Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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1.

In a way, she misses being dead. That's not to say she's going to do anything stupid, but she feels that being a little bitter is justified. After all, Mary had been yanked from her comfortable, quiet Heaven to find her sons—the sons that had been four and six months old what seems like minutes ago—are suddenly even older than she is. Not only that, but they grew up to be hunters. She…she never wanted that for them.

As if that wasn't bad enough, they have this…monster hanging around them. An angel, which she didn't even know existed, not really. Sam and Dean clearly trust him to the point where they're willing to turn their backs to him and leave him unsupervised, allowing him to do whatever he wants whenever he wants, even when they're both sleeping. It's…disconcerting, and a little worrying. They're hunters, so why aren't they hunting this…Castiel?

She's seen him in action before, too. He's nothing like what she pictures angels should be like. He's almost human, prone to anger and grief and affection alike. He describes humanity as jarring, and doesn't trust computers or phones. But he's not human, even if her boys treat him like he is. She suspects they might forget that he isn't, sometimes. She remembers growing up lonely whenever her older brother and parents were away on hunts, leaving behind only a dog for company. She used to pretend the dog was her 'human' best friend. Maybe Castiel is like Sam and Dean's dog…?

Regardless, Castiel is obviously important to Sam and Dean, and even though every hunter's instinct in her body is screaming at her to get the monster away from her children, all grown up or not, Mary is determined to try to see Castiel for who he is instead of what he is. For Sam and Dean's sake, since she kind of just wants to get the threat away before it can harm anyone, though she has no idea how to even kill an angel so it's not like she has a lot of options. So she decides to observe him—from a safe distance, because she still doesn't trust him.

It all starts when she wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night after a horrible…is it a nightmare if it's a memory? Either way, Mary quickly realizes she won't be falling back asleep tonight, so she swings her feet over to the side of the bed and gets up, her unnaturally-aged joints popping almost uncomfortably. She did not miss living, that's for sure.

When she leaves her bedroom in the Bunker and makes a turn for the kitchen for a cup of coffee, caught midway through a yawn, her blood runs cold upon turning the corner and seeing Castiel sitting at the table, an open book in front of him. He's completely still, to the point where Mary can't even tell if he's breathing or not. It's beyond unnerving.

She barely steps into the room before Castiel glances up for a second, acknowledging, "Mrs. Winchester."

"Mary," Mary corrects, walking over to the coffeemaker, but just staring at it because she has no idea how to work it. Yet another thing she can't do now. "Mrs. Winchester makes me feel old."

"You should be sleeping," the angel says, looking up at her and lifting up two fingers. "If you're having difficulties sleeping, I can help you—"

"No!" Mary doesn't realize she's backed into a corner until her back hits the wall. Castiel just blinks at her slowly and lowers his hand, apparently completely unoffended. Still, she says, "Er, sorry. Just…not too into the idea of anyone messing with my head, y'know?"

"I understand." Mary steps back over to the coffeemaker and starts pressing random buttons, hoping it will magically start working. "Do you need help? I've become very adept at using the coffeemaker." Before Mary can decline on principle, Castiel adds a little proudly, "Dean even lets me make his for him every morning, and he's very picky about his coffee, even though he drinks it black."

That makes her pause. Though she knows Sam and Dean fully trust Castiel, to know that Dean trusts him enough to do something like prepare food or drink for him every morning…and presumably only Dean, too, as Castiel hadn't mentioned Sam at all. Mary remembers only making John coffee every morning after they were married for a few months, and while she doesn't want to assume anything, she can't help but wonder why Castiel is only making Dean coffee. Yet again, she's not quite sure what to make of Dean and Castiel's…whatever they have.

"That'd be great," Mary finally relents, taking a step back to sit at the table so she can watch what Castiel is doing closely. If Castiel notices, he doesn't comment on it. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I don't sleep."

Well, that answers that. "Ever?" She wonders if it's rude to ask if he doesn't need to breathe, either.

"I can, but I…dislike being unconscious for long periods of time. Not to mention I usually only lay down when I'm injured." Castiel pushes a button and the coffeemaker begins whirling and dripping sweet, dark liquid into the empty pot below. "As such, I find sleep very disconcerting, so I tend to avoid it."

"I can get that," she says eventually.

Castiel turns around, tilting his head in that weird way that he does that Mary hasn't quite figured out the reason for yet. Either way, it's really not helping her erase her mental label of him as Sam and Dean's talking, trench-coated dog… "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Nightmares."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's…part of the territory. With hunting and all." A long silence falls on them. Mary drums her fingers on the table just to dispel the tense silence, but Castiel doesn't seem to mind one way or the other. He always seems to have sort of an air of calm and approachable impassiveness around him. Maybe that's what first lured Sam and Dean in? "So, uh, how'd you meet my boys?"

The angel hums softly, seeming to contemplate his response, before settling on, "I'm not sure Dean would want me to tell you."

Now Mary crosses her arms and gives Castiel a Mom Look that just seems to confuse the angel. "I'm their mother," she protests, using every last card she has. "I have a right to know, wouldn't you say?"

Castiel's eyes narrow and his head tilts further to the side, like that will help him suddenly understand whatever's boggling his angel-brain this time. "I have no parents." Before she can comment on that, the angel continues, "I can see why you would want to know, however. Sam had died and Dean sold his soul to save him and ended up in Hell."

Mary just about falls on the floor with this information. "Dean…went to Hell?"

"He did," he confirms. "I was tasked with rescuing him."

"When was all this?" she asks breathlessly.

"About eight years ago." Castiel tilts his head even further, just for a second, before moving it back to a more natural position. "I don't think I was supposed to tell you." The angel looks away, not meeting her eyes. Mary can only imagine what he might be thinking. "How do you like your coffee?"

"Black," she replies, only so the angel doesn't get a chance to do anything to her drink. She doesn't trust him, and she wonders if that's why Dean takes his black, too, before realizing that doesn't make any sense, as Dean obviously trusts this angel with his life and with Sam's. Castiel wordlessly hands her the coffee, which she quickly accepts. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome." Castiel sits back down at the table and goes back to reading for only a moment, as if gathering up the courage to speak or maybe just suddenly thinking of something to say, before looking back up. "I know how confusing everything must be for you, Mary. You've been brought into a whole new world, in a sense, that's filled with things you likely never even thought possible. Like laptops."

The angel frowns for a second, getting sidetracked by some distant thought before apparently shaking it off. Mary can only imagine what thought might have caught his attention this time.

"Sam and Dean will help you adjust at your own pace. I believe you'll come to like this world and all its advancements, with their guidance."

"How do you know?"

"They helped me."

Mary frowns and takes a careful sip of her incredibly bitter coffee before deciding to get some sugar for it. "What do you mean?" she eventually asks.

"Before eight years ago, angels hadn't walked the earth for centuries, as far as spending time on earth beyond a mission goes. Everything has changed since I've last been here." Castiel gets a wistful sort of look on his face that Mary can't decipher. "Many angels dislike the direction humanity is taking. Humans are very destructive, after all."

Mary can't help but grimace at how casually he's saying 'humans,' reminding her that Castiel is not, in fact, human. As if she could forget. Still, she sits back down across from him and stirs her coffee slowly. "And what about you?"

"In a sense, it is…sad…to see how much everything has changed. Humans have better lives, but the lives of so many other creatures have become so much worse. The population of honeybees is lower than it's ever been, for example." The angel looks at a wall like it's a window he can see out of. "At the same time, humans are just proving yet again how resourceful they are and how well they can adapt situations to benefit themselves. It's almost admirable."

"Why are you even on earth still? You're not on any missions or anything now, are you?" She figures reading quietly in an ancient dungeon throughout the early morning hours and making Dean coffee every morning is not exactly on Heaven's agenda…

"No. I'm here because I want to be. I enjoy Sam and Dean's company very much, and have devoted the remainder of my life to helping them."

"How come?"

"They used to be my responsibility. Now I do it…on my own free will." Mary can't help but feel a little bitter at that. Her boys should've been her responsibility (and John's, but from what little she's heard, he didn't exactly catch the memo), not some angel's…

"Why?" she asks, genuinely baffled. "Not that I don't appreciate someone, uh, watching over my boys," the irony of the statement is not lost on her, "but aren't they just two more humans to you?"

"No," Castiel answers quickly, firmly but softly in a way that's just…confusing. "They are…very special. They are my friends. My family. I'll remain here with them until they send me away."

Something about that last statement turns Mary's stomach uncomfortably (not that the idea of a monster calling her boys 'family' doesn't). But she figures it isn't her place to ask, so she remains silent, instead focusing on finishing her coffee and making a mental list of the weapons she can start cleaning instead of sleeping.

When she's finished, she places her mug in the sink and leaves the room, only stopping at the last second to say without looking, "Goodnight, Castiel."

"Goodnight, Mary."

-

2.

Mary discovers rather quickly that Castiel stays up every night, quietly reading or just wandering the halls. When he's not out searching for some random woman (a monster?), that is.

"Don't you find it kind of…strange?" Mary asks tactfully, but Dean frowns all the same, looking defensive. "I mean, there's a supernatural creature sitting in your kitchen every night just…reading. Usually with the lights off."

At this, Dean smiles a little and says, "Yeah, well, Cas is a weird, dorky sort of guy like that."

Well, that explains exactly nothing, but she decides to drop it in favor of less green pastures, asking lowly, "Have you ever felt afraid of Castiel? Or threatened by him?"

Dean just laughs. Laughs. "Cas may be an angel, but he couldn't hurt a bee. Literally." Mary frowns, which makes Dean sigh and say more seriously, "Look, I know you're not exactly the best of friends yet, but Cas is a good guy. He's been through a lot with us and is still sticking around. He's not like all those other dicks with wings. You'll see."

Her eldest son gets up, taking the empty coffee cup that Castiel had made with him. Hastily, Mary blurts out, "Are you really comfortable living with a monster? It could kill you!"

That makes Dean stop in his tracks and his shoulders tense, but he doesn't turn around. "Look. You're my mom, but you don't get to be gone my whole life and come back for a coupla weeks only to immediately judge my friends. Cas is my friend whether you like it or not." Dean remains still for a few more seconds before finally looking over his shoulder, adding conversationally, "Besides, the least you could do is try to get to know the guy before you start judging him."

Mary sits there, feeling thoroughly chastened. She remembers her parents hating John on sight, especially since he wasn't a hunter at the time. That didn't stop her, but she…she remembers what it feels like. She just wanted them to accept John, but they never really did. And now she's doing the same thing to Dean and his angel. Castiel isn't a human, but he's…he's Dean's friend (though she can't help but raise a skeptical eyebrow at the term), and she should at least make an effort to get to know him like she wished her parents would've done with John.

But…still. Castiel kind of creeps her out. He's an angel, and he chooses to stay in some Bunker with two humans? Shouldn't he be up in Heaven, playing a harp or something? And that's another thing. She understands that angels don't sleep, but why would he stay in the Bunker all night if no one's there to keep him company? She's heard of people getting lost in books, but surely someone can't get lost for hours on end, only to do the same thing the next night and the night after that, right? It makes no sense to her at all.

One night after yet another nightmare (she did not miss this aspect of being alive. At all), Mary wanders into the kitchen for coffee, only to find the room empty and the angel usually occupying the table nowhere in sight. She does a quick search of the other rooms in the Bunker, first checking the communal areas and then Dean's room, but Castiel is nowhere to be found.

