Archive of Our Own

A shining figure in white appeared to Dean, huge black wings stretching out for what seemed like miles. Booming voice, burning eyes, too intense to experience directly.

“Dean Winchester is saved.”

Dean woke up in the dark, internally trying to see what was wrong. He waited until his heart rate had slowed down enough for him to hear the quiet hyperventilating coming from the other side of the room.

Dean got out of his bed and walked across the room.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean knelt down next to the edge of his brother’s bed.

Sam gasped, rolling over to face Dean. Poor kid looked absolutely terrified.

“Dean, what’s happening?” Sam asked, between gasps.

“It’s ok, buddy.” Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I think you just had a nightmare. Take some deep breaths. You’re gonna be okay.”

Sam curled up tighter, taking shaky breaths and trembling. Dean began to gently squeeze Sam’s shoulder. It took a little while for Sam’s breathing to level out, and as soon as it did, he sat up.

“Did I wake you up?” Sam gulped, wincing. His throat was probably dry. Dean shook his head, leaning over to turn on Sam’s desk lamp.

“I was already awake, don’t worry about it. I’m gonna get you some water.” Dean walked into the kitchen just outside of their room. He got two glasses of water, one for each of them unless Sam was extra thirsty.

He came back and climbed onto the bed next to Sam, handing him one glass of water, laying a hand on his back when Sam gulped down the water as though it would cleanse the terror from his body.

He handed Sam the next glass once his brother had set down the first. Sam gulped down the second at a pace barely slower than the first. Then he started hyperventilating again.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay.” Dean said, rubbing slow circles in Sam’s back. “Okay? Just take a breath. You’re gonna survive, be brave.” Sam managed to take in a deep breath before relapsing into the panic, and again, and again, until Dean told him “Just breathe out, bud. Don’t worry about getting enough in, just focus on getting it all out.”

Sam breathed out, nice and slow, hiccupping and sobbing but stabilizing his breathing nonetheless. Dean kept a tight grip on his baby brother, gently rubbing the back of Sam’s neck until all of his muscles went lax and he had clearly tired himself all the way out.

Dean set him on the bed, re-covered him with his blanket and left the room. He went into his own room and collapsed on the bed, falling back asleep nearly instantly.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice woke him up not too much later. Dean looked at the clock. He’d only gotten forty minutes of sleep since he’d last tended to his brother.

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean groaned, turning onto his back and covering his eyes with his hand.

“I had a nightmare.” Sam whimpered.

“Okay, what can I do to help?” Dean asked, covering his face with the pillow next to him.

“Can I spend the rest of the night with you?”

“Sam.” Dean turned on his side. “I’m already overheated. No way, bud.”

Sam looked up at Dean, putting on his best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine. Just don’t throw all the covers onto me when you get too warm.” Dean dragged the pillow off of his face and put it next to him. “And turn the light off, for fuck’s sake.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Sam turned off the lights and got into bed next to his brother, giving him some room so neither of them would burn up before morning.

The morning started with the very loud alarm Sam had set as a joke on Dean’s phone.

Dean groaned, turning off the alarm and rolling over against Sam.

“You’re not gonna get up?” his brother asked.

“Mmm, I am, just not until for a few more minutes.” Dean was struggling to keep his eyes open.

 “Do I have to go to school today?” Sam asked the ceiling.

“If you can, then yes.”

“Ughhhhhhh,” Sam banged his head against the pillow.

“Come on, Sammy. Breakfast.” Dean stood up, yanking the covers off of the bed.

Sam groaned as he got out of bed and trudged into the kitchen.

After a breakfast of cold cereal and eggs, Dean drove Sam to his school, saw him in the door, and went to his shift at the garage.

“Boy, why are you so late?” Bobby asked him when he arrived.

“Sam had problems this morning.” Dean said. It wasn’t a lie, not technically. Sam had had problems that morning, but the actual reason he was late was cause he’d misplaced the keys to Baby. (Again. He had no idea how. He’d even tried getting one of those tracker things on the key ring which had been great until it had gotten wet when Sam had pushed him into the creek last fall.) But he wasn’t going to tell Bobby that.

