Chapter Text
Abby finished placing the crow on the bookshelf and wiped the last traces of lacquer from their hands. "Alright, there we go. Don't touch her; she's still drying," they snapped as Castiel gingerly tried to run a finger down the bird's back.
"It's--she's beautiful. She's really dead?" He withdrew his hand just in time to avoid a slap.
"Of course she's dead, dumbass. That's kind of the point." They adjusted their glasses and poked at the bird's wing with a pair of thin tweezers, adjusting a feather to correct an imperfection only they could see. Castiel stared into the bird's sightless glass eyes, fully expecting it to take off at any moment.
"I can't blame him," Sam said from behind them, moving in for a closer look. "You did a great job."
Abby frowned, but Castiel didn't miss the touch of pride in their green eyes. They'd been in the shed for hours, putting the finishing touches on the preserved bird, and their hard work had paid off. The crow was posed mid-flight over a block of mossy driftwood, held in place by stiff metal wires, every ebony feather brushed and polished to perfection. It was almost impossible to believe that days before, the little bird had been nothing but a dirty, ant-covered corpse in the driveway. Now, it looked alive and vibrant, as if its departed soul had returned to reside in the foam armature hiding beneath its polished feathers.
"That right wing is drooping a little. I think the wire is too short," Abby said distractedly. They started to take the bird down again, but Sam stopped them with a hand on their arm.
"It's perfect. Looks great," he reassured them, smiling affectionately. "Have you shown Bobby yet?"
"Shown me what? What have you done this time?" Bobby Singer came up behind them, seemingly from nowhere. "Did Cas break the TV again?" He eyed Castiel suspiciously and sighed. "I told you to stop playing with the remote; you're not going to figure out how it works by--"
"Shockingly, no, Cas didn't break anything," Abby interrupted, meaningfully stepping back from the bookshelf. "I finished the crow."
Bobby's attention immediately turned toward them. "The one Cas found in the driveway? Already?"
"That's the one."
"Oh, wouldja look at that?" The veteran hunter studied the bird carefully, stepping closer but still keeping a respectful distance from the still-drying feathers. "That broken wing set beautifully." There was genuine pride in his voice. "You're getting to be really good. You ready for me to bring you a deer yet?" He turned to his adopted child with a raised eyebrow.
Before they could answer, another male voice chimed in from close behind. "What are we all looking at?" Dean Winchester had joined them, a bag of potato chips in hand.
"Abby finished the crow, Dean."
"Hey, that's great! How'd it turn out, sib?"
"It won't matter if you get chip grease all over it! Back off, Dean!"
Castiel was forced to back away as the Winchesters and Singers crowded around the bookshelf. Abby was trying to push Dean and his chips away from their precious mount, their small frame ineffectually fighting his sturdiness. Sam and Bobby let them argue, exchanging pointed glances. Everyone knew it wouldn't do any good to try and separate them.
"You let them look at it!"
"They're not holding a bag of salt and crumbs! The lacquer is still damp. Do you want to ruin the sheen!?"
"Oh, I can't look at it because I'm hungry?"
"You are such a child-- "
Castiel smiled to himself from his place at the outer edge of the group. He could sense the unspoken affection between the two, the way Dean was being careful not to get too close to Abby's work despite his protestations. Even through their near-constant arguing, it was abundantly clear that they had a close relationship. And besides, there was something oddly endearing in the way Abby scowled at Dean, the way they obviously didn't mean it. It's not at all like how they look at me. He pushed the envious thought away as soon as it came to him, feeling slightly ashamed.
"Both of you, settle down. Dean, don't touch the bird," Bobby suspended Dean's protest with a stern look.
"Has Maggie seen it yet?" Sam interrupted helpfully before Dean could attempt another indignant retort. "She's coming by later. Can I show it to her?" At some point, he had moved himself between Abby and Dean, peaceably and skilfully cutting off the glare crackling the air between them. Clearly, he had had a lot of practice heading off his siblings' petty arguments.
"Maggie saw the body when Cas first gave it to me, but she was a mess then. Hadn't even cleaned her yet," Abby answered, momentarily distracted from their squabble. They had to tilt their head back to meet Sam's eye level. "Feel free to show her if I'm not in. You guys going out tonight?"
Sam and Abby continued their conversation as easily and comfortably as if nothing had happened. Abby had said something to cause Sam to throw an arm around them, and they were leaning into his side affectionately, still chatting amiably. Bobby was on his way to the kitchen, scolding Dean under his breath for antagonizing Abby, and Dean was pouting silently as he wandered over to the couch. Castiel watched the four of them, struck not for the first time by how familial they all were. It was hard to believe only two of them were related by blood.