When Mary goes outside with a flashlight to see if he might be outside (which, again, doesn't help shake the image of Castiel being a pet in the slightest), her suspicions running high, she stops in her tracks. Castiel is standing about a dozen feet from the Bunker, hands in his pockets and head tilted up to the sky.

She isn't sure what to do, but before she can try to sneak back inside, the angel greets without moving a muscle, "Hello, Mary." Creepy.

"Um, hey." Discovered, Mary makes her way over to stand beside him, trying to see what he's looking at, but not seeing anything. "What are you doing out here?"

"It's a lovely night to see the stars. The sky is very clear tonight."

Mary looks up again and squints with all her might, but she can't see a single star. "I don't see any stars."

"Angels have…enhanced senses. I can see them."

Well, that's…weird. Surprise, surprise. "Do you…come out here often?" She cringes, realizing how much that sounds like one of the awful pickup lines John used to use before they actually started dating, before she started spontaneously liking him for some reason. "To see the stars, I mean."

"Yes. Sometimes, I don't look at the stars, though," Castiel replies.

Once it's clear he's not going to say anything else (she's learning not to expect Castiel to continue without prompt—ever—since they apparently don't teach manners or common courtesy in Heaven), Mary asks, "What else do you come out here for?"

"To…observe. Experience. Listen. There are many things in nature to enjoy, and some people never so much as look at them." His voice is as deep as ever (she wonders if talking hurts his throat and that's why he's so…quiet), tone giving away nothing. Mary's found that his eyes usually give away his feelings, but he's not looking at her, either. Unsurprising, since the only one Castiel frequently stares at is Dean. Jury's still mercifully out on the reason for that one, but Sam just accepts it with a roll of his eyes whenever he sees it, so this must have been going on for years.

"Well, you're being strangely cryptic," Mary remarks, chuckling a little nervously and shifting the position of the gun tucked hastily into the waistband of her pants. She looks around as subtly as she can, wondering what he could be hiding. Is he planning something against her boys?

"My apologies."

A silence falls on them, with Castiel staring off in the distance and Mary trying in vain to see what he might be looking at. She wonders if there's anything to see at all, though Castiel doesn't seem like the type to yank on chains for fun. No, his sense of humor seems to extend to a subtle brand of sarcasm that he probably picked up from Dean.

Mary wonders if Castiel comes out here to escape the Bunker. She doesn't really care for the Bunker herself. It's dark and the air is stale and the lights are dim. It's more of a dungeon than a home, but naturally, thanks to John, this is the first home her boys have had in decades that they didn't have to pay for to spend a night. They deserved a home like the one they had in Lawrence, not this military base, weapons decorating the walls instead of family pictures or paintings.

She didn't want John to become a hunter, and she certainly didn't want her children to grow up hunters. Sure, they've done a lot of good. But they were only children. John should never have done that to them, torn up by her death or not. But he's dead now, so she can't even yell at him properly for ruining their sons' lives, at least not until she sees him again, whether in Heaven or Hell.

A thought occurs to her suddenly. "Can you see Heaven from here?"

Just as suddenly, Castiel looks strangely sad. "I cannot. I haven't seen Heaven in quite some time."

"Why not? Aren't you an angel?" Angels…live in Heaven, don't they? Like demons are supposed to live in Hell, and people are supposed to live on earth, away from the monsters.

Castiel looks even sadder and suddenly guilty, eyes finally dropping from the sky. "A poor example of one."

Mary isn't sure what to say after that, so she doesn't say anything. Eventually, Castiel goes back inside without a word, looking like a heavy weight is fixed firmly on his shoulders, and she doesn't know how to alleviate it.

She's not even sure why she cares so much. After all, she grew up hearing and believing that anything that isn't human is bad, and even if she doubted it a couple of times before, she always returned to that mindset at the end of the day. But…from what she's seen, Castiel isn't bad so much as…interesting. Strangely, she feels like they have more in common than she cares to admit.

-

3.

She doesn't interact much with Castiel during the day, as he's often too busy following Dean around or reading something with Sam. Mary can only sit back and observe her boys and their lost angel interact with one another like old friends while Sam and Dean do nothing but walk on eggshells whenever they're around her.

Castiel thinks he's part of their family. Did they say that, or did he just assume that, like how baby ducks think whatever living thing they first spot is their mother? If they had said it, what were the circumstances? Mary can't figure out why they would suddenly decide that an angel is a member of their family, especially one as strange as Castiel, as she assumes Heaven would not be functional if all angels were as strange as this one. She wonders if they said he's family to change his mind about something, or to keep him from leaving. Having an angel as an ally seems extremely beneficial, after all…

She decides to ask Sam about it, since Dean is far too defensive when it comes to Castiel. "Hey, Sam."

"Oh, uh, hey," Sam says, shifting on his feet and flashing a quick and nervous half-smile. Mary can tell neither of her boys know quite how to act around her. That's one thing she likes about Castiel—he's too socially inept to be awkward around her, apparently. "Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to ask about your angel."

Sam frowns a little. "You should probably ask Dean. He and Cas are a lot closer." Mary almost rolls her eyes. Anyone with functioning eyes can see how close Dean and Castiel are. "But, uh, what did you wanna know?"

"He thinks he's family," she tells him, getting straight to the point. "Did you two…tell him that?"

Mary can see the tension setting in on Sam's entire (very tall) body, but he's trying very hard not to let the conversation take an awkward turn. "Uh, a couple times, yeah."

"Why?"

"Because he is." Mary makes a questioning face at that, and Sam sighs. "Look, it's been…we've known Cas for over eight years, M-Mom." The way he stutters over the word breaks her heart, but she doesn't say anything. "He's made some mistakes, sure, but he's always kinda been there whenever we needed it. He's family." Sam glances down and adds cautiously, "And so are you…if you wanna be."

She purses her lips in response. "Are you sure Dean would approve? I hear that's a pretty tough title to get."

"Oh, believe me. He wants you to have it." Sam smiles awkwardly again and spends the next two minutes trying to break off the conversation without seeming rude before Mary finally takes pity on him and gives him a clear out that he quickly takes.

Despite both her boys telling her that 'Cas' has been around for a while, Mary still can't figure out how that equates to him being family. He's still a monster, after all, even if Sam and Dean choose to disregard this fact often. He clearly can't process emotions like humans can and he's just plain awkward around people. He doesn't fit in. So why did they invite him in at all?

She only starts to figure it out a few days later when Sam and Dean, perhaps suspecting that she could be getting along better with the resident angel, leave to pick up groceries. There's a tension in the air angels are apparently oblivious to. Or maybe it's just Castiel. She can tell that he's…different.

"Are you hungry?" the angel asks after a while, looking up from whatever book he's going through this time. "Dean said to make sure you're taken care of while you're 'adjusting'."

Air quotes. She can't figure out if they're back in style or if that's just Castiel. "Yeah, I could eat. Are you?"

Castiel stands up and goes to the kitchen, eventually saying almost distractedly, "Angels don't eat."

Mary's eyebrows shoot up. "At all?" When the angel visibly hesitates, she presses, "You do eat. What is it, human souls?"

"No. Well. Sort of, in a sense." Mary takes a step back as Castiel pulls out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. "Souls naturally give off energy, and angels feed off the energy. It's not harmful to the humans at all." He takes out a jar of jelly and frowns at it for a second. "Most angels prefer to stay in Heaven at all times due to the surplus of energy available. The more souls present, the more energy there is to feed on."

"So why aren't you in Heaven, then?"

Castiel pauses, looking down at the butter knife in his shaking hand for a long moment before glancing up and smiling a little sadly. "I can't." He looks down again. "In any case, I want to stay with Sam and Dean. We've been through much together."

"Do they know you eat energy?" she asks.

"It's never come up before."

"You sure you aren't just not telling them because you know they won't like it?"

"I don't think they would mind, after I explain everything to them," the angel says, eyes big and earnest. She almost believes him, but the hunter in her won't go down without a fight.

"Then why haven't you?" Mary challenges. "Sounds to me like you're hiding something you know they won't like."

"It's not that," Castiel insists. "Sam and Dean…they have sacrificed so much for others their entire lives, and they worry so much whenever I'm away. I wouldn't want to give them something else to worry about."

"If you're not around people, you get weaker?" she guesses.

"Something like that." Castiel slides over a plate with a sandwich on it. "Here. It's a PB&J. They were my favorite when I was human, specifically with grape jelly. Not jam, though. Jam is unsettling."

…unsettling? Mary blinks slowly and takes the sandwich, peeling the top bread off for a second to look at the contents, even though she just watched him make it. But who knows. Maybe they teach sleight of hand in Heaven. "You were human before?"

"Yes. My grace was stolen from me and used for a spell. I…I've recovered what was left of it."

"What kind of spell? Must've been pretty serious if it took an angel's…angel essence."

"Dean calls it 'mojo,'" Castiel tells her, evading the first question entirely.

She asks again, "What kind of spell?"

At this, the angel looks away again. "You should finish your sandwich," he says before leaving the room.

Mary isn't sure what the big deal with this spell is, but she isn't sure she likes it. Still, seeing as how she barely knows Castiel at all, she drops the topic altogether. She'll just ask Sam or Dean later.

By the time Sam and Dean come back with groceries, Mary forgets what she wants to ask them, distracted by all the food brands and packaging she's never seen before. The world has changed so, so much since she died… She can't help but wonder if she'll ever be able to adjust fully.

Then again, if Castiel, the weirdest being she's ever met by far, was apparently human before and he hasn't died or anything, apparently doing well enough to have a favorite type of PB&J, of all things…Mary figures she can deal with everything, too. Not that she really has a choice, anyway.

-

4.

Regardless of Mary's personal reservations about the angel, she cannot deny that Castiel is incredibly useful on hunts—the real reason she suspects Sam and Dean keep him around, a theory she thinks Castiel himself agrees with.

Growing up, Mary didn't know of any ways to take out demons, only exorcise them if she was lucky and resourceful. Now, Sam and Dean have these knives to kill them, and Castiel can smite them with just a hand to their foreheads. She hasn't forgotten what Castiel is by any means, but seeing that…it renewed some of the initial trepidation she had around him. One wrong comment and he could easily smite her. She should be afraid of him, as should Sam and Dean.

And yet…at the same time, there's still something strangely…soft about him. She sees it in the way he looks at Dean as he heals him, which is a little different from how he heals Sam or Mary herself (on the rare occasions that she lets him, which are becoming more frequent, because a miracle health rejuvenation? Yes, please). She sees it in the way he just plain looks at Dean like Dean himself is God and the Creator of everything they see around them—not that Dean seems to even realize.

She sees it in the way he looked at a bird that landed right on his finger when they were waiting in the parking lot for Sam and Dean to finish interviewing the witness. She sees it in the way he discreetly healed a child that had fallen off her bike when they were going to the grocery store to 'bond,' as per Sam and Dean's request (read: civil demand). She sees it in the way he watches bee documentaries at one in the morning with this unbelievably tender expression as the bees dip their fat little bodies into the flowers.

Castiel is all-powerful and can be incredibly intimidating. But he's also kind of…gentle and kind in a way that confuses Mary. Sure, she supposes it's only natural for angels to look after earth and all its aspects, but that doesn't mean he has to admire every spider that appears in the Bunker's bathroom and proceed to carry the thing outside instead of squishing it under his boot. To make matters worse, actions like that always force a gooey sort of smile on Dean's face, which tells Mary that this sort of thing happens often and Dean finds it endearing instead of weird.