“Right, just make sure you’re here on time tomorrow, we have that inspection thing on Saturday and I need to make sure we don’t have any open oil canisters lying around or whatever.” Bobby groused, adjusting his baseball cap so he could wipe the sweat off his forehead and wheeling away.

Dean groaned internally and followed his boss into the shop. It was going to be a long day.

After an oil change, Dean went to go work on his current restoration project, hoping to get some time in on it before he started his current restoration project but was interrupted by Bobby, who told him that he had to go restart the Fulsoms’ minivan. It was one of those cars that just kept getting brought back to the shop. Dean swore it had already been there three times this month, and for three completely different reasons. These people really needed to get a better made car.

So Dean left his precious restoration project, a 70s Nash Metropolitan that had been in some wreck back in the eighties and ended up in Bobby’s scrap heap somehow, and went to see what was wrong with the Fulsoms’ car now.

Breaks. Apparently it was breaking more on one side than the other. If they’d let him rotate their tires last time they’d brought it in, this would be way less of an issue, but those things are always easier to troubleshoot in hindsight.

So Dean took one look at the tires (that were clearly much more worn on the left side) and told them that they were going to have to replace all of the tires and have them brought in for rotations more frequently (once every four years was NOT frequent enough.)

After rotating the tires, Dean took a lunch break. He was gonna sit out front and see if he could see any interesting cars on the highway as they went past the shop, but Bobby pulled him inside instead.

“Your dad still trying to pull that custody shit on you, boy?” He asked, unwrapping his sandwich.

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I got it covered. It’s only two more months and there’s only so many hearings you can pack in that much time, you know?” Dean shrugged, biting into his burger.

“That’s true, but are you taking care of yourself, Dean? You’ve taken a lot on your shoulders, working a full-time job, parenting Sammy, taking night classes, and fighting court battles. That’d be a lot for anyone do handle.”

“I toldja I’m fine, Bobby, I’m a little tired, but that’s nothing new, and if it gets real bad, I can always drop the night classes. I’m just worried about Sam. I need to make sure that John doesn’t get his hands on him ever again.”

“Yeah. And listen, this isn’t on the record or whatever, but if you need a place to go run to once Sam’s eighteen and you can leave the state, I have a place in South Dakota. You can hide out there from your Dad until the coast is clear.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” They ate the rest of their meal in silence, Dean calculating exactly how long that would be before they could start packing. Six weeks, maybe a little more. Enough time for John to fuck stuff up so royally that Sam wouldn’t live to eighteen, not enough time for Sam to graduate or for Dean to finish his class, but who would care about that when their brother’s safety was on the line?

Dean went to replace the bumpers on his restoration project for the rest of the work day.

After he was done with his work, he picked Sam up from school and drove him to the court room.

Dean sat down with Sam and their caseworker Mr. Asan, a very nice man who always gave them snacks and asked after Sam’s friends.

“How are you doing today, Sam?” He asked, handing Dean a bag of his favorite potato chips.

“Thanks, man. You’re the best.” Dean said at the same time as Sam’s, “Good, school is annoying as usual, but other than that, I’m fine.

“I’m glad to hear that. A few notes on our last time in court: Dean, you did a good job of controlling your temper. Heaven knows no reasonable person would enjoy being stuck in an unheated room with your father for that long, Sam, you’re doing great, too. Mostly you two just have to sit there and wait through the monotony.”

“Is this room gonna have heating, at least?” Sam asked, catching the bag of gummies Mr. Asan tossed at them.

“Yes, it is. Thank goodness.”

Dean and Sam followed him into the courtroom.

It was indeed heated in this one. Dean looked at the clock. He had an hour to kill, maybe more if his former father dragged it out with too much of his shit.

Everyone rose for the Judge and then sat back down, waiting for the procedure to begin. Dean’s father’s lawyer started out with an opening statement full of barely veiled threats toward the judge and Dean both.

The judge told him to sit down halfway through, saying she’d “heard enough from” him.

Then Sam’s lawyer got up and gave her opening speech, free of threats directed at anyone in the courtroom and then the hearing began.

An hour and a half of his father’s bullshit later, Dean was tired and more than ready to go home. How the hell did the man think that he was going to somehow gain full custody of Sam despite not even being allowed to have supervised visitation with him?

