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Castiel wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he had heard his Dean’s prayer- ‘Uh, Cas, can you get down here? Something weird is happening, and, uh, yeah, please come help me’ but it sure wasn’t this. Castiel now stands in front of Dean’s crumpled form in the middle of a vacant road, a few strides away from where the Impala has been hastily parked on the side of the street. Sam is kneeling beside his unconscious brother in obvious concern and distress, but most shocking about the picture before Castiel might be the two massive golden-brown wings hanging limp on the pavement, unfurled from his back. The appendages are soaked in blood and a milky white fluid, the feathers drenched in it, plastered flat to the wings and each other as a result. Sam looks shocked, awed, and mostly worried, but as soon as Castiel runs over to join them, obvious relief shows in his face.
“Cas- thank God-” Sam is interrupted by Cas’ frantic questioning, the angel bent over his hunter, cradling Dean’s head in his lap as he examines Dean.
“What happened? How long has he been like this? How did you get the wings out?” Cas demands, reaching out to run his fingers through the thick coat of fluids on Dean’s feathers. Sam recognizes the face Cas gets just before he smites something on the angel’s face, and his eyes are full of blue flames.
“We were just driving, and Dean kept complaining about how his back was hurting, until it got worse and worse and he started having a seizure or something. I had to reach over him and pull the car over, and as soon as he got out, this angel appeared- some guy who I didn’t recognize- and all he did was peel some of Dean’s skin and flesh off his back and then rip out these fucking wings, then Dean passed out and the angel just took off without saying shit. Can someone please tell me why the fuck my brother has wings?!” Sam finishes, his voice edging on hysteria. Cas’ eyes narrow- he is no longer paying attention to Sam. He begins to strip off Dean’s clothing, the tattered remains of his flannel and undershirt smeared with gore, and then carefully, gently pulls Dean into his arms. “We’ll be back at the motel,” Cas tells Sam before disappearing.
Sam just stares at the pool of blood and torn clothing in the middle of the road, incredulous. He’s not really sure his mind is fully wrapped around what is happening. “It would’ve been nice if you could’ve flied me there too!” Sam yells at the sky sassily, not even sure what to do about the situation anymore. It’s beyond his level of comprehension. A lot of things- weird, weird things- have been thrown at Sam over years of being a hunter, but this is by far the weirdest.
“My brother has fucking wings.”
***
Castiel is equal parts worried, concerned, and pissed. He’s outraged that Zuriel essentially tore Dean’s wings out of his body and made such a mess of his back. Castiel aches for his hunter; Dean must have suffered greatly at the extrication process, since it had obviously been done so brutally. Cas lays Dean on his stomach on Sam’s neatly made bed at the motel, then positions the folded up, bloodied wings sprouted from Dean’s back on the mattress beside him. Yes, Castiel will be having a very stern word with Zuriel about how he handled the delivery of Dean’s wings, though he’d rather ‘beat the shit’ out of him in Dean’s words. Zuriel is the angel of wing delivery; his job in Heaven is to pull the wings from infant angels’ bodies safely a few months after they are born and the wings are ready.
He obviously did a very poor job with Cas’ beloved. Never before has Cas seen such a mangled mess resulting from extracting the wings. The fact this was done to his mate fills him with an unholy, righteous fury. But more overwhelming at the moment is the worry growing exponentially with each passing minute. Dean is unconscious, with two gore-drenched wings beside him, and Cas has to fix him as soon as possible. Cas suspects Dean passed out from either pain or blood loss, but most likely a combination of the two. He can only imagine this kind of pain Dean must’ve endured, and it hurts Cas infinitely more that Dean was hurting and Cas wasn’t there to stop it.
Castiel gets to work healing Dean, first arranging the remaining shreds of muscle, skin, and flesh on Dean’s back, then knitting the cells of it all back together, replenishing them and making them new. Dean’s mutilated back is now returned to an even healthier condition than before, smooth skin stretched over renewed muscle and flesh. He also replenishes all lost blood, returning the original amount back into Dean’s body. “I am so sorry you had to suffer through that,” Cas murmurs in Dean’s ear, even though Dean can’t hear him. Cas still feels the overwhelming need to comfort his human. Cas runs a hand through Dean’s spiky hair and kisses his forehead, then turns his attention to Dean’s new wings.