That's another thing Mary noticed. When Dean and Castiel first reunited, they'd hugged tightly like long lost lovers. She knows they're obviously closer than Sam and Castiel are, as well, but Mary can't figure out how. Surely they're not…involved, right? She only has one cousin that does things like that. Could it be that one of her own sons is…?

She thinks she needs more time to process the idea, just as she needs time before embracing Sam and Dean as the sons she'd had in Heaven not too long ago, only much, much older and more jaded than she would've liked. Family is very important to the Winchesters, and given that she's a Winchester by marriage, it should be important to her, too, right? But family wasn't really that important to the Campbells. More of an idea than anything. And yet, Castiel seems to have those Winchester family values of stubbornness and self-sacrificing and the importance of family, and he seems to genuinely see Sam and Dean as his family.

Mary's not sure how Castiel views her, though, and she doesn't get a chance to ask for quite a while until she finds Castiel outside the Bunker in the early morning hours, just before sunrise. They'd just come back from their hunt the day before, so Sam and Dean are still resting. Mary, on the other hand, was invigorated by the hunt, having sort of missed hunting in Heaven and having longed to get back into it quickly. Sam and Dean keep treating her like she's delicate and tender, but she really isn't, and she just has to show them that now.

She's unsurprised to see Castiel standing amongst the morning dew, illuminated by the beginnings of the sunrise and looking just as an angel should, though without the wings. Birds in the distance are just beginning to chirp and flutter about, adding to the tranquil atmosphere. She can see why Castiel might like coming outside this early, even if Mary herself would rather be dead to the world until well after noon like a normal human being. Then again, Castiel isn't a human—or normal.

"The sunrise is beautiful this time of year," the angel comments when she steps close enough to him that they're standing side by side.

"Yeah." She rolls the thought around in her head, then the question around on her tongue, before deciding on saying, "What's your family like?"

"My family consists of two very kind, very brave men…and their mother, if she's amenable to the idea," Castiel answers earnestly, looking strangely small at his words.

"You view me as family?"

"Yes."

"Because Sam and Dean do?" Mary guesses.

Even though she's having a hard time accepting that her two little boys are now older than her, they seem to have jumped at the idea and latched on desperately, apparently so starved of parental affection that they're willing to accept her for the sole reason that she's the one that gave birth to them. She wonders if Castiel is starved, too…

"Yes," he admits easily, as if he doesn't realize this is where normal people would throw in a white lie to make her feel better. "We don't know each other well, but if Sam and Dean accept you, then I do, as well."

She considers the statement before brushing it off, realizing she'd gotten sidetracked, though the warm feeling in her guts doesn't fade. "Well, this is all very flattering, but I meant your actual family."

At this, Castiel looks down. "The other angels are my brothers and sisters. God is my Father, as He is yours. I like my family on earth much better."

"I thought you said you don't have any parents."

"I don't," the angel answers. "Not in the sense you're thinking. I've only met God once, but He barely looked at me, and I have no maternal figure. Bobby Singer was something of a parental figure, I suppose, but now he's deceased." Castiel looks at her for a second before fixing his gaze back on the sky. "It's very difficult to befriend humans when you know you're likely going to outlive them. Sam and Dean…I dread the day their souls pass unto Heaven—and they will go to Heaven, if I have any say in it."

"Do you have any say?" she asks past the twisting in her gut that's making her feel sorry for Sam and Dean's angel friend.

Castiel just looks sad again. "Not really. But they do deserve to go to Heaven. They've done nothing but good in this world. They've saved the world. They deserve redemption."

Mary pauses at the idea of her little boys saving the entire world but decides to ask someone else about it—someone a little less likely to sing nothing but praises, like her own boys themselves. Winchester self-loathing, and all… "And what do you deserve, Castiel?"

"I…" Castiel pauses, frowns, and looks away at the oh-so fascinating blades of grass growing on the edge of a nearby tree. "Nothing. I'm just happy to be of service while I can."

That makes Mary frown. "While you can?"

Castiel either doesn't hear the question or ignores it. A few minutes later, the Bunker door squeaks open and Sam, dressed in running shorts and a tank top, earbuds in place, steps out and stretches in place a few times.

"He's preparing for his run," Castiel tells her. "He runs every morning, even when he's exhausted. Dean does nothing of the sort."

"I'm with Dean on this one," she remarks, trying to force down the bitterness in her gut. Why does this angel get to know her boys' routines while she can barely even recognize them when she looks into their eyes? She wonders just how long it took for the spark in their eyes to be extinguished, as it's only just beginning to appear again at all.

Sam darts past and waves to her with a happy but tired smile, looking very much like he'd rather be in bed but is forcing himself not to be. Mary waves back, but when she turns, she sees Castiel waving, too, and it occurs to her that Sam was waving at him the whole time.

She really does have no place in the Bunker or in the Winchester family. Even a monster is more welcome than her. She misses her little boys…

-

5.

She notices Castiel is very…different. At first, she thought it was because he's an angel. Now, she's not so sure.

He acts strange and walks strange, hands always either firmly at his sides or tucked deep into his own pockets. That being said, she catches him running his fingers along the textured Bunker walls all the time, and she can't figure out why. She wonders if he's trying to collect soul energy or something from the walls. She asks one day, and Castiel just tells her it's soothing. Soothing. What does that even mean?

Castiel silently stares at people constantly ( especially Dean), but seems to have a hard time meeting her eyes. Mary wonders why, wonders if she makes angels so uncomfortable that they can't even look at her. She wonders if there's something staining her soul from when she had been in Heaven before being yanked back down to earth.

As she's coaxed into working with the British Men of Letters, despite all the things they've done, she begins wondering if she has a soul at all, so one day, she asks the angel, "Do I still have a soul?"

Castiel frowns at her. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't you?"

"No reason. Just…curious." She wonders if he knows what she's been up to, if he can tell she's dancing around a subject or is plagued with guilt. "Wasn't sure how the whole…resurrection from Heaven thing works." Castiel accepts the answer and goes back to reading, but Mary isn't finished. "Do you take energy from my soul?"

"I can absorb the energy naturally given off by any human soul, yes. It's not harmful in any way, and the energy would otherwise flow into other objects that are loved by the human." He pauses, adding, "The Impala is a great source of such energy, as both Sam and Dean like it very much and they have grown up inside of it."

Mary tries to ignore the guilty pang in her heart at the last tactless statement. That's another thing she's noticed—Castiel wouldn't recognize subtly if it hit him over the head, let alone practice it himself. She supposes there's not much need for subtly when you can kill a person with two fingers to their head. "Do you feed on my soul's energy, specifically?"

Castiel hesitates, but answers, "No. Just Sam and Dean's. Your energy is…unstable. I suspect that's from your recent resurrection, however, and it should fade with time." He tilts his head—another gesture Mary has never seen anyone do before or since she met Castiel. "Would you like me to?"

She considers her answer before deciding that she'd rather not be the only one he's not feeding on. She's the outsider in society, in the Bunker, in the Winchester family themselves…she doesn't need another thing.

"Yeah."

"I'll keep that in mind." He looks at his book again. Mary decides to drop the topic and goes to the kitchen to see if she can still use a butter knife or if those have changed, too.

The next time she sees Castiel hours later, he's pacing around the perimeter of the Bunker, hands deep in the pockets of the trench coat she has yet to see him without, like it's fused to every square inch of his body. She falls into step with him, wanting to see just what the angel does when no one else is around. But he doesn't even falter, just continuing his steady pace around the Bunker.

Before she can say anything, Castiel says, "We should get a pet. I've always felt we were one species short, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh…"

"Cats are very self-sufficient, but Dean is allergic to cats," Castiel continues, surprising Mary with yet another bit of knowledge about her son that she didn't know. "Sam has always wanted a dog, but I think a dog would be difficult to bring with us, especially considering Dean dislikes dog hair in his vehicle and dislikes dogs in general after he was bitten as a child, even though it was his fault for provoking the animal."

"What?"

"Rats are intelligent, but disliked by the general population for some reason. I've always been partial to birds, but Dean dislikes them after getting into an argument with a pigeon when he used a spell to gain the ability to speak to the canine eyewitness on a case." Castiel turns to her with a big, gummy smile that's so awkward she can't even look at it, yet she can't look away, either. "Therefore, I've concluded a guinea pig would be the perfect pet. They're small and portable and do not require much care, but they are very good cuddlers."

Mary looks at the ground, baffled beyond belief. "You…you want a guinea pig?" she asks slowly, trying to figure out if she's misinterpreting something, because there's no way an actual angel from Heaven is seriously talking about getting a hairy little rat thing as a pet, let alone putting this much thought into it.

But Castiel looks at her almost excitedly for his usual stoic self, none of the tells Mary's used to indicating even a scrap of deception, though she doubts Castiel would be a very good liar, anyway. From what she's heard—which isn't very much—his version of hiding the truth starts and stops at unsubtly avoiding the question and leaving as quickly as possible.

"Yes," he replies. "Would you help me convince Sam and Dean to get one? Or maybe two, in case the one gets lonely."

Mary blinks slowly and uncomprehendingly before carefully backing away and going back into the Bunker, trying to ignore the kicked-puppy look Castiel is giving her. Nope. He can go and be weird to someone else.

Still, it's amazing to her that this creature with the power to smite demons with his hand and lift up cars with no effort at all…wants a pet, of all things—or two, so the one doesn't get lonely. Castiel is…very different from anyone she's ever met before. Unique.

Maybe the thing she appreciates the most about him is how he doesn't make her feel…obligated or lost or anything. With Sam and Dean, she has to be a mother, even as every other sentence that slips from their mouths sends her reeling, let alone every new piece of technology or household appliance they present to her. Dean especially just wants her to go back to being how she was when he was four, cutting the crusts off his sandwiches and tucking him in at night.

And Mary understands why someone who essentially grew up without a parent in sight would want that, but it's just so overwhelming sometimes, not to mention that she keeps accidentally hurting Dean by not being the housewife and mother he expects and deserves. Sam has less expectations because he never really knew her and has no memories of her, so she can't disappoint him as easily, but she still feels pressured to be a good motherly figure to him, even if she…can't.

Castiel, however…how can she feel lost around him when he's just as lost as her?

-

+1

Dean could have taken the news about Mary hunting again…better. Which is a bit of an understatement, but really. Mary realizes Sam and Dean were probably hoping she'd sit back and play house with them, and hunting with them was fun, but she's her own person—always has been, always will be. They need to accept that she can't be a mother to two grown men she doesn't really know, let alone to their weird pet angel with an affinity for honeybees and guinea pigs.

That being said, working with the British Men of Letters, especially after they'd kidnapped and hurt Sam, was probably not her brightest move. But Mary's always focused on the bigger picture, so she pushes her personal feelings aside and becomes an ally to them. They have the potential to send people everywhere into a world without monsters, and what part of that doesn't sound fantastic?

(She does feel a little guilty when she thinks about Castiel, but pushes it aside. Surely, they can send him back to Heaven or something where he rightfully belongs, right? Surely, an angel would want to return to Heaven rather than live in a dark Bunker with two humans and watch bee documentaries and stargaze…right?)

At first, it's wonderful. She has all sorts of new weapons and technology at her disposal, and no one there expects her to be a housewife or a mother. She can just be…Mary Campbell, hunter and resident badass with no expectations holding her back, not when she comes from a family of hunters that only encouraged her to go on new hunts all the time.

