuntarily formed to a smile as he looked at the feather and he looked back up to Cas, who had a faint blush on his face. The feather happily tingled in his hand and Dean brushed over it with his thumb, his gaze on Cas, who seemed to expect some kind of reply. For whatever reason, his mind drifted off to something he had read about when googling bird behavior in order to make sense of Cas. Sometimes, birds would offer their partners presents in order to impress them. Most of the time it was food, but angels normally didn’t eat, so… He looked back to the feather in his hand, beautiful and dark. Cas wasn’t a bird, but angels and birds surely had more similarities than Cas wanted to admit, right?

He probably should say something and not let this moment go to waste.

Dean took a deep breath. “What if I… think I do? Reciprocate, I mean,” Dean muttered to his hand. He wasn’t sure if he could call it love , not yet, but it was… something, and it had always been there with Cas and had only grown and deepened over the years.

“Then I would ask you if I could stay,” Cas said. “And I would ask if I could kiss you.”

“Yes,” Dean told him, his voice embarrassingly high, because had Cas just asked if he could stay? When he finally found the courage to look up at the angel again, Castiel smiled at him and every trace of sorrow and pain was wiped from his face and instead was replaced with a look that was so open, and earnest, and full of love that Dean could only repeat himself.“Yes to both.”

Dean couldn’t keep the smile off his face when Cas closed the distance between them and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“I’m really glad,” he said and leaned his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and Dean couldn’t do more than nod and wrap his arms around the angel, the feather still in his hand. 

“Mind if I wear it around my neck or something?” he asked. “The feather, I mean.”

Cas hummed. “I would like that,” he told him. 

Dean leaned back to rummage his bedside table for something he could use, muttering a quiet “Aha,” when he pulled out a leather band and wrapped it around the feather. There was something in the way Cas looked at him as he tied the feather around his neck that had his heart pound faster - the angel was smiling widely by his standards. As Dean put the feather underneath his shirt where it could safely sit between his collarbones, Cas closed his eyes the moment the feather hit Dean’s skin and let out a delighted hum.

“You feel it?” Dean asked, gesturing at the feather that was happily tingling against his skin.

Cas nodded. “It will probably wear off at some point, but there are still remnants of my grace in it. If I concentrate, I can feel your heartbeat.” Cas reached over to him and put his hand on Dean’s chest and Dean had to swallow as he looked at the angel and asked himself why it had taken him so long to admit that Cas was more than a friend to him. It seemed impossible, if not downright ridiculous now.

“Is you giving me one of your feathers some kind of angel bonding ritual?” Dean asked eventually. He noticed the faintest blush on Cas’ cheeks as he averted his gaze. 

“Not quite,” he admitted. “We don’t bond outside from molting, but angels give parts of themselves - feathers or a bit of their grace -  to each other as an expression of deep affection. Think of it as a promise to care for you. To stay with you.” He looked up. “You are under no obligation to give me anything back,” Cas told him.

“But I want to. I just have to figure out what. I don’t have fancy feathers like you do and I can’t just give you my fingernail clippings or anything like that,” he said with a shrug. “So let me think.” He got up and opened and closed drawers, looking for something that had at least part of the significance the feather had. Maybe one of his favorite flannels? Dean shook his head - he couldn’t see Cas give up the trench coat anytime soon.

“I don’t see anything wrong with fingernail clippings,” Cas told him, watching him from the bed. 

“Of course you don’t, you weirdo,” Dean said with a chuckle when he opened the small box he kept most of his photos in and pulled out the battered ring he had been wearing when he was younger. Granted, he had mostly used it as a bottle opener and he hadn’t worn it in years, but in a way it was fitting. The ring had been part of him for a long time but wasn’t anymore, just like Cas’ feather. The fact that it was a ring - well, Dean tried not to think about it, it didn’t matter. 

He turned around to the angel, inclined to just toss the ring over to him and play it casual, but he decided against it and sat down next to Cas instead. 

“So, here. I wore it for so long I could hardly get it off my finger when I decided to take it off,” he mumbled. “So you can almost say it’s part of me.” He took Cas’ hand and let the ring fall into it.

“I can remember you wearing this,” Cas said, sliding it onto his left ring finger. 

“It’s a promise,” Dean said, his voice almost betraying him, as he took the angel’s hand in his. Cas nodded.Dean leaned over to kiss him, and soon he was climbing on top of Cas and both of them fell back onto the mattress.  

At some point they had to get up - or Dean did. Cas, now powered up enough again to have no need for mundane needs like eating, was happy to tell him that if he had his way, they wouldn’t get out of Dean’s bed for at least another day or two, but eventually put his pants back on after Dean lured him out with the promise of coffee.