Cas fills the motel’s bathtub full of lukewarm water, then holds Dean’s sprawled out form in his lap and drapes his wings over the edge and into the water. He stretches over Dean and begins to run his hands through the feathers, pinching them gently between his fingers to rid them of the clumps of dried blood and chunks of flesh and skin. The grime of blood and amniotic fluid clouds the water as Cas tenderly scrubs it away, revealing the deep gold color of the feathers beneath. Cas feels a rush of affection, grooming Dean’s wings like this. He cards his fingers through the larger flight feathers, and takes extreme care in sifting his fingers through the smaller, much more sensitive ones on the undersides, towards the base. He finds the two oil glands and uses the pad of his thumb to rub away the gunk clogging them.
Cas finds something about this process comforting. It’s a big part of angel culture, for mates to groom each other’s wings, and he rather likes the feel of Dean’s feathers in his hands, and even more so, he loves caring for Dean. He always loves caring for his Dean, whether it be when Dean is injured or sick, or in this case, with new, fragile wings in need of tender love and care. Castiel takes almost reverent care in cleaning them, massaging away the remaining blood, dirt and dust from the road, the thick fluid that nourishes the wings while they’re inside of Dean, and combing out the last bits of tattered skin.
Once Dean’s wings are up to Cas’ high standards of cleanliness, he pulls the plug, watching the dirty, bloody water swirl down the drain. He effortlessly sweeps Dean into his arms, taking caution not to catch Dean’s wings on anything as he carries him back to Sam’s bed. Knowing Sam will return soon and wanting to spare both Sam and his brother the embarrassment in finding Dean nude, Cas slips Dean into a clean pair of boxers and his favorite dark green plaid pajama bottoms, leaving his chest bare. Dean is still unconscious, but Cas figures that with the hunter all healed up, he should be waking any minute.
Dean’s wings are absolutely gorgeous. They’re not nearly as big as an adult angel’s, but Cas assumes they will grow. They’re an iridescent gold, darker on the outsides and tips, so much so they become more of a dark hazel scattered with flecks of gold. The insides, closest to the base where the sensitive, vulnerable feathers are, are a pure, lovely gold that is more than vaguely familiar to Cas. The seraph recognizes the color from the very essence of Dean’s soul, the color of the very core. Castiel understands the meaning behind the color, and hopes one day he’ll get to explain it to Dean. The wings seem to be a manifestation of Dean’s soul, at least aesthetically, and Castiel has never seen wings more attractive.
Castiel continues to groom Dean’s wings, taking deep pleasure in being the first and only to take care of his lover’s wings. He spreads them out on the mattress, and they each have to be a good five feet in wingspan, about half the size of Cas’. The angel pushes the other bed right next to the one Dean is lying on, so the wings can be completely unfurled and not touch the dirty floor. Castiel begins working away with drying the feathers, manifesting a silken towel to absorb the moisture. The gold color only intensifies as the feathers dry, and the satiny feeling of them is luxurious under Cas’ calloused hands. Never before has Cas touched feathers so soft. He feels an odd sense of pride; this is his Dean, with his beautiful wings, wings that Cas gets the honor of caring for and pleasuring.
Oil starts to flow from the two oil glands, and Cas starts to work it through the feathers, fingers talentedly spreading it while massaging away. He straightens each feather so it is pointing in the right direction, smoothing them down, and the gold gleams glossily from the oil. Dean’s wings appear- and are- very healthy now; the production of oil is the biggest indicator of that. Castiel drinks in the scent of the oil; it smells like thunderstorms, sunshine drenched in musk, something sweet but distinctly masculine. The scent is overwhelmingly Dean’s, and Cas has to stifle his infatuation with it. It’s an addicting scent that the angel can’t wait to be marked with, as he has already marked Dean with his own scent, many times before. The oil makes Cas’ fingertips tingle as he finishes up distributing the oil to the ends of the tip feathers, and then the angel steps back, appraising his work.