Then she gets sent to Ramiel's house to steal some gun, and she stupidly has Sam and Dean come, along with a hunter named Wally. Wally dies. Castiel nearly dies, and she doesn't think she'll ever forget the image of Sam and Dean's angel writhing on the ground in immense pain, choking on thick, black goo as it poisons his system and using what easily could've been his dying breath uttering that he loves Dean, that he loves all of them.

She describes all this to the British Men of Letters, surprising herself by slipping and calling Castiel one of her boys (maybe because she's grown attached to him and his mellow nature—he does grow on you, in the way that an unusual paint color might, with his weird habits and desire for a guinea pig—maybe because she knows the British Men of Letters won't take her seriously unless someone she cares about is at risk, she's not really sure). But they couldn't care less. Mary is a tool to them, and if she's no longer useful, she's no longer on the payroll. It's as simple as that.

So Mary finally confesses to Sam and Dean what she's been doing. They're devastated and kick her out, as she deserves. What she doesn't expect is to have an angel looking over her shoulder all the time after that in the form of text messages, mainly just asking if she's okay or if she needs any help. Sam and Dean also do sometimes, but she'd seriously hurt them.

Either way, she never asks for help, but she wonders what might happen if she does. Will Castiel come alone? Will he bring Sam and Dean? Will he not even come at all and just send another hunter to her? Do Sam and Dean even know he's still in contact with her, whether she replies or not (admittedly, it's usually 'not')? Mary's not sure…

One day, she's invited back to the Bunker. It's Thanksgiving, and Sam and Dean want their mother there, if only the idea of her. She sees Castiel outside when she pulls up, milling around the area and looking at squirrels or something, but he never goes in, and when she mentions this, Sam and Dean seem surprised and confused, saying Castiel isn't around. Mary's beginning to figure out that, despite his words, Castiel doesn't think he is part of the family. Mary can relate, though she tries not to.

After a very tense Thanksgiving dinner and football game (though she's never really cared for the sport and has no idea what's going on beyond when someone scores), everyone goes to bed. Everyone except Mary, too consumed by her own guilt at actions and recent decisions. She wonders if she'll ever gain the trust of her boys again, not that she ever really deserved it in the first place.

She eventually abandons the idea of sleeping and gets up to grab a coffee when something catches her attention mid-yawn. The Bunker's bathroom dim light is shining through the crack at the bottom of the door, illuminating a tiny piece of the hallway. But Sam and Dean are asleep…did they leave the light on?

Mary's hunter instincts come out, and she darts back in her room for a gun, cursing herself for not having one with her at all times. What kind of a hunter is she? She then carefully opens the bathroom door, hoping one of her boys just had to go to the bathroom or something.

What she's not expecting to see, after she gets used to the light pouring from the bathroom, is a shirtless Castiel sitting with his back to the wall and his head on his drawn-up knees. Upon closer inspection, his shoulders are shuddering a little, and she sincerely hopes he isn't crying.

Monsters she can handle. Lost, crying little boys that are much older than they should be? Well, she's never really been good at anything like that, and she isn't about to start now. But she can't just leave him there…

Using every last ounce of motherly instincts, she forces herself to set the gun down and kneel beside Castiel, setting a careful hand on his shoulder. "Hey—"

Castiel stiffens and shrinks away from her touch, so she instantly retracts her hand, feeling like even more of a failure. What's the point of even trying if you know you're going to fail?

"Are you, uh, all right?" Castiel nods, just a little, but Mary's been dealing with stubborn men for a long time and doesn't drop the question. "No, c'mon. Use your words. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Castiel replies quietly, barely audible, and—yeah, like that is what someone who's perfectly okay would sound like.

Mary realizes this really isn't her place, so she asks, "Do you want me to get Dean?" She knows they're very close, so he's probably the best bet.

To her surprise, Castiel's head shoots up, eyes wet and wide with horror. "No!"

She blinks in surprise before realizing she now has the upper hand. "Talk to me, then. What's wrong?"

Castiel looks away quickly and, after a few seconds, turns back, looking as if nothing has happened, stoic mask firmly in place. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"That's crap and you know it." Mary's eyes drift to Castiel's shoulders. She can't see his back at all, but she can see the angry red scratch marks running along his shoulders, and she knows they're both self-inflicted and not the only ones, judging by the pattern. "Is there something wrong with your back?"

"No," he answers too quickly, composure beginning to drop as his eyes start darting around, just like little Dean's used to when he was lying about how many cookies he ate or where he was when the vase broke. Right. This is something she can sort of handle.

"You'll have no problem showing me, then," she challenges, arching an eyebrow. Castiel begins visibly fidgeting under her expectant Mom Look—the one he's probably never been on the receiving end of before. "Unless, of course…you're lying to me."

"I'm not," he denies, not even trying to look at her anymore. Wow.

"Castiel, don't lie to me. Show me your back." The harsh tone makes Castiel flinch, but comply. He scoots forward on the floor and twists his upper body around, revealing fresh scratch marks going up and down his back and shoulders. They're not deep, but there are so many, likely made frantically. "Why did you do this?"

Castiel shrugs his shoulders stiffly, but doesn't say anything. Mary gently runs a finger over the marks, considering, when a thought occurs to her.

"Can't you heal them?" Castiel stiffens all over again. "Why aren't you healing them?"

"I don't want to," he finally answers.

"Why not?"

"They…make it better."

"Make what better?"

The angel pauses and slowly stands up. She notices he's shaking, but doesn't comment. After a moment, the bathroom lights flicker and Castiel's eyes start glowing, causing Mary to tense up, though she surprises herself at the fact that she doesn't feel threatened and makes no move to grab her gun or leave the room. To Mary's further surprise, two skeletal, shadowy masses erupt from somewhere on his back, spreading all the way out for only a second before shrinking back towards his back, though they don't disappear.

"Are those…your wings?" Castiel nods wordlessly, and even though his eyes are bright and glowing, Mary's certain he's lowering his eyes. "What happened to them?" Because something obviously happened to them—they obviously didn't come like that.

"A few years ago," the angel begins softly, like he's reading a bedtime story, "an angel named Metatron approached me with a deal. He wanted me to help him close the gates of Heaven with a spell. I did it to atone, but I made everything worse. Metatron deceived me, and instead of closing up Heaven, all the angels were cast out of it."

"Castiel…" Mary isn't sure what to say, especially in response to the angel's almost emotionless recount of what had happened.

"My grace was one of the ingredients, so instead of Falling, I became human for a time," Castiel continues. "By the time I got what remained of my grace left…there wasn't much I could do. Now my wings are…like this. Much worse than any other angels', thankfully."

"'Thankfully'?" Mary repeats.

"My wings are my punishment for my foolishness. No one else deserves to suffer for my mistakes, but they do, anyway. Just not as badly." Castiel looks down guiltily and reiterates, "It's my fault all the angels Fell, and it's my fault they can't fly anymore. I deserve this and any pain that comes with it."

"Do Sam and Dean know?" she asks quietly instead of trying to change the angel's warped thinking immediately, and Castiel's skeletal wings press even closer to his body.

"They…know I can't fly anymore," he answers carefully.

"Yeah, but do they know why?" The angel looks even more guilty, telling her that they do not know by any means. "Why haven't you told them, Castiel? You have what would qualify as chronic pain. Don't you think they should know?"

"I don't want to worry them," Castiel replies miserably. "They have so much to worry about. They don't need more…"

"But Castiel, you say they're your family. That means you're theirs, too. And family doesn't hide things like this. Family helps each other with things like this." Castiel looks away, looking so sad and small and lost. "You really should tell them."

"But they kicked you out for telling them something they didn't want to hear," the angel murmurs. "What's stopping them from doing the same to me?"

That makes her pause. As much as she doesn't really want to acknowledge her actions were wrong, she knows they logically were. This, however… "That was…different. I was being stupid. You can't help this, and Sam and Dean will know that. They won't kick you out," Mary assures.

The very fact that Castiel somehow connected the two dissimilar dots cements the idea that he's…wired a little differently. The two situations just aren't similar enough to be compared to one another, and why he would think they're the same just baffles Mary entirely. Mary was asked to leave because she betrayed Sam and Dean. Castiel has been injured for some time and hasn't told Sam and Dean. Why would he view these situations as being the same?

"But they'll be upset," he argues softly. "I…don't like conflict."

"Only that you hid it from them. Then they'll try to help you in any way that they can." Mary looks at him and, after a long moment of hesitation, she draws the angel close into a small hug, glowing eyes and all. Castiel hugs back after a few seconds and looks just a little more lost when Mary pulls away. "I promise, they won't kick you out. They won't hate you or make you leave."

"How do you know?" he asks quietly.

"Because that's the way they were raised. You said it yourself. They're good men." At this, Castiel nods a little and looks down. Mary sighs and stands up, ignoring how her knee pops at the movement. "You get some rest, Castiel. I'll clean this up."

"I don't sleep."

"I think you should, anyway." The angel hesitates, but nods, and his eyes stop glowing as his wings fold back away. He turns to leave, but Mary stops him with a hand on his arm. "Heal your back, Castiel."

Castiel swallows but, after a second, the scratches on his back glow and disappear. The angel picks up the coat Mary didn't see from the corner and puts it back on. Mary realizes the trench coat is something of a comfort blanket to Castiel than just an article of clothing, and something about that makes the angel seem a little more…childlike.

It's kind of a paradox. An angel as old as humanity itself is so…young and naive in an almost childish way. Mary thinks it has something to do with the childlike wonder in his eyes Mary can't even see in Sam and Dean. But then he says something, and she's either surprised by the ancient wisdom in the statement, or surprised by how little sense the statement makes, like Castiel suddenly deciding he wants a pet or claiming simple PB&J's to be the best food out there.

Castiel is…fascinating, and as Mary grows closer to him, she realizes she not only has nothing to fear, but has a lot in common with him. They're both from another world, square pegs forced into a world designed for round ones. They can pretend to fit in, but they never really will no matter how much they adjust themselves and contort to try to be what everyone else wants them to be.

They have strengths that are noted by others, but weaknesses, too, that they try to hide. But they both still have that Winchester stubbornness and self-sacrificing, self-loathing tendencies, even if they weren't born Winchesters. Good thing the rest of the family is always there to make sure they don't go too far, whether they like it or not. And when something bad happens? Well, the rest of the family's there to help pick up the pieces then, too.

Maybe they'll even get to have a proper Thanksgiving tomorrow, with the whole family—even if it's in the form of reheated leftovers.

Chapter Text

(4,394 words)

Mary spends the next few weeks trying to both repair the damage she's done to her relationship with Sam and Dean and trying to get Castiel to tell her boys about his wings. Monster or not, no one should have to walk around with chronic pain for years and never let anyone even know about it, even if they can't actually do anything to help.

But Dean is slow to forgive, and Castiel is one of the most stubborn people(?) she's ever met. Sam is trying to make amends, if only for her sake, but she can tell he's still hurting, too—just like everyone else around her, it seems. She's apparently good at hurting people, whether she's alive or dead.

Sam and Dean don't directly ask Mary to leave again after Thanksgiving, but she can tell they'd rather she not be around for a little while. So she leaves on her own and picks up small hunts that she finds—ones she can handle alone. She keeps in contact with Castiel, however, in the form of text messages and the occasional phone call, putting aside a decent amount of time trying to convince him to tell Sam and Dean about the state of his wings.