"So, Cas, you found the bird in the driveway?" Sam had turned his attention to him, apparently noticing his far-off stare. "Did it fly into a window or something?"
Feeling warm at being invited back into the conversation, he stepped back towards them, taking the space next to Abby that Dean had left. They pressed further into Sam, away from him. He tried to fight down a slight feeling of hurt. "I think so. I sensed massive internal hemorrhaging and a broken wing," he said simply. Sam's mouth twitched. "But I knew Abby would love it." Castiel smiled at them, trying to catch their eye. They stubbornly ignored him.
Sam raised an eyebrow, noticing his ill-fated attempt at engagement. "Yeah, they've gotten pretty good at birds. Hey," his voice brightened, "have you shown him the two sparrows with the nest?" He directed the question at his adopted sibling. Abby had pulled away from him and was studying the crow intently, searching for something to improve upon. "You're working on a mated pair, right?"
Abby glanced at him with a look of annoyance. "It isn't done yet," they started defensively, "I have to fix the wing armature on the female--"
"It's pretty incredible, Cas," Sam interrupted, turning back toward him. "You should go check it out." He widened his eyes meaningfully. "Abby can show you what happens to the birds we bring them."
Castiel was momentarily puzzled at his insistence. Why does he want so badly for us to—oh. He smiled, realizing what Sam was trying to do. Of course.
"Sam, Maggie won't be here for another hour at least. We'll make sure to be out of the way by then." He gave Abby a look that he hoped suggested a friendly inside joke.
They didn't reciprocate it. Instead, they rolled their eyes at Sam and hissed, "I told you, it isn't done."
Sam gave them a beseeching look. "Please? For me?"
Abby crossed their arms and glowered up at him, unimpressed with his pleading. Watching them stubbornly stare down someone easily twice their size was almost humorous. I wonder if they look half this fierce when dealing with rogue gods. It was a charming thought.
Finally, they relented, sighing in annoyance. "Fine, I'll get him out of the house so you can make dinner for your girlfriend. But I'm only distracting this one," they said sourly. "You'll have to deal with Dean yourself." With no warning, they grabbed the sleeve of Castiel's trench coat and began tugging him toward the door. He followed, knowing resistance would get him nowhere and not really wanting to offer any.
"I'll have Dean come and get you when Maggie arrives." Sam held the door open for them, stepping back to let Abby storm past, still pulling on Castiel's sleeve. He shot Castiel a pointed smile. " You're welcome ," he mouthed after him as he was tugged into the yard.
The screen door was shut behind him before he could ask Sam what he was welcome for.
------
Abby dragged Castiel by the arm across the yard, grumbling to themself. They stomped past the Impala, where it sat next to the Reaper, shooting it a glare, clearly displeased at the old car's close proximity to their beloved hearse. "He'd better not sideswipe her when he moves that thing," they grumbled.
Castiel followed close behind them, his sleeve still trapped in their grasp. They were smaller than he was, but he still felt that attempting to break free would be unwise. Not that he really minded.
Finally, they neared the large, slightly rundown metal shed usually used for Dean's car maintenance. In the last few months, Abby had commandeered a tiny corner of the makeshift garage for their taxidermy workshop. They didn't make much off of the mounts they put together--most of it was skeletal articulation, using the common country roadkill that was so abundant on the rural stretch of road near the house--but together with their odd jobs and paid hunts, it helped keep them out of the unsavory financial fate Sam and Dean often found themselves in. And they seemed to genuinely enjoy the hobby. Castiel often found them relaxing after a strenuous hunt with a newly cleaned skeleton, assembling it on the living room floor like a morbid jigsaw puzzle.
Sometimes, he felt like he wanted to join them.
Reaching the door, Abby abandoned their grip on his sleeve to fumble with the knob, and he felt a strange and sudden emptiness where their hand had been clasped against his wrist.
"What are you standing there for? Come on," they growled at him, flicking on the light and stepping inside. "I'm supposed to keep you out of the way, so that's what I'm doing. Stop making it so difficult and get out of the doorway."
That's not exactly what Sam said, he thought but didn't say. After all, he wasn't exactly sure what Sam had been trying to do when he'd shooed them out of the house together.
He stepped after Abby and looked around at the mess of tools and miscellaneous junk, quickly catching sight of the long workbench against the far wall, where a collection of mounted deer skulls called attention to Abby's workspace. Picking their way around Dean's scattered car parts, Castiel followed them, unable to take his eyes off the bones mounted on the wall.