Dean’s wings- though small- are utterly glorious and breathtaking. Castiel understands now how they came into existence, and berates himself for not having foreseen it before, so he could’ve pulled them out and cared for them without interference from Zuriel. The excess of Grace from the soul bond Dean and him had while communing many times must’ve manifested in the physical form of wings, having nowhere else to go. This is the first time an angel and human have soul bonded, have mated in both the Heavenly way and earthly way, as a bonded pair, so there really was no foreseeing the product of such love, combined with Cas’ Grace, creating a pair of wings from Dean’s soul. Something about the whole thing makes Castiel burn with possessiveness and pride; those wings are his lover’s, born of their true love and profound bond, created from Cas’ Grace but taking on the appearance of Dean’s soul. They are perfect.
As much as Cas feels the urge to spite Zuriel for what he did to Dean’s back, he does understand why it was done so gruesomely. Zuriel has only ever pulled wings from toddler angels, never an adult human. From what Cas understands of the process, infants have slits in their backs where the wings are supposed to grow out of, so the extrication process is much more simple and natural. Zuriel had a lot of guesswork to do with freeing Dean’s wings, and though Castiel would’ve been much, much gentler and efficient, Zuriel must’ve tried his best. No angel in the right mind would cause any unnecessary harm to Cas’ human mate, because the resulting wrath at Castiel’s hand would be ensured. Zuriel must’ve kept this in mind, because he at least tried to do his duty.
Dean groans from where he lays face-down on the mattress, breaking Cas out of his train of thought. The seraph lies on the bed beside Dean, pulling his hunter into his arms, cosseting him, stroking his hair. Cas would stroke Dean’s wings, but he fears the sensation would be too intense for Dean, just waking up and learning he has wings. But oh, how Cas wishes he could touch them. “What the fuck? Do I have...wings?” Dean breathes, awe, confusion, and wonder evident in his voice. Cas chuckles, kissing Dean comfortingly.
“Yes, my Beloved, you have wings.” Cas launches into the story of how this is possible, and why the process of freeing them caused him so much pain and was so poorly done. Dean listens attentively, never taking his eyes off the wings he now can call his. He tentatively reaches out to run his palm over the glossy feathers, pupils blowing wide at the feel.
Castiel unfurls his own wings, brushing the tip of his right one along Dean’s, a gesture of affection, and Dean sighs loudly at the sensation it produces. “Feels good?” Cas questions, encircling them both with his own blue-tinted charcoal wings, reaching out to caress Dean’s golden feathers with both hands. He buries his hands in the feathers, fingers massaging at the muscles tenderly, and Dean positively moans at the pleasure that spasms through his wings in response.
“H-holy fuck, Cas, that feels fucking fantastic,” Dean gasps as Cas chuckles in endearment, then proceeds to dig his fingers in and twist, while stroking downward. Dean is reduced to a moaning, over pleasured mess within minutes, Cas’ expert touch completely unraveling him. Dean’s wings beat lightly, feathers fluttering, as Cas lightly cards his fingers through the sensitive underside feathers. Dean sees stars at how amazing it feels, feels like he might explode from the sheer ecstasy the touches cause.
“Every time you’d stroke my feathers, Dean, this is exactly how it felt. The way you tortured my wings with pleasure…. I am going to take my time in doing the same to you. I will worship your wings with my hands, mouth, and wings, and you will know exactly what it does to me when you touch my wings like you do.” Castiel promises, kissing Dean deeply.
Sam chooses that moment, unlucky as ever, to walk in, sucking in a deep breath of surprise at the sight in front of him. “Angels are so damn weird!” Sam laments, looking away from seeing his brother’s body- and wings- practically spasming with pleasure, Cas' hands in Dean’s feathers.
Castiel pulls away from Dean, trying to not make Sam uncomfortable, but Dean cries out in protest, his wings leaning into Cas’ retreating touch. Cas looks pleased by this, but shakes his head. “Later, my Adored,” Sam catches Cas whispering to him. Sam scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, wishing he could burn out the images he’s just seen.
“Touch my oil glands again,” Dean begs, and Sam practically gags at just how needy and wrecked Dean sounds.
“Alright, I’m just gonna get another motel room. On the other side of the fucking planet,” Sam announces, scrambling to grab his bag and the keys to Dean’s Impala. “Cas! You better call me and explain all this freaky angel shit ASAP!” Sam throws over his shoulder before slamming the door shut behind him.