She'll admit, in the privacy of her own mind, that it's not only for Castiel's own good, though. She's a hunter, used to being resourceful to get her way. She realizes that if she's able to get Castiel to admit to something that he's been hiding for so long, her boys might see that she really is on their side, despite her actions admittedly suggesting otherwise.

Well, that, and if they find out their long-time friend has been hiding something so major, they might become a little more willing to accept her more minor offense—minor in that she hasn't been keeping it all that long in comparison. And she really did have good intentions when she worked with them and fell for their promises of ridding the world of monsters, no matter how wrong it felt the whole time.

Anyway, she can't convince the stubborn angel for one reason or the other, but it's the thought that counts.

About three weeks—and only a week before Christmas, somehow—after the Thanksgiving disaster, Dean calls her, inviting her to go on a hunt. He sounds really reluctant, like his mind is telling him to get another hunter involved while his heart is telling him to keep Mary out of it, unwilling to accept that the woman that tucked him in and cut the crusts off his sandwiches is gone, that there's more to Mary than that. Mary heads out to where he said to meet them, anyway.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Just two, maybe three demons—more for the purpose of training Mary than anything, really, no matter how reluctant Dean is to accept her wanting to be a hunter. It was not supposed to be an angel with a personal vendetta against Castiel, focusing all his energy on gunning for the angel of the group.

At first, Castiel tries to talk to the angel, but they quickly realize he's not going to be reasoned with. There's a drawn-out battle as Sam tries to protect Mary and Dean hovers a hesitant hand over what she later learns is an angel banishing sigil, but Castiel is eventually able to kill the angel himself, his wings imprinting grim burns into the concrete floor of the building.

The drive home is quiet, with none of their usual post-hunt celebrations. When Dean doesn't immediately dismiss her, Mary decides to stick around for a few days and do damage control, maybe even think about getting some Christmas gifts to ease some of the tension. Even though she spends most of her time trying to do small things for her boys, she can't help but notice rather quickly that Castiel is acting…strange—even for him.

At first, she thinks it's just the guilt of having to kill a being that he'd called 'brother' when confronting. Mary can't imagine how it must be to kill one's own family member. But guilt doesn't explain away the constant shoulder-rolling, the self-isolation that lasts for days, or the mild irritability Castiel tries his best to hide—which only leads to more self-isolation.

On the third night, after Sam and Dean head to bed, Mary finally knocks on Castiel's door. He opens it, even though she isn't Dean, which in itself is astounding, considering she'd seen him dismiss Sam once. "Uh…hey," she greets a little awkwardly.

"Hello, Mary," the angel returns calmly. "Do you need something?"

"Uh, no. I was just wondering…" her eyes drift to Castiel's back as he discreetly rolls his shoulders again, likely unnoticeable if she weren't watching him so carefully, "about that. Is there something wrong with your back?"

"No," Castiel replies simply. "I'm fine. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Mary's not an idiot. She's been around enough stubborn people in both of her lifetimes combined. She can tell when someone's lying—especially someone as bad at lying as Castiel, who has resorted to his usual tactics of dodging the question and escaping the situation instead of being outrightly untruthful.

Thinking quickly, she asks, "Can you help me figure out the coffeemaker?" She forces on a sheepish smile, figuring a different environment (read: anything but standing in front of a pitch-black room in a dimly-lit hallway) might be better for a confrontation. "It's been weeks and I still can't figure the damn thing out."

"Yes, of course." Mary follows Castiel out into the kitchen, watching as he pokes at various buttons on the coffeemaker before ultimately deciding to start a pot. "This will only take about ten minutes, but if you—"

"Castiel," Mary cuts in, and the angel frowns for a second before his expression clears and he sets the coffee pot and coffee filter on the countertop, apparently abandoning his plan of making a pot of coffee in favor of addressing her directly.

"Yes?"

"It's just…you've been acting weird since we got back from that hunt. Is everything all right?"

Castiel looks away, but nods. "It's been quite some time since I've had to confront and ultimately slaughter one of my brothers," he says quietly. "I didn't miss it."

She nods in sympathy, but can tell he's not saying everything. "Yeah, it must be tough… But at least you have a new family here, right?" Instead of agreeing, the angel squints at her. Figuring she's been caught anyway, Mary adds, "Which is why I can't understand why you haven't told Sam and Dean about your wings."

Castiel's eyes drift to the ceiling, as if he's praying for the patience to deal with her badgering. Well, tough. The sooner he realizes this is for his own damn good, the better. "Mary, I already told you. That would only worry them needlessly—"

"'Needlessly'?" Mary repeats incredulously. "You have long-term damage and chronic pain and Sam and Dean rightfully worrying about you is 'needless'?"

"Yes," the angel answers, expression solemn as he completely misses her tone. "They have a lot on their…plates already. I cannot, in good conscience, add to that burden."

She frowns. "That's what I thought when I realized the British Men of Letters were the bad guys."

"This is different," Castiel insists. "Your secret…it was inherently harmful, and by keeping it, it grew to be more damaging. Mine is…perhaps concerning to some, but I won't be hurting anyone by keeping it a secret."

"Yeah, except yourself."

"My secret is my penance. Leave it be." Castiel looks away. "Did you need anything else, Mary?" Mary just narrows her eyes at him in a challenge that he either doesn't pick up on or just ignores. "In that case, I'll be in…my…room."

"This secret is hurting you, Castiel," she says when he moves to the doorway of the kitchen, making him pause. "Just tell Sam and Dean already."

Castiel is silent for a long moment before saying simply, "Goodnight, Mary."

She watches him leave, shaking her head. "Damn Winchester stubbornness…"

-

They go on a nearby demon hunt. This time, it's actually a demon—well, two demons, but actual demons and not angels. It's more of a training experience, really. Dean doesn't hesitate to rush in there, angel blade raised, and kill one of them when she wouldn't stop staring at Castiel—something that made Sam smirk despite the circumstances.

"He's pretty protective of Cas," Sam whispers before going back to his quiet lesson about what weapons they have to combat demons.

The other one's eyes are still locked on the angel, which makes Dean angry and dangerously protective. "Holy Hell, what happened to your wings?" the demon asks, black eyes wide with surprise and horror. When they take a step closer, Dean raises his blade. "They look…"

The demon never finishes the thought, killed by Dean before the words are fully discovered. It seems like only after the body falls that Dean registers the words and he looks at his angel questioningly. "Hey, what were they talking about? Something wrong with your wings?"

Mary sends a silent thank you up to the ceiling, only for her gaze to snap back to Castiel when the angel calmly replies, "My wings aren't what they used to be after the Fall. I've told you this."

Dean's eyes drop down—whether to the floor or just to his lips again, Mary doesn't know—and he nods. "Right. Sorry."

Mary blinks in surprise, having thought Sam and Dean knew nothing of Castiel's condition. Then, as the pair prepare for a likely long period of staring, Sam bends down closer to her ear and explains, "Cas can't fly anymore, after all the angels were kicked out of Heaven a few years back. They found another way to get up, I think, but their wings were clipped, basically."

"Do you have any idea how bad it is?" she asks, looking critically at Castiel, who seems to have forgotten she and Sam exist. "Like, have you ever seen them?"

Sam frowns at her, face scrunched together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"All I'm saying is, I think you should ask him about his wings. That's all."

"Why? He's kind of…" Sam searches for the word, eventually settling on, "awkward about his wings. Self-conscious. He doesn't like to talk about them."

It's Mary's turn to frown. Those wings are still a part of his body—probably, on some plane of existence, anyway—and while she can understand self-consciousness, she thinks it extends beyond that into something like shame. There has to be some reason why he doesn't want to tell anyone about them, and she doesn't think it's only the whole…not wanting to be a burden thing.

She wonders if it has something to do with portraying a certain image. Dean had joked about the fact that he's an angel. 'An Angel, with a-a capital 'A.' You know, wings, harp,' he'd said, and Castiel only said that he didn't have a harp. So she knew before that Dean knows he has wings, and Sam also apparently knows. Yet, while both of them know that they are injured, neither seem to know just how badly. But…why?

She goes back to the basics; angels are supposed to represent all things good. Of course, she knows now that nothing in this world is completely untainted by evil, and by the sound of it, there are more cruel angels than kind ones. Still, when she used the internet web browser to look up angels a few days ago (she thought it might reveal some lore, maybe something she could offer to help Castiel or a cultural tidbit, but she clearly looked in the wrong places), the Google images all showed guardians emitting white light with their full, white wings.

From what Mary had seen, Castiel's wings are more like chicken wings after nearly all the meat and feathers are picked off and consumed. She doesn't even think his feathers are white—if they have a color at all. But above all, they looked painful, and that's why she has a problem with it. Self-consciousness or not, image to uphold or not, it's in Castiel best interest to show Sam and Dean what happened so that they can help him recover, or at least make his burden a little easier to bear.

Before she can say anything about it, however, Dean claps his hands together and says, "Let's burn these bodies and skip town. Dunno about you guys, but I'm starving." Castiel smiles fondly at Dean once his back is turned, Sam rolls his eyes, and Mary is left once again wondering where her place in this small, broken family is.

-

When they pull back into the Bunker, Mary nearly forgets she wanted to say anything at all. But the next night after dinner, she sees Castiel rolling his shoulders again while sitting at the table across from Dean. Even Dean notices this time, raising his eyebrows over the rim of the mug of coffee the angel had just made for him, since that's apparently not a daytime exclusive in the Winchester household.

"Something wrong with your back, Cas?" That makes Sam look over curiously, scrutinizing Castiel but apparently not finding anything out of the ordinary. That makes sense; he doesn't seem to know the ins and outs of Castiel's every action and expression like Dean does.

Castiel hesitates, but is ultimately unable to lie to Dean. "I was injured a few days ago."

Dean's eyebrows touch his hairline and he sets his mug down. "What, on the angel hunt?"

Castiel nods solemnly. "Yes. Lauriel was very angry. It couldn't be helped."

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Dean looks maybe a little hurt even as Mary inwardly cheers, though she tries not to show it. But they're finally asking the right questions.

"There's nothing you can do, Dean." Upon Dean's confused look, the angel sighs and explains, "During the fight, Lauriel attacked one of my wings—a tactic that is heavily frowned upon and completely forbidden. No angel would even attack Lucifer's wings, given the chance."

"Huh," Sam expresses, and Mary can practically see the gears turning in his head and the thousand questions on his tongue.

Dean, on the other hand, just crosses his arms. "I'm sure there's something we can do to help out. And even if there isn't, you tell us when you're hurt. Got it?"

The angel's eyes drift to the table, looking chastised in a kicked-puppy kind of way. "I understand. It will heal on its own, with time. I just didn't want to…worry you needlessly." Castiel glances up, as if to gauge Dean's reaction, and Mary realizes what's going on.

He's testing the waters, seeing how Sam and Dean will react to being told that their angel isn't invincible, that his wings—something they can't see, most of the time, unless Castiel wants them to—can get injured, and can be in bad shape sometimes. It's an unusual tactic that mostly confuses Mary, but she can sort of see where he's coming from with it. It still holds that Castiel-brand of strangeness that comes with his every action, though.

As is, Sam looks somewhat troubled by the angel's words while Dean looks somewhere between angry and like someone had cracked his heart in two with a pickaxe. Though Sam's the one who speaks, Dean's expression is what Castiel's eyes are glued on to. "What makes you say that?"