"Bobby insisted I put up those antlers," Abby huffed. "Said they'd make it feel more like a workshop and less like a garage." They kicked at a tire leaning against the leg of the table. It didn't move. "Didn't do much good, with the mess Dean leaves." They sighed. "I never was into antlers, anyway. They're too...dead."
Castiel didn't answer, his attention drawn toward the table's contents. It was surprisingly clean, especially in contrast with the clutter and chaos of the rest of the garage, and not at all the bloody mess he'd been expecting of a taxidermist's workspace. Instead, it was neat, well-organized, and oddly homey. A few scattered sketches of birds in various stages of flight lay strewn across the table. Gleaming scalpels and fleshing knives, sharpened to perfection, were meticulously arranged in a worn leather case next to a jar of glass bird eyes. A box of tiny skulls, separated with styrofoam, sat on top of a pile of roughly carved wooden display bases, and near it was a thick book, left open to a page detailing the anatomy of a bird's wing.
He gently ran a hand down the page, tracing the diagram. "This is where you work on your animals?"
"Obviously." Abby was pulling a small box down from a shelf and setting it on the table, careful not to get too close to him in the small space. "When Dean's not in here working on that damn car and singing Aerosmith off-key, anyway." They opened a battered drawer and pulled out a rust-stained, threadbare hand towel, laying it across the tabletop. "You haven't known true misery until you've heard him try to hit that one note in 'Dream On'."
Castiel smiled inwardly at the unmistakable warmth in their voice, fighting off another tiny flash of envy. Suddenly, his interest was drawn to a large, heavy-looking jar on top of a stack of books. A massive bundle of feathers of all different sizes and hues was arranged inside, plumes spread in a fountain of color.
"You have a lot of feathers," he commented, glancing at Abby. They were opening the small box and peering inside.
"I collect them. I'd like to display them properly one day," they answered. Almost all of the usual edge was gone from their voice. "I try to bring one back from every hunt, even if it's just a common grackle." They glanced at the jar of feathers with a slightly far-away look. "It's sort of a...way to remember."
"Remember?" He gingerly stroked a long brown feather near the front of the bundle, careful not to tear the barbules apart.
"Yeah. A way to remember whatever it was I put down." Their voice was surprisingly warm. "That pheasant tail feather? I found it in the forest where I laid Freyja to rest." They looked up from the box and thoughtfully watched him run a finger down the feather's edge. "That was the first time I met Sam and Dean."
Castiel was quiet, pensive. Laid Freyja to rest. They didn't talk like any hunter he'd ever met. Granted, he hadn't met many, but he doubted many others showed the same level of easy respect toward such dangerous supernatural beings. The words they used to refer to the gods they hunted weren't in the least performative. Such reverence was sincere, and it came naturally to them, like it had simply never occurred to them to treat a rogue deity as any less than an esteemed equal.
"Okay, move over." He was jarred out of his reverie as Abby reached into the box, carefully taking something out. Castiel stepped back to give them room, watching them set what looked like a small bird's nest on the towel.
"Reproduction, of course," Abby said distractedly as they reached back into the box. "The birds aren't attached yet. The male is finished; he's wrapped up in here, but the female is giving me some trouble." Gently, as if they were handling a bomb, they took out a small body and laid it on the table next to the nest.
If he hadn't known the sparrow was dead, he would have expected it to flutter its wings and chirp at him. It was posed mid-hop, its tiny head thrown back in a cheerful greeting, its speckled wings spread merrily.
"It's beautiful," Castiel murmured, resisting the urge to stroke the bird's delicate tail.
"She." Abby frowned at him disdainfully.
"Of course. She's beautiful." He smiled, struck once again by the level of respect and reverence being shown the tiny bird. She's not even alive, but you treat her as a dear friend.
He could feel them watching him as he leaned over to admire the sparrow, and sensed that they were thinking hard about something. The air was suddenly taut, the distance between them feeling much smaller than it actually was. When they spoke, they sounded almost shy, their voice stiff.
"Castiel, you have wings, don't you?"
He looked up a bit sharply, taken aback. "Well, yes," he answered, slightly startled. "I do."
Castiel didn't think about his wings very often. They were just a part of him that had always been there, no more noticeable than anything else. They were invisible now, completely intangible; currently, they were reduced to nothing more than a set of phantom limbs, something he neither felt nor didn't feel. He knew they were there somewhere, still a part of him, but since taking up semi-permanent residence in this human vessel, he had never really given them much thought.
Abby looked at him strangely, as if they wanted to ask another question, but felt embarrassed. Gingerly, they picked up the sparrow and tilted her in the light.
