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Sam shot to his feet, nearly stumbling in the process. He began to back away, a shout of warning on his lips, but then he realized what it must be—what they must be.
He didn’t know what possessed him to put on the hell hound glasses sitting here in the bunker, and the second they rested on the bridge of his nose a kaleidoscope of light blared into life. It was white and gold and maybe a touch of gray, nearly piercing his eyes. The light encircled him. As he stood, his head snapped to the side, and he saw its origin—Castiel.
“Dude,” said Dean, his eyes wide, one hand on the hilt of his gun, “What…?”
“Nothing,” said Sam immediately, stepping back and then back again, through the bright wrap, “Nothing, sorry, just thought I saw…. Nothing.”
A deep frown chiseled into Castiel’s face. Sam paced over to a bookshelf, pulled one out at random, and leaned casually back against the wall, flipping through pages. Only from a distance, observing them did he see the angel blade tensed in Castiel’s hand. Sam gave them a false cheery smile and looked back down at his book. Gradually the two of them relaxed and resumed speaking. Sam glanced up and watched.
It was actually two swathes of golden white light from somewhere behind Cas. They had a hard edge along the top and definite shape. Wings. They were massive, like they might actually take the man into flight, folded neatly and carefully around Dean, like a perfectly wrapped present. Every time Dean moved, the wings adjusted with him, as if they knew ahead of time the exact motion he would make. Cas leaned to the side of his chair, but his wings stationed. Dean was still visible behind them.
Sam tugged the glasses further down his nose and took a look without the lenses. They were just sitting and reading, Dean more staring at the edge of his book.
“Hey,” said Sam, “Dean, you should see this.”
Seemingly a little relieved, Dean stood, walked around Cas and the table, and waltzed over. The wings followed him until he was too far out of reach. Cas glanced at him with a frown but resumed reading, folding and tucking his wings behind him.
“What is it?” Dean asked, rubbing his hands together, eyes drawn to the page Sam was open to.
“Okay,” Sam whispered barely audible, “Don’t freak out. Here.”
He pulled the glasses off his face.
“Take a look.”
Mildly puzzled, Dean popped them on his face, and said, “And?”
Sam pointed to Cas. Dean turned and jumped and swung back to Sam, hand up as if to say, ‘What the hell?’
‘Wings,’ Sam mouthed.
He shelved the book and went back to Castiel. As soon as he was within reach of the angel’s expansive wings, one reached out and tucked itself around Sam, like an arm being thrown over his shoulders. As Sam got closer and sat, Dean watched the second wing stretch over and wrap around his brother. The appendages were so bright, it hurt to focus on them. Their light twisted around itself, billions of rays and yet at some points, at just the right angle, almost fuzzy, feathery.
With a few steps, Dean was within reaching distance. The second wing unfolded itself from around Sam and stretched out to Dean, encompassing him instead. He slowed with hesitation as gold and white descended all around him.
“Guys,” Kevin said, half sprinting into the room, out of breath, “There’s… There’s a key for this tome about—about demons. Guys, do you know?”
“Check those boxes,” answered Sam, twisting in his seat to point, his hand breaching the light veil, “Don’t know what’s in there, might be worth a shot.”
Kevin’s eyes followed the direction he pointed and sprinted by. He passed behind Castiel. Sam looked at Dean with raised eyebrows, but Dean shrugged. Castiel’s wings hadn’t covered Kevin as he got close. The prophet quietly shuffled books and boxes and papers, and Sam and Dean pretended to be engaged with their books.
SLAM!
Sam and Dean jumped as Kevin knocked a tomb to the floor. Casually, Castiel glanced back to make sure Kevin was okay. He hadn’t reacted at all, but his wings jerked in closer, cinching around them. As Castiel returned his gaze back to the pages in front of him, his wings slowly relaxed.
Dean said, “I’m starving. Grub? Cas?”
Castiel glanced up and back down, “No, I require nothing.”
Sam said with half a smile, “It’s sweet though, don’t you think?”
A disgusted grimace plastered over Dean’s face, and he said, “Yes, it’s actually nauseating.”
Finally Castiel looked up, a line creased in his brow.
“What is? Your… ‘grub’?” His head tilted at Dean, and asked with a squint, “Do you need spectacles now?”
“Nah, Cas, they’re hell hound glasses,” Dean said.
“But I suppose it makes sense,” added Sam, folding his hands atop a book, “They were passed through Holy fire. If there is any way to see….”
He shrugged. Castiel’s frown passed to Sam and back to Dean. Dean reached his hand out and flattened it against air. He watched his hand attempt to touch the wings, but it didn’t even block the light, just passed through. At no point did he feel anything, not heat or a soft, feathery touch, but he slid his hand along the edge of the wing. Castiel’s lips parted as he began to realize. Eyes wide, he watched Dean’s hand with rapt fascination.
Quietly he mumbled, “You can see.”
“Are there other people you put your wings around?” asked Sam.
All of a sudden, Castiel looked embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck, and Dean watched as his wings tilted away from them.
He spoke as though it hurt him to do so, his eyes down on the table, the book, anything that wasn’t a Winchester, “Wings are… private, special…. If I am not paying attention, they--they move of their own accord. That was when Uriel reported me, and he began watching everything I did--my wings were… following you, Dean, when I wasn’t paying attention. And then Sam too. And when there was danger, I did it intentionally. Uriel told you I liked you too much. That was why. Angel wings are not for humans in any way.” He rubbed the back of his neck again with a sigh and said more strongly, “It is relieving now to not worry about what the other angels see or think.”
Castiel pulled the book closer to him and did his best to look absorbed in it. Clearly the conversation was over. Sam and Dean glanced at each other. The glasses were set down on the table by Cas’ book.
“Well,” said Dean standing, “I still need food.”
Sam rose from his chair as well and walked around behind Cas to join Dean, but he paused as he passed the angel and set a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed it gently and then let go. At the end of the library however, a want to say something seemed to get the better of Dean.
“Hey, Cas,” he said.
The angel looked up, but Dean lost his nerve, not entirely sure what he meant to do in the first place, and ended up just nodding at him. He didn’t see the tiny smile that tugged at Castiel’s lips as they left him alone with his book.