Yeah, sure he had his mafia friends, but even they could only help him get so far. And so Dean had to sit there and listen to the judge state obvious facts back at John and deny his wishes until John got so mad he threatened to injure the judge.

Then she had him escorted out of the courtroom by an officer, shouting that he’d see Sammy soon.

Seriously, why couldn’t John just let the kid be? The sooner Sam turned 18 the better.

After the court proceedings were finished, Dean had dropped Sam off at one of his friend’s houses for a sleepover and gone home to their apartment.

And now it was 8 pm on a Thursday and Dean felt like his back was splitting open from the tops of his shoulders down to the dips in his hips in two lines. The agony grew quickly and it was only when Dean’s vision was on the verge or whiting out that he was aware anything had changed. At first it was just a slight shift in the light coming in from the kitchen, then Dean heard footsteps. The only thing louder than the footsteps in Dean’s head was his heartbeat.

It was ponding so loud he wondered how the intruder didn’t hear it too. Dean stifled the sound of his breathing, trying to calm himself down so he could think through what to do.

The footsteps came slowly closer to his door, mirroring the nightmares he’d had time and time again where his dad came back to get out one last bit of anger on Dean.

Before he’d formulated a plan, the footsteps came so close Dean was certain that he’d see the person they belonged to at any moment, and sure enough there were shadows right under the crack in his door.

The doorknob turned.

The man in the doorway was no one that he had seen before, and certainly not someone who he’d given his apartment key to. And he definitely wasn't a robber.

This man was clearly too calm to be here for any of Dean’s material possessions, and was therefore likely the same person who had poisoned him with the debilitating toxin currently wracking his body with burning pain.

“You lost, sucker.” Dean barely managed to choke out a laugh. “He isn’t here. He’s safe away from you and John.”

Had the man not clearly been there for the sole purpose of dragging Sam back to John’s place, Dean would have laughed at how dorky the man looked, with a badly tied tie, a somewhat askew trench coat and clearly unkept hair.

“I’m not here for anyone else, just you,” the man stated calmly.

Dean nodded, sitting up and turning slightly on his bed, ignoring the shooting sensation in his back. “Well, your poison worked so I hope you’re happy. Just go and tell John, why don’t you, that I died and you still aren’t any closer to getting Sam.”

With his hand that wasn’t visible, he took out the gun (that he was supposed to keep locked up) out of the drawer, aiming it and firing several rounds.

It was when they had no effect on the man before him that Dean started to panic more than he had already. Was this a hallucination? The man walked towards him, utterly unfazed.

“Who. Are. You?” Dean asked the man, pulling out his pocket knife and pointing it at him, hoping that this freak, whoever he was, would have enough of a sense of self-preservation to back away.

“I am the one who will grip you tight and raise you from perdition.” He replied, staring at Dean with an entirely calm facial expression.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Dean hissed, stabbing the man in the shoulder of his weird tan trench coat.

He did not flinch, instead smiled softly at the knife and pulled it out of his shoulder, letting it drop onto the floor.

“We need to talk, Dean.” the man said. “Which is why I waited until you were alone.”

“What is this? Who are you?” Dean narrowed his eyes, taking a step back from the trench coat man, breathing as slowly as he could to keep himself from blacking out due to the blind panic overtaking his system.

“Castiel.” The man stood beside Dean’s bed. There was nowhere near enough space between them.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that much,” Dean said, noticing the name tag that looked like it had come from a church coffee hour meet-and-greet ordeal that read Hello, my name is Castiel.

Dean took another step back and felt his shoulders hit the wall.

“I mean, what are you?” The man, apparently named Castiel, sat down on Dean’s bed, continuing to stare at him with those unnerving blue eyes.

“An angel of the Lord.” Castiel responded, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to tell someone after breaking into their house while looking like a really bad Sherlock Holmes cosplay.

“Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.” Dean said, standing up and preparing himself to fight, all memory of the torturous pains in his back gone, paved over with an incredible surge of adrenaline.

“This is your problem, Dean.” Castiel said. “You have no faith.” And with that, all the lights in Dean’s apartment cut out in the same exact moment as a lightning flash lit up the sky, light shining through the window behind Dean. As it did, it appeared as though there were enormous wings stretching out from Castiel.

As this happened, Dean leaned forward, wincing as a sharp stabbing feeling wracked his body on either side of his spine, causing him to shake involuntarily, whimpering in pain.