The angel finally falters and looks down, and Mary's once again amazed by how emotional he really is, despite how hard he tries to hide it sometimes, despite the fact that he only verbalized it once with his 'I love you, I love all of you'. Probably got that particular habit from her boys, too. "Well, it's—if I was injured, that would only add more…"

"If you were hurt," Dean interrupts, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "then we'd deal with it, the same way we deal with everything else. Together." Castiel stares at him, eyes wide in surprise before he looks down again when Dean asks, "Now, what else aren't you telling us?"

It's silent for a long, tense moment before Castiel says quietly, "You're not going to like it."

"Okay," Dean accepts easily, waiting patiently, if stupidly. Mary's not sure why Dean has so much faith in Castiel, especially after the angel had picked up his stubbornness and some of his other bad habits like a magnet over a pile of iron filings, but she thinks that blind trust and unending loyalty might be just the push Castiel needs.

Just as he had with just Mary's eyes watching (which she's figured out is likely because he knows she has few expectations of him—much fewer than Sam and Dean—and he can't disappoint her as easily—the same reason she had confided in him with things she wouldn't dare tell her boys), Castiel pushes his seat out and stands up, body tensed and eyes closed. He's shaking a little, whether in fear or nervousness or something else entirely, she doesn't know.

"Take your time, Cas," Sam says patiently, smiling kindly at the angel, and though Castiel doesn't acknowledge the statement, Mary can tell he appreciates it.

Mary, meanwhile, just tries to keep in the shadows as much as possible. This moment feels…private, and she doesn't think she's really meant to see it. So she watches silently with bated breath as the angel's eyes start glowing and the shadows of his skeletal wings are slowly revealed.

They spread out for all of three seconds before Castiel folds them tightly against his back, as if to hide as much of them from sight as he can. From where Mary's sitting, she has a pretty good view of the wings even when they're folded up. And they do look even worse than they did before. There's two or three gashes cut into one of them, and the minimal feathers around it are sticking up at strange and likely painful angles; no wonder he's been so uncomfortable lately…

Sam and Dean glance at each other before slowly standing up and making their way to the other side of the table to get a better look at the wings Castiel is trying his best to hide without otherwise moving a muscle. But where Castiel's body language is stiff and awkward—almost nonexistent at times, even—his twitching wings betray his anxiety.

"Can you spread them out?" Sam asks hesitantly after a moment with an apologetic smile. "Can't help if we don't know what we're dealing with here."

"Yes, of course," the angel replies without looking at them, slowly spreading his wings out enough that they can get a decent look at them. "I know they look…atrocious—"

"Is that from the Fall?" Dean interrupts, and Castiel nods wordlessly. "Geez."

"They're worse than any other angels'," Castiel says as Dean slowly circles him to get a better assessment of their condition. "My grace took a lot of…damage following Metatron's spell."

"Will they ever heal?" Mary asks softly before she can stop herself.

"Maybe someday, if I ever manage to replenish enough of my grace. The small cuts will heal on their own, however. The main problem is the feathers in the surrounding area; I can't contort my vessel enough to fix them." Dean reaches out and brushes his fingers along the shadows of one of the wings, making both Castiel and his wing jerk away in surprise. "Dean—"

"Did you feel that?" Sam cuts in, awed and curious. The angel just frowns thoughtfully until Dean does it again, in which he looks over his shoulder, watching.

"Dude, stop folding them in," Dean grunts, but he's smiling a little. "We don't mind helping you, Cas, so stop looking so guilty or like you want the floor to swallow you up."

"I just don't think there's anything you can do to help," Castiel tells him, but he keeps his wings upright enough that the ends are no longer dragging on the floor.

"Doesn't matter," Sam replies. "We'll look into it, see if we can find anything. Who knows, maybe there's a cure?"

"Maybe we can ask another angel," Mary suggests. Castiel looks kind of sad when she says that, and Sam and Dean give her strange looks, but no one says anything against her idea.

"I'll try calling Rowena, see if she has anything on this," Sam adds, and though Dean gets sort of a pinched look on his face, he nods in agreement. "I mean, it was a spell that did this, right?"

"Maybe Kevin's old notes will have something. Kid was always scribbling down something." Dean steps to stand in front of Castiel and they maintain eye contact for a few long seconds. "It's good you told us, Cas. Even if we can't fix it, we might be able to help with something. Do they hurt?"

"Yes," he simply answers, and Dean purses his lips and nods.

"Right. We'll figure this out." A thought seems to occur to Dean and he asks, "Do they hurt any less when you keep 'em out?"

"The sensation is…dulled."

"What about if they were fully out and not just shadows? That's a thing you can do, right?" Sam asks, and when Castiel is unable to answer, he urges, "Go ahead and try it. Whatever helps, y'know?"

Castiel still seems hesitant. "Wouldn't it be…strange?"

"No one forgot that you're an angel, Castiel, and no one minds that you're hurt," Mary tells him carefully.

"Maybe a little pissed you didn't tell us years ago," Dean adds, and when Castiel looks down, he continues, "but that's just 'cause we might've been able to help you out years ago instead of letting you suffer in silence. You heal our bumps and bruises all the time, Cas." He claps him once on the shoulder. "It's our turn."

After a long moment, Castiel wordlessly pulls his wings entirely into this plane. Sam and Dean try not to react too much, but she can tell they're both in awe and kicking themselves for not knowing about the state of their friend's wings sooner. They thankfully look a little better than the shadows, as there's more skin and muscle in place, though they're still pretty bare.

If Mary looks closely, she can see a plethora of different colors shining through the stubborn few dark feathers that continue to cling in place, but otherwise, they just look like the skeletal shadows she'd seen twice now. Like a couple of plucked, malnourished chicken wings that make her heart ache sympathetically when she sees them.

When Sam and Dean leave to begin researching ways to help, Mary stays behind, watching Castiel run the pad of his finger over one of the longer feathers. "They look like they really hurt," she remarks. "But Sam and Dean are going to do whatever they can to help you."

"I know," he replies, not looking at her.

"If you know, why didn't you tell them sooner?"

"They can't help me, Mary," Castiel says sadly. "They can and will try—I have no doubts about that. And I do appreciate their efforts and their endless compassion, but there isn't anything they can do. I'm just wasting their time…"

Mary frowns, and though she knows anything she says won't have as much of an effect as it would if Sam or Dean said it, she decides to try. She's supposed to be this lost little angel's family, too, after all…she thinks…

"You're their family, Castiel. And more than that, they're the Winchesters. Even if there's no cure in sight, they'll find one." She doesn't know much about her boys' past, but she does know that they've apparently saved the world time and time again in between bouts of cheating death—in other words, doing the impossible. "Just put some faith into them."

Castiel doesn't say anything else by the time Mary finishes her coffee and leaves, walking past the library and Sam and Dean on her way to her room. Sam has his nose in a book whereas Dean's scowling at a laptop like it's personally insulted his family by not giving him the answers he's looking for. Castiel hovers in the doorway to the kitchen, as if he wants to be a part of the scene, but something—likely his wings—are holding him back

She clears her throat softly and feels obligated to say, "Don't stay up too late."

Sam forces a small, tense smile and nods, and Dean manages, "Uh…yeah. Thanks, M…" He looks down and never finishes the sentence, and Mary sighs but leaves.

Right. Tensions are still running high as far as her being…around goes. It's to be expected and entirely fair, but she'd thought that…well, maybe with Castiel, the angel that's been watching over them for eight years now, revealing that he's been keeping secrets, too, that maybe they'd be a little more forgiving with Mary.

But their secrets were entirely different. Mary had formed one from what she thought was best, even when she knew it was immoral to work with the monsters that had kidnapped and tortured one of her children, and had kept it from Sam and Dean even though she knew it was betraying their trust, even after she realized it was wrong.

Castiel had formed one from the consequences of something he had no control over and had kept it from Sam and Dean out of fear of their reaction and to avoid burdening them with something he knew they couldn't fix. Naturally, though they were surprised and upset to find out he'd been keeping the state of his wings from them, this is only because Sam and Dean had found out that their long-time friend had been hurting for years and never said anything.

Their situations are entirely different, and Mary knows this. Castiel had nothing but good intentions by keeping his secret, and Mary…didn't. Though she can't help but feel a little…almost jealous of Castiel for how well Sam and Dean had accepted the revelation, she holds absolutely no bitterness or resentment of any sort towards the angel.

The poor thing that tries so hard to do good to everyone deserves all the compassion in the world and she knows it. She just…can't help but wish that she deserved a little bit, too.

Chapter Text

(5,511 words)

The next morning is a frenzy of movement from the moment Mary finally convinces herself to crawl out of bed. She goes into the library after retrieving a cup of coffee from the suspiciously empty kitchen, only to find that room is empty, too. She peeks into the garage, but Dean's beloved car (that never fails to remind her of John) is still parked in its usual spot.

She eventually wanders down to the bedrooms, finding Dean's door ajar. Pushing it open, she discovers Sam with what looks like an old cleaning chemical spray bottle in hand, dutifully spraying Castiel's left wing with it while Dean combs his fingers through the right one, frowning down at whatever he's looking at on the pale flesh. Castiel, meanwhile, is shirtless and glaring at the little cup of yogurt in his hand, looking like he wants to smite it just by looking at it.

"There are definitely more little feathers in here," Dean says, smoothing the area down a second later.

"Pin feathers," Sam corrects, moving closer to get a look. "Yeah, looks like they're starting to grow in. I guess having your wings out is really helping them, Cas."

"They do feel a little better already," Castiel murmurs, looking somewhat guilty about the whole thing. Mary wonders if he knew this would help, but that makes no sense. Otherwise, he would've had his wings out to recover a long time ago, right? "I…"

"If you apologize again, I'm gettin' you more yogurt," Dean interrupts without looking up, and Castiel's mouth closes with a grimace as he goes back to glaring at the yogurt cup. Dean hesitates for a moment before patting him on the shoulder. "We wanna help you, Cas, and this seems to be helping. Don't you want your wings back?"

When Castiel doesn't respond beyond an even guiltier look down at his lap, Mary asks, "Is this still the penance thing?" Sam and Dean look up, startled, but Castiel's eyes are still resolutely fixed on his lap, having apparently sensed her presence already. "You don't deserve to have this, Castiel. What happened isn't your fault."

"Wait, is this about the Metatron thing?" Dean shoots him an incredulous look. "Seriously? I thought we all agreed it was that dick's fault and nobody else's."

"My grace was one of the ingredients, Dean. I slaughtered a Nephilim, who had done nothing wrong, just for existing." The angel shakes his head a little—a human trait he probably picked up from one of her boys. "I was deceived, yes, but I played more of a role in the Fall than Metatron, and my damaged wings and grace are the price I have to pay. It's not right to burden you two with…this…"

"Dude, Metatron has been slumming it with the humans for centuries and going through all the crappy TV shows and books he could find. He's, like, a black belt in deception." Dean pauses for a moment before going a different route. "Remember that first apocalypse, years ago? I'm the one that broke in Hell and broke the first seal. So that means it was my fault the whole thing happened, right?"

Castiel's face scrunches up. "No, of course not. You didn't know—"

"Neither did you."

"You were forced to—"

"So were you, Cas," Sam interrupts with a gentle smile. "I killed Lilith and unknowingly let Lucifer out. Do you hold that against me?"

"No…" the angel answers slowly, likely realizing where this is heading.

"So why should we hold this against you, Cas? You didn't know what would happen."