"See this wing?" Turning her over, they indicated the bird's raised left wing. "Something's wrong with it, and I can't pinpoint exactly what it is." They kept their gaze firmly planted on the half-finished mount. "Since you have wings...can you tell me if this is right?" To his surprise, they were blushing slightly. "If yours are like this, I mean, I don't know if angel wings are—"
"Of course." He smiled softly at them. The air felt different. The tension was still there, but it was softer, warmer. "May I see her?" He held his hand out a bit shyly.
Abby nodded silently and delicately transferred the sparrow to his hand, their fingers brushing his for a moment.
Castiel held the tiny bird carefully, afraid of crushing their hard work. He closed his eyes and focused, casting his mind over the ethereal wings he knew were there somewhere. He could almost feel them now, a soft weight behind his shoulders. He imagined flaring them out, raising the top left wing to mirror the sparrow's, the way it would feel and the specific muscles it would pull, the individual feathers that would be most prominently displayed. The look on their face if they were to see it.
His eyes flew open in a slight panic, his mind suddenly spinning. What? What was that?
"Well?" Abby watched him measuredly, arms crossed, oblivious to his sudden shock.
"I...I think..." Reeling, he ordered his mind to focus again, forcing the rogue thought from his head. He ran his finger carefully down the bird's wing, tracing the wired joint. Calling back the mental image of his flared wing, he tried to feel for the exact spot on the sparrow where his own muscles would tighten and lift. There. There's the problem. He opened his eyes again.
"I think the wing is pushed too far forward," he stated, gently handing the bird back, fingers touching theirs again for the briefest moment. "It just needs to be pushed back at the shoulder."
Scowling seriously, Abby took the bird and hunched over the workbench, tools in hand. Within moments, they were straightening up again and offering the sparrow for his examination. "Better?" they asked.
Castiel checked the wing's position against his own phantom limb and nodded. "Yes." He smiled. "Better."
"Great. Thanks," they said measuredly. Giving the bird's wing a final stroke, they carefully folded it back into the box, along with the nest. Then they stood, shifting from foot to foot, not meeting his eyes. He thought he could feel a storm brewing. "I probably could have figured it out on my own eventually, you know. It's just--"
"Hey, you two." A knock on the side of the open door interrupted their defensive growl. Dean was standing in the doorway, looking very pleased about something. "Sorry to interrupt--"
"You weren't interrupting anything," Abby snapped, shoving past Castiel and heading for the door. "Maggie's here?"
"Yup."
"Great." They marched past him without another word, not bothering to offer even so much as a glance back at Castiel.
Dean watched them go, shaking his head, until they'd disappeared through the screen door to the house. "So?" He turned back toward Castiel, smirking. "Have fun learning about birds? And, or bees?"
Castiel tilted his head questioningly, deeply confused. "Bees? Abby doesn't have bees." He brightened at the idea, suddenly excited. "Do they have bees? Where?"
"Never mind, Cas." Dean clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him toward the door, sighing. "Never mind."
Castiel gave one last glance toward the jar of feathers on the workbench, pensive. What would mine look like there?
He was immediately shocked with himself for even entertaining the thought.
An angel's wings were the most potent symbol of their power. They were a powerful mark of celestial energy, a cherished thing not to be shared lightly with mortals. Even the ghostly silhouette they sometimes offered as proof of their divinity wasn't something they were encouraged to flaunt. Physical feathers were a sacred gift, usually passed from a guardian angel to their ward. Allowing a human to see their corporeal wings was a step above, certainly only done between a guardian/ward pair.
And Castiel was not Abby's guardian.
Abby's guardian was far more powerful and far more annoying.
Castiel didn't know the whole story. But everyone above and below knew that the archangel Gabriel, the consummate bastard who had abandoned heaven, the coward who had hidden in the Pagan lands for centuries under the mantle of one of their gods, had adopted the role of sentinel for the respected young hunter. Privately, Castiel didn't think he was doing a very good job and had often secretly thought he could do far better. But Abby adored Gabriel, and it was clear that the disgraced archangel adored them, too. Their relationship was the closest between ward and guardian he'd ever seen, so close that it made even his and Dean's feel vaguely inadequate.
But then, surely he would have noticed if there had been a shimmering golden-blue feather in Abby's collection...
Has Gabriel not given them a feather yet?
"Cas?"
Castiel snapped back to reality, his wandering thoughts corralled for the moment. Dean was holding the door open, watching him with concern. "Are you okay?"
Blinking, he nodded, hoping his thoughts couldn't be read on his face. "I'm fine. Let's go say hi to Maggie," he said, forcing a smile.
He followed Dean outside, his mind still spinning and his ethereal wings suddenly feeling very real.