***
Little did Sam know his whole life has become accidentally seeing really freaky angel shit, a lot more often than he had originally dreaded. How many times had he knocked on Dean and Cas’ motel room door, calling over an “Are you guys decent?”, hearing Dean’s muffled “Yes, go away,” and then entering, only to find the hunter and his angel entwined, wings wrapped around each other? Not only that, but since Dean hasn’t learned how to tuck his wings away yet, he always has them out, so they’re always knocking things over, pressing against the windows and obscuring his view through the windshield when driving, ‘accidentally’ hitting Sam numerous times. As majestic as they are, his brother’s wings are really getting on Sam’s nerves.
Of course, there is a lot of it that Sam never saw. Like how Cas would show Dean how to wash them, the two of them crammed together in the tiny motel shower, wings folded in all around them, Cas massaging soap into Dean’s wings, while Dean tried to shift his body in the tight, limited, feather-filled space so he could watch. Cas showed Dean how to straighten and align the feathers after they’d brush along something wrong and get pushed in the wrong direction. Cas found it endearing how obsessive Dean was about always keeping his feathers straight and pointing the same direction. Even Dean’s crabbiness from when they aren’t neat and uniform made an onrush of affection rush through the seraph.
The two also had a lot of learning to do together. Like, for example, how to wash wing oil out of sheets. That was a tough one; though almost translucent, the oil left prominent stains on sheets of any color. They still haven’t found a way to get the wing oil stains off the sheets. Furthermore, Dean now always smelled of sex, or the scent that comes from the wing oil. Castiel not-so-secretly adored that fact; he loved always smelling himself on his hunter, and Dean also really enjoyed how when he’d bury his face in Cas’ disheveled hair, he could smell his wing oil. It made a deep, possessive sort of satisfaction encompass him each time he did this. So Cas had been receiving an increasingly excessive amount of hugs lately.
Another result of Dean with wings is now that he knows what feels good and in what way with the growing appendages, he can really make Cas scream his name when he sets out to do so. The angel is confident Dean is better at the wink kink thing than any angel in Heaven ever has been or will be. The cherry on top of the whole thing is how Dean is his, his talented hands and devious mind included. No one would be pleasured like Dean would set out to pleasure Cas, though the seraph himself would come a close second.
Other times Cas would show Dean just how comforting and intimate grooming and pleasuring his wings could be when done in a non-sexual way. After a long day of hunting, the two would return to their motel room, with just a single bed (Sam would have a room elsewhere in the motel) and they would change into sleep clothes, turn off the lights but for a bedside lamp, and just relax. Dean’s favorite times are when it is pouring rain outside, the raindrops beating against the window, and Cas would sing in Enochian, his voice rough and low but indescribably beautiful. The angel would show Dean how calming and just as incredibly intimate having his wings stroked, massaged, and kissed with the softest, gentlest, most reverent of touches could be. Dean especially liked being lulled into sleep by the combination of Cas’ deep voice and the loving touches Cas would grace Dean’s wings with. The amount of care, compassion, and love that would show through such delicate touches would never fail to make Dean feel more loved than he thought possible.
Cas also indirectly showed Dean what wing gestures meant. So Dean wouldn’t be the only one with wings, Cas would keep his out often. They naturally are the most obvious indicators of body language, and portray more emotion than Dean is usually comfortable with. Still, Dean learns a lot about the meaning behind gestures. When Cas arches and fans out his wings, he’s usually showing off to Dean, seeking attention in hopes of turning Dean on. When the tips of Cas’ wings twitch, he’s usually curious or thinking, and when they flatten out and draw closer to his body, he’s dejected or sad. The most interesting thing to see though is how Cas’ and Dean’s wings interact with each other.
Cas shows protectiveness and possessiveness by standing in front of Dean and flaring his wings, curling them around his hunter in defense during a hunt. He’ll also encircle Dean with his wings or cocoon him in them as a gesture of protection, like he’s saying ‘back off from my human or I’ll kill you’ with just wing language. Dean has to squeeze his own wings to him to allow for the dominant gesture. Gestures of affection and ownership are ones both of them are very familiar with now; Cas’ wings are always curling around Dean, and Dean’s are always stroking Cas’ with the tips, or brushing along the length of one. Sometimes Dean even takes the liberty of straightening one of Cas’ feathers when it’s out of place. It’s little things like this that show Dean’s love for Cas using his wings, and vice versa.
Dean decides he likes his new wings, and how they communicate love to his angel as well as receive it.