They didn’t make it very far until Dean was pushed against a wall and Cas was whispering in his ear what he would do to him if they had the kitchen to themselves. Dean was pretty sure it was an empty promise - even if they had the kitchen to themselves, he would never ever have sex somewhere Jack could potentially see them. He didn’t want to do that to the poor kid. But still, Cas whispering filthy promises into his ear made his blood rush to his nether regions and he let out a mix between a laugh and a moan before he pushed forward against Cas’ iron grip to kiss him. 

“Oh wow, I really didn’t need to see this,” Sam, who was walking towards them said, but when they both looked up, wide-eyed and blushing, his brother only shrugged.

“I guess it’s still better than to witness you two staring at each other. I’m glad you worked it out, only took you a decade,” he said and slipped inside his room, as if there was nothing else to say. Well, maybe there wasn’t.

Cas didn’t keep the promise he had whispered in Dean’s ear, because when they entered the kitchen, Jack was there and even after he left (not without hugging them both as he saw that they were holding hands), Cas only leaned against Dean and kissed the side of his head, mumbling “Maybe we could send them on a hunt again.”

And that was that. 

Cas did stay. Even two weeks later when Sam declared he was ready to look for a case again and they spent 14 hours crammed in the Impala, he stayed. He stayed every night when they slept in seedy motel rooms, lying next to Dean for most of the night even though he didn’t need to sleep. Even the few times he and Jack slipped out in the middle of the night to spend some angelic father-son time together, he was still back again when Dean woke up. 

When Dean finally told him, one night, that he still couldn’t quite believe Cas wouldn’t leave, Cas only told him that he understood and that he would stay until Dean finally believed him, and even after that. 

For the first time in a very long time, Dean thought that maybe happiness was something even he was allowed to feel sometimes.

“I miss your wings,” Dean told Cas about a month later, in between kisses, back in the bunker after weeks of sleeping in creaking, uncomfortable motel room beds. Even without the grace-soul bond flowing through their veins every time they touched, every kiss, every skin-to-skin contact was supercharged with a decade of want. Every time they gazed into each other’s eyes Dean couldn’t help but think about all the times they had done this before and had never said a single word to each other. And he loved the contrast of it, being able to kiss him whenever he wanted (although he was still reluctant to do so in public, but he was getting there). Sometimes, however, he thought back to Cas’ wings, to their blue and green feathers, so dark they were almost black. The way their otherworldliness made Cas seem like some wild, untamed creature. He wanted to see them again, dig his fingers in the thick, black feathers and watch Cas come undone. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” Cas asked.

He pulled away from Dean and got off the mattress. He unbuttoned his shirt, and put it down next to Dean’s things, then pulled over a chair and climbed on it to unscrewed the lightbulb from Dean’s lamp - Sam was still pissed at them for destroying all the lights in the hallway once (but what could they say, Cas had very powerful orgasms). 

“Close your eyes,” Cas warned him and Dean immediately took cover, but even behind his closed eyelids he could see the flash of light. For a moment, everything was quiet and Dean didn’t dare to open his eyes until he heard the soft rustling of feathers and felt the mattress dip. 

When he opened his eyes it was almost completely dark aside from Cas’ glowing blue eyes, barely enough for him to see the faint glint of Cas’ wings as he gently stroked his feathers over Dean’s skin. When he pulled down Dean’s jeans and brought his lips against the head of his cock, Dean didn’t care about the darkness anymore because his other senses took over.

“Hey, Cas?” he asked, still panting about fifteen minutes later. 

“Hmm?” came the reply as the angel let go of his neck for a minute and looked at him, his eyes still glowing. 

Dean chuckled. He would regret this, but it didn’t keep him from saying the next words.

“Are you into birds?”

“Do you mean whether I am interested in birds or whether I’m sexually attracted to them? Because you know that I take interest in the avian fauna, since their similarities to angelic creatures are fascinating, but I very much hope that you don’t think I-”

Dean’s laugh cut him off and he knew Cas was tilting his head in confusion even though he couldn’t quite see it.

“No, no, I mean, because the way you just sucked me off makes me think you must have had a cock or two in your mouth before. Get it? Cockatoo?”

“Deeean, that doesn’t even make sense,” came Cas’ weak reply but after a moment he felt Cas’ lips planting a kiss on his cheek.

“But, if this was supposed a compliment regarding my… performance, then you’re welcome,” the angel practically purred into his ear and before long they were both lying there with entangled limbs, giggling like schoolkids, safely tucked away under Castiel’s wings.

THE END