"You were only trying to help," Mary adds, trying not to think about how she'd nearly gotten the angel killed thanks to her alliance with the British Men of Letters. That would've been on her, and Sam and Dean never would've forgiven her—she probably wouldn't have been able to forgive herself, either. "Your intentions were good and he took advantage of that."

She really doesn't know much about the circumstances surrounding this specific event, but she knows Castiel well enough to know that he was only doing what he thought was best, just like he always did, even if at the cost of his own safety and health. Mary wishes the same could be said for her, but tries not to think about that too much.

"We never blamed you for what happened with Metatron, Cas," Dean says after a minute, running a hand over the pin feathers on Castiel's wing, making the angel's eyes fall closed. "I was more pissed you thought slamming the door to Heaven behind you was gonna fly. You were just gonna leave us forever? Didn't you think we'd miss you?"

Castiel squints at Dean over his shoulder, like he's never heard of this concept before. It gets more intense when Sam continues, "What happened with Metatron is in the past now, Cas. Right now, we want to help you get better. Don't blame yourself for something you had no control over."

Castiel doesn't respond, and after a moment, Sam picks the spray bottle back up and starts misting over the other wing. Mary stands awkwardly in the doorway before Sam wordlessly hands her another spray bottle, offering a gentle if awkward smile. So she starts spraying his other wing, trying to copy Sam's technique as best she can while Dean full-on massages the sore muscles of the wing like it's someone's back or shoulders.

It must feel amazing, since she's never seen Castiel look so relaxed before, his usually serious and impassive expression smoothed out in contentment. His eyes are closed and his breathing is soft, relaxed. She knows angels apparently don't sleep, but if they keep up what they're doing, she wonders if Castiel won't doze off, anyway.

From where Mary's standing, she can see small spots sort of like a day-old beard poking out from the wing's skin—spots that were definitely not there yesterday. Curiously, she runs a finger over them, finding that her hand catches on the prickly pin feathers almost immediately. The wing beneath her shudders, and she realizes she's been smoothing her fingers down them the wrong way and going against the grain.

"Sorry," she mutters, moving them the other way, causing Castiel to sigh softly. "Does this feel nice?" It's a stupid question, but the angel still nods, his wings drooping a little as he relaxes further. "That's good… Should I be doing something else, or…?"

"It's going to take time for my wings to completely recover," Castiel tells them quietly, guiltily. "I…admit that I didn't realize how much having my wings on this plane would help them recover. I was wrong. I apologize." He glances over his shoulder, face as solemn as ever but eyes soft. "What you're doing now seems to be helping, but in the end, only time will be able to…f-fix them."

His eyes grow noticeably wet before he looks straight ahead to the wall again, wings shuddering and twitching behind him. "What's wrong, Cas?" Sam asks gently in the way he does when trying to pry information out of emotional victims.

"I just…can't believe this is happening. My wings are actually recovering and I…" Castiel swallows audibly, loud enough that Mary can hear it. "Thank you—all of you. I can only hope my siblings can recover their wings in a similar fashion. It's not right for me to have them while they…"

"They'll get 'em back, Cas," Dean assures in that firm, unrelenting way of his that commands the attention of everyone. "Right now, it's your turn. Let us take care of you."

Eyes noticeably watery, Castiel just nods. "Thank you…"

Dean smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes through his thick cloud of guilt. "You thank us again and I'm getting you two more yogurts."

-

Over the next few days (in which they completely ignore Christmas—not that Mary really cares), Castiel's feathers start really growing in. He's taken to sleeping—actually sleeping—in his room at night after their little wing grooming sessions leave him in the state of a relaxed puddle of angel, which leaves Mary free from any awkward three in the morning chats whenever she can't fall back asleep.

Under some unspoken agreement, Sam and Dean don't even try to look for cases, instead focusing on the long-overdue caring of their angel friend. Mary doesn't have anywhere else to be, so she decides to linger for as long as her boys let her. Besides, she likes to think Castiel enjoys the company of someone that doesn't know him well enough to judge him properly—like she does. But, well, that didn't exactly stop her from judging him when they first met…

As Castiel's wings get fuller and his new feathers start coming out of their sheaths, the angel seems to become guiltier and guiltier. Every time Dean stops in to check on his wings first thing in the morning with a smile brighter than Mary's ever seen him bestow and a "Lookin' good, buddy!" Castiel just hunches in on himself and nods mutedly. Whenever Sam remarks on his amazing progress, he just smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes—barely reaches his mouth, really.

She asks him about it, once, when they're alone. He just looks sad and says, "I don't deserve for my wings to grow back in while all the other angels go without." Mary fumbles over the right thing to say in response, but doesn't manage to come up with anything by the time Castiel looks away and leaves the room, wings trailing along low to the ground behind him like a kicked puppy with its tail tucked between its legs.

(She makes a note to try to stop thinking of Castiel as a puppy. He doesn't make it easy, though.)

On the fifth night, Mary stumbles into the kitchen in search of coffee or anything else that'll keep her awake and her nightmares at bay, only to find Castiel wedged between the table and the wall with his wings hugging every nearby surface, holding what look like a pair of pajama pants in his hands from where he's squeezed himself into, knees pulled up to his chest. This is…strange, even for Castiel, so she approaches slowly and clears her throat, gaining his attention.

"What…what are you doing?" Castiel blinks up at her slowly, too-blue eyes peering into her very soul. "Are you stuck?" she asks after a moment before realizing the thing in his hands is clearly a familiar flannel shirt. "Wait, is that Dean's shirt?"

"I…yes." He looks embarrassed by this, his face going a soft red. "I'm not stuck. I'm fine. Please leave me be."

Frowning, Mary nods slowly. He'd asked nicely, after all. With any luck, he'd teach her boys some manners, maybe. Until then, Mary pours some gross day-old coffee that'd been brewed that morning into a mug and hurries back to her room, letting the angel enjoy his weird use of alone time.

-

The strangeness doesn't end there.

The next morning, she finds Castiel in the small laundry room. In the laundry basket, which is full of dirty clothes. She steps in cautiously, worriedly, and finds that he's asleep, his newly-feathered wings all puffed up around him with the mid-wing joints drawn up over his head like a little wing-cocoon. He looks comfortable enough that she leaves without waking him. He deserves a good rest—even if his chosen resting place is the dirty clothes basket.

Later that day, Dean complains to Sam about missing several flannels and his bedsheets. Sam, likewise, says he's missing his own flannel shirts and several old sweaters he claims he hasn't worn in years, though Mary's seen him in them somewhat recently. Mary herself notices a few of her own shirts have gone missing, and she suspects she knows the culprit.

She brings it up when they're spraying down Castiel's wings for the third time that day, right after dinner—something that eases the itchiness, apparently. "I've noticed a few of my shirts have gone missing," she states, vague but out there. Castiel doesn't react, but his feathers puff up endearingly, which makes Dean smile before he smooths them back down.

"Yeah, me too. Gettin' pretty hard to find a flannel lately," Dean says, his tone light. She realizes with a jolt that he must know what's going on, too. "Guess I know what I want this Christmas."

"Christmas was a few days ago, Dean," Sam cuts in with a frown.

"Oops."

And just like that, the conversation is derailed, though Mary goes into the library later to find a weedy sort of houseplant with an uneven row of Christmas lights thrown through the leaves and a 'To: Cas' label stuck to the pot. The plant disappears the next morning without a trace, though Mary does find a small gift for herself on the map table.

The tag says 'To: Mary' instead of 'To: Mom,' and she feels something inside her break.

She ignores it in favor of trying to figure out where her only pair of wool socks had gotten to. Dean's towel goes missing about an hour later, as does Sam's favorite pair of (flannel) pajama pants. She's pretty sure they all know it's Castiel's doing at this point, but for whatever reason, no one says anything, even as their drawers get emptier and emptier with each passing day.

Finally, Mary breaks the unspoken silence just as Dean rubs the last sheath off of the interior of Castiel's left wing, which seems to glisten in the calm yellow glow of the bedside lamp, revealing the rainbow of colors hidden within the otherwise dark feathers. "Why have you been taking our clothes?"

Everyone turns to look at her, with Sam and Dean looking stunned and Castiel looking guilty. "I'm sorry," the angel eventually says, finally confirming his actions. "I can…give them back."

Sam and Dean are still looking at her like she'd kicked their puppy (which brings back the image of Castiel being like a pet yet again, even as she tries to will it away), so she shakes her head. "I just wanna know what you're doing with them."

The angel sighs and stands up, and Dean's hands fall back to his sides. "I can show you," he tells them before leaving the room.

The three of them look at each other before following. Castiel leads them down the halls and up a story to a room Mary doesn't recognize. The tall, thin windows lining the walls allow light to pour in, creating a soothing sort of atmosphere. In the corner of the room by the door is a large pile of clothes and sheets and towels and who knows what else.

It's arranged in something of a circle, with the sheets and towels acting as the base while the clothes—mostly Dean's—wrap around the edges. It's not woven together by any means, looking more like various layers stacked on top of each other. The bottom is littered with small down feathers, and there are shiny bits of old jewelry, silverware, and spent shell casings sticking between the gaps in the clothes, making it shimmer a little in the sunlight shining through the windows.

It takes Mary an embarrassingly long time to realize it's a nest—like birds make. Though in her defense, it is rather small for a full-grown male-presenting celestial being to squeeze into.

Castiel fidgets in the corner before explaining softly, embarrassed, "I'm…nesting. Angels do it when they feel safe within their chosen sanctuaries. It's instinctual, caused by hormones that…force angels to long for a safe place to nest, once safety and security seem obtainable."

Mary's eyes trace over the nest, with all the clothes and all the sparkling bits. She's glad Castiel feels safe enough in the Bunker to even get such urges, but she can't help but wonder why a creature as powerful as an angel would have the instincts to build something out of a mountain of laundry, wonders where that falls into God's Holy Plan…

"It's…a place of comfort and familiarity, especially useful for resting and recovering," the angel continues, sounding self-conscious—as he always does when he's forced to do something that reminds Sam and Dean that he isn't actually human. "I suspect it has something to do with my feathers growing in again after so long without them…" When no one says anything, he adds quietly, barely a whisper, "I can take it down…"

"Hey, no," Dean cuts in immediately, all gruff and protective in an instant. "This makes you feel comfy and safe? We're keepin' it."

Sam hesitates, hedging, "Though maybe we could replace the walls with something softer—like blankets. We do need our clothes, Cas." Castiel hangs his head, but nods and moves to the nest, as if to destroy it right then and there. "Not all at once," he quickly adds. "Maybe just do a slow replacement."

"Why're there feathers in here?" Dean asks with a deep frown, glaring down at the base of the nest. "You just grew those in. How come they're falling out?"

"They…didn't fall out," Castiel hesitantly admits, looking guilty and anxious all over again, wings twitching a little behind him. "I…"

"Did you pull them out?" When the angel doesn't respond, Dean swears. "No more of that, man. I know you feel bad that you've got your wings back and nobody else does, but punishing yourself just isn't gonna fly, Cas. Maybe we'll find a way to get all the angels their wings back. But right now, just worry about yourself."

"It wasn't for that," Castiel refutes. "It was to…for…I don't know. I just had to. For the nest. I've never nested before, so I'm not sure why, but…"

"It was a little for punishment," Dean refutes, and Castiel just looks away. "Look, just…no more, all right?"

"All right…"

"Great. Now, why don't you show us around your nest?"