“This is what I came to talk to you about, Dean.” Castiel’s tone didn’t change but even through the haze of torturous sensations Dean could tell he was trying to be gentler. He reached a hand out to touch one of the especially white-hot spots on his back. Dean winced, trying to move away. The last thing he wanted was any more pressure on the areas that already felt so terrible. He didn’t manage to get out of arm’s length fast enough, apparently. Castiel’s fingers brushed the absolute worst part on the right side and instead of it causing infinitesimally more torment, the aching stopped for a moment. Long enough for Dean to get a better sense of his surroundings, at least.

Castiel had turned the lights back on, although nearly all of the bulbs seemed dimmer somehow. Dean was drenched in sweat, as though his body thought that soaking him would somehow stop the burning. Other than that, not much had changed.

“What did you wanna tell me?” Dean asked, trying to sit up. Castiel put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, putting just enough pressure there to convince him to lie back down. Normally, Dean would not have acquiesced to such touch, but he was exhausted and in the worst pain of his life.

“These.” Cas touched the center of his back gently. “You’re the first human to ever develop wings and I rebelled against heaven to come down and see you.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘wings’?” Dean spluttered.

“I’m growing wings. And you’re an angel.” Dean shook his head. “I gotta tell you, a ton of weird shit’s happened to me throughout my life but this one really takes the cake. What the hell does this mean anyway?” Dean turned his head so he could see Castiel.

Castiel stared down at him, which normally would have unnerved Dean, but tonight it made his heart flutter. He was in horrible pain and still falling in love. When would he learn, damnit?

“It means that I will have to pull your wings out of your back. And that you will have wings and be able to fly.”

“Yeah, no shit, Cas.” Dean said, automatically making a nickname for the man he’d met moments previously. “But what does this mean for me, like in the future.”

“We don’t exactly know yet.” Cas stared at Dean some more, squinting slightly.

“Do you know anything? Who sent you here or did you come just to watch me in pain for shits and giggles?”

“I know very little, other than that there is absolutely no precedent for humans with wings. And no one sent me, I already told you I had to rebel from Heaven to get here.”

“Well, what are the wings gonna look like. Are they gonna be invisible like yours?”

“Yes, even though these are made out of a more physical material than mine. Mine are made out of celestial intent; yours are bone and human tissues.”

“Okay. Well, then. Let’s get this over with,” Dean said with a sigh.

“Get what over with?” Castiel was confused again.

“You taking my wings out,” Dean explained, starting to lose patience.

“I’m not removing your wings!” Castiel exclaimed, and Dean could feel Castiel’s wings flapping in panic even though he couldn’t see them.

“That wasn’t what I meant, Cas.” Dean groaned as the pain started to come back.

“What did you mean, Dean?” Castiel stroked a hand over where the wings were sharpest in Dean’s back, simultaneously soothing him and stirring up his butterflies again.

“Well, you said that you were going to pull them out of my back. Open them, not rip them out. And given how much pain I’m in and that I have work tomorrow, I would appreciate if you could do this quickly,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Dean, I can’t just open your wings up. It’s a process.” Castiel continued to rub soothing circles over Dean’s back, lessening the slicing pain but never fully eliminating it.

“Why do you sound concerned?” Dean asked, rolling over onto his side to give Castiel full access to his back.

“I’m concerned because you’re a human and humans can’t deal with very much pain or strain on their bodies. Generally speaking.”

“Right. We’re actually sturdier than what you’d expect, ya know.” Dean hissed, starting to feel annoyed.

“Dean, I have watched humans for over 2,000 years now. I guarantee you that I know what you are and are not capable of. Believe me when I tell you that doing this by yourself is a dangerous idea that will kill you. The agony of it alone will do permanent damage to your body.” Castiel slipped one of his hands under Dean’s shirt, touching lightly where it hurt most, taking far more of the pain than he’d been able to previously.

“Okay, fine.” Dean waved one of his hands at Castiel, as though he could bat him away. “Can we get this show on the road then?”

“This isn’t a performance, Dean. I’ve already said it’s inadvisable for you to strain yourself too much.”

“It’s a metaphor, Cas. Can you get started on the wings?” Dean shuddered as another wave of agony hit him.

“There is another thing that I must tell you, Dean.” Castiel’s soft, slow stroking was the only thing keeping the pain manageable enough that Dean remained conscious.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean hissed through gritted teeth.

“I can help you unfold your wings but if I touch them, you will be forever bonded to me.”

“The hell does that mean?” Dean asked, shuddering and whimpering as another block of pain hit him.

“It means we will be soulmates. That I’ll have a certain degree of control over you.”

“What?”

“It will alter your biochemical reactions to things, especially me. You will seek me out for comfort in the way you naturally do with heat and familiar smells.” Castiel said, stretching his hands out to cover more of the agonizing areas of Dean’s back at a time.

“Yeah, sure. What does that look like? How would that change my life?”

“We would both be instinctually driven to tend to each other, even at the expense of our own safety.”

“That’s okay with me, man. Just get these things out of my back. I feel like I’m gonna die.” Dean said, all his patience drained.

“If you accept the consequences of this, then yes.”

“Yes, I accept the consequences! Now please can you just get these goddamn things out of my back.”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel said, taking his hands off of Dean’s back long enough to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt. Castiel set Dean back down on the bed and Dean felt his fingers gently pressing where the sharpest edges of the wings were, likely. At least based on where it hurt the most.

Suddenly, one of the sharpest points of hurt gave way to another sensation. It was strange, like when there’s a part of your body, not part of the skin, and not just under it, either. One of those areas that you’re aware of but can’t actually touch, like how you can feel that you’re queasy but can’t actually touch your stomach. It seemed to be in that category, but now someone was touching it, and it felt bizarre. Dean blacked out.

He woke up to the same feeling. Then the realization hit.

That was one of his wings.

Castiel was touching Dean’s wings.

He’d been in too much pain to tell that earlier, only just now had vague recollections of what had happened.

Quickly returning to consciousness, Dean was aware of several things all at once: the pain was entirely gone, replaced with a soft warm glowy feeling, somewhat like the feeling after you melted into the arms of someone you hadn’t seen in a long time; several hours had undoubtedly passed, it was dawn; Dean was not remotely tired, despite having gotten far less than his usual amount of sleep; and of course, Castiel was touching his wings.

His touch was so light, so tender. It was the source of the soft warm feeling in Dean’s chest. Loathe though he was to disturb Castiel, Dean sat up.

Castiel was still sitting in his bed in the same trench coat he was wearing before.

“Good morning, Dean.” He said, his voice soft and gentle as his hands.

“G’morning, Cas.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. He turned, trying to see his wings.

“They’re invisible, Dean,” Castiel said, as though reading Dean’s mind.

“What? Then why could I see yours last night?” Dean reached for Castiel’s back to see if he could feel his wings.

“Because I spread them. I’ll teach you how to spread yours soon,” Castiel said in his quiet, gentle monotone voice.

“If they’re invisible, then why can I...” Dean trailed off, focusing on flapping his wings slowly forward and back.

“You need to slow down, Dean. You should only stretch your wings slowly for the first day or two.” Castiel instructed, pressing a hand to the center of Dean’s back, somehow causing his wings to droop back down to his sides.

“First of all, I want to learn to fly now. Secondly, how did you do that?”

“I told you that if you let me touch your wings that we would be forever bonded Dean. When anything touches an angel’s... or in this case, a human’s wings, it can have an extremely profound effect on the being whose wings are being touched.”

“That’s great, Cas.” Dean snapped. “What does that mean? Can you control me if you want?”

“If I needed to, yes. But it’s very unlikely that it will come to that. I calmed you with my hand on the center of your back Dean. No one touches another’s wings without explicit consent.”

“What happens if you touch my wings? Since I’m human and all.”

“I don’t know, Dean.” Castiel cocked his head to the side.

“Only one way to find out.” Dean shrugged. Castiel’s eyes bugged out of his head. “What? I’ll be fine. You were touching them earlier.”

“That was for necessary medical reasons, and I had your consent. Are you certain that you want this, Dean?” Castiel asked, concerned.

“Yes, I’m certain.” Dean said, lifting his wings to offer them to Castiel. Slowly, Castiel reached out and touched one of Dean’s wings, barely brushing a single feather before Dean collapsed into Castiel’s arms, his vision blurring out for a moment.