There's not much to show since it's all right there and not very large to begin with. But Dean's able to coax Castiel into lying down and curling up into a ball in the center of it with one wing simultaneously pulled up to hide his head and spread over him like a blanket, anyway. Dean smiles and cards his fingers through the newly-grown feathers as Sam goes on the other side and just observes with barely-contained curiosity, leaving Mary standing there with no place to squish into.

But then Dean moves his legs and pats the spot beside him emphatically without even looking at her, and Mary can't help but smile. No matter whether she actually fits or not, it looks like her broken little family of humans and angels is willing to make a spot for her, anyway. She is a Winchester, after all.

-

Over the next few days, they swap out the clothes lining Castiel's nest with used and worn blankets and sheets and a few thick, fluffy towels for the bottom. These new building materials are much longer and seem to work better, anyway. Now that his feathers are all fully grown in and looking as healthy as ever, they abandon spraying them down and instead squish into the little corner of the room on the top story after dinner and watch movies with plotlines Mary could never even fathom on Sam's laptop.

With time, they set up a proper television and a couch in the room, as well. Dean fixes a hook into the wall above Castiel's nest so he can hang swooping blankets there, creating more of a blanket fort than anything. Mary remembers making a few with little Dean back in the day and can't help but wonder if he remembers them, too.

Curtains, lamps that emit a soft golden glow, a radio (after Castiel admitted soft music was 'comforting' and the constant noise reminded him of 'angel radio'), a space heater to keep the nest warm and cozy (though it looks like something her grandparents might've owned), and Castiel's weedy little houseplant are the next editions. Then come the weapons, because what's a family room without a half-dozen handguns and a machete or two lining the walls?

Pretty soon, they've established a little living room in the dungeon-like underground bunker, filled with warmth to echo off the concrete walls. Castiel doesn't always curl up in his nest. Sometimes, he prefers to cuddle up right beside Dean, blanketing him with his warm, feathery wings. Sometimes, he just bundles himself in approximately twenty blankets and sits on the couch. Turns out angels like warmth, whether the warmth of blankets or the warmth of a familiar and trusted soul.

Sometimes, however, he even cuddles against all of them, granting Mary the opportunity to feel just how warm (and heavy) his wings are when they're all feathery again like they should be. Though for whatever reason, Mary has yet to actually touch his wings and smooth down his feathers like Dean does all the time—and like Sam has, a few times. She's not sure why, really.

Dean and Castiel seem to become closer and closer with each day that passes, and as much as Sam likes to make comments about it, Mary can tell he's thrilled that his brother and best friend are finally removing their heads from their asses, as he'd so eloquently put it a few times. Dean can say whatever he wants, but she can tell he's happy about it, too.

Castiel makes no effort to hide his happiness with the new arrangement; she supposes smothering your own joy is somewhat of a human thing, anyway—not something an angel that has no problems with saying 'I love you' and hugging people whenever he wants should see a reason to worry about. Besides, he can always smite someone if they don't like it. It's pretty hard to forget he's an angel when he keeps his wings out in the open in the Bunker all the time now.

All in all, the overall atmosphere in the Bunker is a lot lighter, and while she still feels like a bit of an outsider when she watches the routines all three of her boys have settled into, it's…better. Sam called her 'Mom' the other day, almost on reflex. Dean is more…amiable, and while he still seems upset, he's also a little more willing to listen when she tries to explain her reasoning.

Castiel is as approachable and open as he ever was, though she hasn't talked to him directly in a while. That is, until she wakes up at two in the morning one night, her mind filled with visions of John, as he was when she died. Mary runs an exhausted hand over her face and, determining sleep to be out of grasp for the next few hours at least, swings her legs over the edge of the bed to get up.

She's both surprised and unsurprised to see a wall of dark feathers occupying one of the chairs; Castiel disappears into Dean's room most nights, lately, which she pretends not to notice, wanting to wait until Dean is comfortable enough with everything to tell her himself. Instead, she clears her throat and moves to glare at the coffeemaker.

"Goodnight, Mary," Castiel says as a greeting, and she makes a face without meaning to, wondering if he's kidding. "You should be sleeping."

She sighs and drops into the nearest chair. "Yeah, I know. Just…rough night."

Castiel hesitates. "I can…help you, if you'd like." He lifts two fingers emphatically, cautiously, but Mary shakes her head; this time, it's not out of fear.

"No, not right now. Maybe later." He nods and drops it, looking back at the book he's reading. She leans over to try to see what it is, but the book isn't in English. "I wouldn't mind some coffee, though, if you're up for making some."

"Of course." Castiel stands up and works his magic on the coffeemaker that Mary can't seem to figure out. Maybe she should ask for the instruction manual… "Dean tells me it's customary to ask if you'd like to talk about your unpleasant dreams," the angel begins after a moment. "He's only confided in me a few times, though. But he still likes it when I ask."

Mary can't help but smile a little, even as she shakes her head. "I'm okay. Thanks." Her eyes drop to the book again. "What are you reading?"

Castiel says something in a language she can't even begin to recognize. When all she does is blink uncomprehendingly, he offers, "It's an old novel. I found it hidden on the shelf downstairs, stuffed between another book and the back of the bookshelf."

"Ah." She doesn't ask how he found that. "Your wings are looking good these days. Much better than before."

"Yes," the angel agrees simply, though his wings twitch a little and he doesn't meet her eyes. "I…thank you for encouraging me to tell Sam and Dean about them. Otherwise, they likely would have remained the same for quite some time."

"Do they still hurt?" she asks curiously, eyes tracing over the dark feathers.

She wants to ask if he can fly again, but hesitates, figuring he probably would've already if he could. Besides, even with the feathers intact, the skin and muscles underneath are still a little torn up and weak; if Castiel could regain the ability of flight now, he'd at least need to strengthen his wings back up to carry his weight…probably. Mary's not an expert on angel anatomy by any means.

"No. No, they're…no." Castiel looks away, only looking at her again when the coffeemaker is finished. "Would you like your coffee black again?"

Mary grimaces and shakes her head, grabbing a few sugar packets to stir in herself as the angel returns to the other side of the table. She's starting to feel like a mother-in-law, these days. It's pretty awkward. Castiel, of course, is immune to feeling the awkwardness of any situation he's presented with. "So…how's the…soul energy…thing?"

"There has been more energy available lately," he admits. "My grace feels stronger than it has since before Lucifer, mostly due to our close proximity. I suspect that has played a part in how quickly my wings have recovered. They are more exposed to the energy given off by souls when they're on the same plane as them, after all."

"Do Sam and Dean know about that?" she can't help but wonder aloud. "The…energy thing."

"Yes. I've told them, when they asked why I thought my wings were improving so quickly."

"And were they…freaked out or anything?" Mary remembers him worrying about that, even if he didn't directly admit to it.

"No. Sam was very curious about it, however. Although they will surely worry about 'starving' me now when we become separated due to hunts." Castiel frowns, continuing, "I tried to explain to them that that wouldn't happen, but I don't think they heard anything past me admitting that being unable to feed on their energy for extended periods of time would weaken me, long-term."

Mary can't help but smirk a little. "Yeah, that sounds like them."

"Dean mentioned something about instating a 'buddy system,'" the angel adds, air quotes and all, tilting his head.

Her smile widens. "Yeah, that sounds like him." Castiel gets that soppy sort of look on his face that he sometimes gets when they talk about Dean, with his eyes all soft and shy.

She doesn't think she'd ever looked like that before—even after marrying John. She could think whatever she wanted, but she'd be an idiot to think for a second that these two didn't feel deeply for one another. Sometimes, Mary wishes she could have that. She came close with John, but there was always something…strange about the whole thing, like something was pushing the two of them towards each other.

Or maybe she just wants to believe that in light of seeing how John treated her boys following her death. She never wanted to raise hunters, and John had gone and done that for her, sapping away any and all innocence she would've wanted to preserve in her boys and replacing it with the hardened exteriors of hunters.

Then again, if they never became hunters, would Sam and Dean have met Castiel and allowed him into their family?

After a long moment, she asks, "How do other angels feed on energy? I mean, you said most just stay in Heaven, but what about when they're, like…on a mission on earth?"

Castiel purses his lips, considering. "Angels take humans as vessels to contain themselves and their power so that they may walk the earth and interact with humans. Vessels have human souls inside of them that the angels can feed on, or get closer to if they need extra power." He looks a little sad, adding, "Many angels force their vessels' souls to constantly remain dormant, only waking them if they need the power."

"Do you?"

"I don't… Angels normally can't possess an empty vessel—that is, one without a soul." Castiel looks down at his own hands. "When I died the first time—"

"Wait, what?"

"—my vessel's soul—Jimmy—died with me. I was resurrected, but his soul was sent to rest in Heaven. That's why I need to be around humans to 'recharge' whereas the other angels do not. Just being inside my vessel is not enough to sustain me and give me the energy I need." He frowns for a second. "But to answer your original question, no, I didn't do that. When Jimmy was still…here, I spoke with him on occasion."

Mary can't help but smile, despite the strangeness of the entire concept, and she allows the lull in the conversation to drag on. Once she finishes her coffee, she stands, stretching her back out. "Are you going to bed?" she asks when she's done.

"I don't sleep," the angel replies steadily.

"You can rest, though." She doesn't mention how she knows he's been going into Dean's room lately, not wanting to reveal anything before Dean tells her about it (and it has to be Dean that's holding that back, since Castiel's the one that talks about how unpleasant he found urinating to be when he was human or how much he disliked sweating, apropos of nothing). "Relax in…your room."

The corner of Castiel's mouth twitches, as does one of his wings. Mary realizes then that he knows she knows, in the way that he knows how many rabbits are within a five-mile radius of the Bunker (405, as of last week, apparently). Despite his naivety, he's an ancient cosmic being—how could he not know? "I will, after I finish this chapter."

Mary wonders if she should give him some sort of…talk. When her father found out she and John were dating, he'd chased him off the property with a shotgun he pretended was for turkey hunting and not for ghost hunting, screaming threatening words about shooting him if he touched her. Of course, her father didn't shoot John (though, looking back…), but it's the thought that counts.

The hunter in her is saying Castiel is a valuable asset and a powerful ally, but still a monster. The mother in her, however small it may be, is saying Castiel is a friend and a protector, always watching out for her boys. He can't change what he is, and he's been human himself once, but he'll always be an angel. And, well…Mary thinks that's okay, now. She had been worried and suspicious in the past, but she's grown past that.

She's slowly accepting the idea that her two little boys that were scared of the dark and disliked sandwich crusts are gone, molded into strong and capable men she's proud to even know. She has three boys now instead of two young children that need her help with tying their shoes, and she thinks that's…okay.

So she brushes a hand through his hair like she used to when Dean was little. Castiel seems confused by it, but leans into it slightly like he does when someone pets his wings. "Goodnight, Castiel."

"Goodnight, Mary," he replies as her hand leaves his head and she retreats down the hall, prepared for a long, quiet night alone.

Mary takes a second to peek in first on Sam, then Dean. They're both sleeping peacefully—maybe not as peacefully as they had when they were little, not so long ago, but enough so that they'll get a decent night's rest. She supposes they must, with an angel watching over them. An angel she was cautious around, at first, but has since grown close to.

She and Castiel aren't so different, after all, despite one being a human that had been dead for over thirty years and the other being an angel that's died a few times himself—the Winchester classic. Neither of them belong in this world, just as neither of them were born Winchesters. But thanks to Sam and Dean, they have a place in this broken little family, anyway.

What more could they ask for?