As Dean’s vision refocused, Castiel put a hand to Dean’s forehead, stroking Dean’s hair out of his face.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked, softly. Okay? Who was Castiel kidding? Dean felt wonderful. It took him a little while to find the words, and then a little while longer to find the energy to talk.

“Mmm, yeah. I feel good. It feels like that thing after you get railed,” Dean murmured, leaning back into Castiel. “Where you’re just kinda limp and warm and your insides feel all gooey and you’re still kinda horny but you really just think you’re gonna fall asleep, ya know?”

“I could not attest to that, Dean. I have never been... railed.” Castiel said.

“Take your hands off my wings and then touch them again. I wanna see if I get more dizzy.” Dean said, trying to sit up but not quite succeeding.

“I am not touching your wings, Dean,” Castiel stated calmly.

“Oh, you aren’t? Then why do I feel so...”

“You’re in this state because I touched your wings. It will not be like this forever. The first two weeks are a very sensitive time.”

“And how long do these things last?” Dean asked.

“Do you feel the same now as you did when you were touched?” Castiel replied.

Dean snorted. “No, I’m more... awake now. Or present. Or whatever.”

“That’s good. I apologize for having ot depart so soon, but I will check on you again later today, Dean, but the Heavenly Host is calling me now. Good luck.” With that, Castiel vanished. The lack of his presence admittedly helped Dean focus, although there was this empty feeling left. He checked the alarm clock. It was eight o clock.  Dean must have blacked out for a little while after Castiel had touched his wings.

Damn.

It would be time for him to go get Sam soon, but first he needed breakfast.

Dean walked downstairs and helped himself to a large bowl of cold cereal, struggling to process what had happened to him in the last few hours. Holy hell, he was tired but he needed to stay awake for Sam.

Dean showered and got dressed, still surprised that he couldn’t feel his wings when he was rinsing his back or pulling on one of his button ups.

Then he sat around, watching the latest episode of Sam’s favorite TV show before it was probably time to go pick up his brother.

Sam was not happy about being dragged away from the sleepover (apparently they were gonna watch the last episode of something on Netfilx). Oh well. Dean hadn’t been informed.

“Dean, you can’t just burst into my friend’s house and drag me out cause you have a project that you need help with!” Sam protested.

“So first of all, as your legal guardian, I can totally do that-”

“Oh, don’t give me all that ‘as your legal guardian’ bullshit, Dean.”

“Hey, watch your language!” Dean snapped. “As soon as we get home, I want you to make sure that you’ve done that presentation for Mr. Whats-his-name, okay? I don’t wanna deal with another note sent home.”

“Fine!”

Dean should have known that something was wrong as soon as he pulled into the apartment complex parking lot and saw the white Ridgeline sitting in the parking lot, but he just didn’t give it a thought, presumed that it belonged to someone else, anyone else. Someone visiting family, perhaps.

Well, he wasn’t wrong on that front.  He watched Sam walk inside the apartment building and started to gather up all of he trash in the Impala. How the hell had Sam let his side of the car get so dirty?

It only took him a few minutes of him trying to clear out the top layer of crap out of the car before the back door of the apartment building banged open again, startling Dean.

“Lemme GO!” He heard Sam shout.

“Sammy?!” Dean called, dropping everything he had and grabbing the boxcutter he kept stored under under his seat. He ran out to get a better vantage point.

“Dean!” There was sheer panic in Sam’s voice. Dean knew that tone. This wasn’t a prank; it was an emergency.

Dean saw Sam, getting dragged by their dad over to his pickup truck. John turned around, one arm holding Sam in a headlock, the other holding a revolver, pointed straight at Dean.

Dean stopped in his tracks. His father was a great shot, he knew this from their “hunting trips” as kids. He also knew that he was of no use to Sam dead.

However, if Sam was sucessfully abducted he’d doubtless get hurt in a multitude of ways, most of which Dean preferred not to think about.

He weighed his options. And came to a comprimise.

Taking a steadying breath, Dean unfurled his wings, reveling in the power he felt as he saw how much of the sun they blocked out, how far they truly extended, and best of all, how unnerved his John was.

Dean ran at John, ripping his father’s arm away from Sam’s neck, wrapping Sam up in his arms.

BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.

John unloaded half of the round into each of Dean’s wings, causing him to collapse in searing agony, feeling his head spin and his body twitch, unable to do much more than watch helplessly as John dragged a stunned Sam out of his arms and into the pickup, keeping the boy at gunpoint as he drove away.

Dean lay there in the midday sun, shaking uncontrollably, unable to move any part of his body at all, especially his wings. He wondered absently how much blood he’d lost. It didn’t matter now. He was going to die. He was going to die, and Sammy was going to get hurt and there was nothing he could do about it.

Dean lay there on the asphalt as he watched his vision blur softly in and out, slowly lulling him closer and closer to unconsciousness and eventually death.

“Dean!” The urgent voice started Dean out of whatever state he had been in previously. Dean tried to sit up, to look around, but he couldn’t.

“You need to save your strength.” Castiel knelt down next to Dean, protecting Dean’s eyes from the sun with his head, the sunlight casting a halo of light around his head.

“You’re an angel,” Dean murmured, as both his vision and his mind started to blur again, reaching up to touch Castiel’s face.

“Dean, listen to me. We don’t have much time. I need you to stay here. I’m one of a few angels on your side, I can get some more here and we can heal you, but I need you to promise me you won’t try to go anywhere, or try to rescue your brother.”

His brother, that’s right. That was how Dean had gotten into this mess in the first place.

“Damnit, Sammy.” Dean muttered, his laugh turning into a cough.

“I’ll patch your wings as best as I can for the time being, but we both need to save our strengths if there is to be a true healing ritual.” Castiel continued.

“No, no.” Dean sniffed, trying to sit up again. “I need to go save Sam. He’s in danger.”

“Dean, you’ll only hurt yourself in the process.” Castiel said, his voice back to the soothing cadence it had when Castiel was helping Dean unfurl his wings for the first time.

“Then you need to go. I don’t care if I die, I just need to make sure that Sammy’s safe.”

“If I rescue your brother, there might not be enough time to heal you properly,” Castiel warned.

“No, I know.” Dean didn’t care if he died, as long as his brother was safe.

“Are you sure that you want to do this, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“I’m certain.” Dean said. Castiel nodded, then reached a hand out to the ground near Dean’s wings, infusing it with some bright light. The light slowly seeped into Dean’s wings, taking the edge off of the pain and forcing the bullets out. They clattered to the ground with soft ringing sounds and Dean’s vision went black.

Dean reawoke to the sound of his brother’s frantic voice.

“…but there has to be something that you can do to save him! I can’t let him die, Castiel! I can’t.” Sam’s voice was breaking.

Dean opened his eyes, reaching out towards where he heard Sam’s voice coming from.

“Hold still,” Castiel ordered softly. “I need you to hold still. We’re healing you.”

As Castiel said that, Dean felt the light from before slowly filling him up, slowly healing the wounds in him. Mind, body, spirit.

At some point, all of the pain had faded and all Dean could do was lay there, exhausted in the afternoon sun. Sam was safe. Sam was safe and that was all that mattered.

Castiel gently picked Dean up, turning him over mid-air to gain access to his back. After checking Dean over for what felt like forever, Castiel pressed a hand to the center of Dean’s back and Dean felt his wings relax fully for the first time in hours.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly. “You need to fold up your wings.”

Dean winced, but did as Castiel requested. It was a painful process, getting them as folded as he could.

“Will he be ok?” Sam’s voice called out.

“Yes, most likely.” Castiel replied, touching the center of Dean’s back again, taking out all of the tension in his wings, enabling him to fold them into his back entirely.

Dean felt his world fade out again.

Slowly, Dean regained consciousness. He was lying in his bed, that much he could tell instantly. He was lying in his bed in the dark.

Slowly, he lifted his head, looking around. Had it all been some bizarrely stressful dream?

No. No, it had not.

Castiel was sitting on the edge of his bed, just watching him.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, sitting up.

“Your brother is sleeping,” Castiel replied, climbing off of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, a sudden panic rising in his chest.

“To confer with my superiors. This mission was a success and I look forward to our ongoing connection.”

“You’re just going to leave?” Dean demanded, feeling another wave of anxiety crash over him.

“I’ll be in touch, Dean,” Castiel said as he vanished.