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Dean does his best to hide his wings from Sam, wrapping them around his waist, binding them and then pulling a loose plaid shirt over them, adding a heavy jacket for good measure. He's not sure if Sam would be able to see them or not, but figures if he's knocking things over they must be on a plane of existence that could quite possibly singe Sam's eyes right out of his head and Dean's seen that happen one times too many.
He's on his way to the kitchen, in desperate need of sustenance when he realizes he isn't even hungry. Right, he reminds himself. Because angels don't need food, or sleep, or showers or anything else that's been ingrained in Dean, since he was born, as natural human nature.
Feeling rather defeated, Dean goes for the dining hall instead where he finds Sam at the head of the table, nose buried in a book, spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth.
"You know, it's more effective if you put the food in your mouth," Dean points out as he sits down in the chair nearest to Sam.
Sam's eyes flick to the spoon and then back to the book before he puts the bite in his mouth and chews.
"So uh," Dean folds his arms across the table, "you remember anything from last night?"
Sam looks up at him then and his eyebrows pull together. Dean looks behind him in a nervous gesture, afraid his wings have somehow manifested themselves without his permission. But the air behind him is vacant of feathers and so he turns to look back at Sam.
"I remember the witch knocking me out pretty good but that's about it. You gank her?"
"Uh, yeah," Dean lies because the less Sammy knows the better. His eyes go out of focus as he recalls Sam's heart in the witches hand, the sound he made when she squeezed...
"Dean, you okay?" Sam asks, pulling him from his reverie.
Dean's eyes flit to Sam's then back to his hands, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm good. Just uh, strange night, ya know?"
Sam nods slowly at him like he can see past Dean's jitters, knows something's going on but he doesn't press for any more details. He goes back to reading and Dean loses himself in his thoughts again.
When the familiar flap of wings echoes in the dining hall, Dean checks himself again before realizing it's just Cas and he lets out a small sigh of relief.
Castiel looks around with his eyebrows pulled together, confusion etched clearly on his face.
"Hey, Cas. What's up?" Sam asks taking in the angel's disgruntled state.
"I sensed another angel here," he explains, "but you appear to be alone." He looks from Dean to Sam but his eyes are on Sam's face only seconds before his head snaps back to Dean.
"No angels here, Cas. Just us," Sam states.
But Cas isn't listening. He's staring at Dean, his mouth hanging open a little and his eyes wide and lax. Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
"Dean?" Cas's voice is quiet and tender in a way the brothers have never heard it before and the sound of it tugs at Dean's heart.
"Hey Cas," Dean tries for casual but the way Castiel is striding across the room tells Dean, he's not buying it.
"Dean you're-" Cas stops, his face a mess of emotions Dean can't decipher, "you're an angel." He says softly, reverently as if it's an answer to all of his prayers. His hand goes to Dean's shoulder and his eyes are imploring, questioning, calculating. It's too much and Dean looks away.
Sam's jaw has dropped and he's staring at the two of them in a manner that suggests Dean's got some splainin' to do.
Dean sighs and tries to arrange the words in his head before delving into the fact that he's a completely different species than he was just last night. "Uh, so last night I kind of traded my soul for grace. To save you, Sam." Eloquence at its best.
"So, what you're an angel now? Just like that?" Sam wonders and Dean nods.
"Guess so," he answers. His eyes flit back to Cas and away again when he sees the rapture on the angel's face. Castiel is acting strange and it's giving Dean a complex.
"Dude, why are you looking at me like that?" Dean finally asks him. Castiel's eyes are reminiscent of a friggin' Disney princess's and he's still wearing that small smile.
"Because you're like me now, Dean," Castiel explains, "you're an angel." A massive black wing flickers into existence and cranes towards Dean swiping gently down his cheek, a tender caress of reassurance. Dean's eyes go wide when he sees it and he inhales sharply.
"Cas, I can see your wings!" Dean states seeing for the first time Castiel's fierce black wings that poke out above his shoulders and down around his ankles. The feathers are sleek and shiny and remind Dean of the Impala which makes him even more self-conscious of his own severely less awesome wings.
"Yes, Dean. Of course," Cas nods, that small smile still warming Dean's insides up like embers. But then the smile is gone and Cas is frowning, a bump forming between his eyebrows. "But why can't I see yours?" he wonders aloud.
Sam, whose been watching the exchange silently, perks up, "you have wings, Dean?"
Dean remains silent, studying the table top as if it's the most interesting piece of furniture he's ever seen. He clears his throat and takes special care not to look Sam or Cas in the eyes.
"Dean, what's the matter?" Castiel asks with a tilt of his head. He's pulled his wing back to himself and Dean misses the brush of Castiel's feathers against his skin.
Not wanting to admit that he thinks his wings look like some kind of Anne Geddes interpretation of what angel wings are supposed to look like, Dean decides to use the fact that he can't actually control them as an excuse.
"They're a little uh, independent."
"Independent? How?" Sam asks, his voice teetering on the precipice of laughter.
"I can't control them," Dean finally admits, "they won't move." He looks up at his brother, "I didn't know if they'd burn your eyes out so I hid them," he says, "I can't make them disappear like Cas can." His face is distraught, pulled into a frown almost reminiscent of a pout.
It's silent for a beat, Sam not knowing quite what to say, before Castiel speaks.
"Sam, could you give us a minute?" he asks then, his eyes still haven't left Dean and Dean always knew the guy could stare, had even learned to love it, but Castiel was really outdoing himself at this point. Smiling more in the last 10 minutes than the entire time Dean's ever known him and staring like his eyes are actually stuck.
Sam, although seeming a little disappointed, nods and leaves the room taking his bowl of cereal and book with him. When they hear his bedroom door open and close, Castiel brings his wings back out, puts the tip of one under Dean's chin and raises his face until their eyes meet.
"May I see your wings, Dean?" he asks quietly. Dean knows if he said no, Castiel would respect his wish to keep them hidden, but the entreating look in the angel's eyes make Dean feel like not sharing them with his boyfriend... significant other... whatever, would be selfish.
He sighs and shrugs out of his jacket and then begins unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the white feathers he'd wrapped around and bound to himself earlier. When his shirt hits the floor and he unties his wings, they fall limply behind his back and pool on the ground near his feet, no longer perky like they were that morning. Dean hunches his shoulders and scratches at his arm, a nervous tick, as Castiel walks around behind him. He's being eerily quiet and there's something thick in the air, pressing against Dean's skin, a sensation that may have always existed but that he could never feel until now. It hums like an electric wire but feels warm and soothing, like rain in the summer, when it zips across Dean's skin, resonating somewhere within him.
"That you, Cas?" Dean asks his voice scratched low.
"Is what me?" The angel's voice is quiet, distant like he's lost in another plane.
"I dunno, that feeling. It feels like a rainstorm," Dean tries to explain.
"Yes, Dean. That's me." And even though he can't see him, Dean can hear Cas's smile return to his face.
Dean cranes his neck then, straining to look behind him desperate to see what Cas is doing. But he's doing nothing; just standing, as if awestruck, examining Dean's wings, his own wings flared slightly at either side of him.
"How come mine aren't bad ass, like yours?" Dean asks, "Yours are sleek and shiny and awesome mine are just-" he shudders at the thought and groans out, "fluffy."
Cas reaches out and turns Dean around to face him. He rests a hand on Dean's cheek, gentle and light and locks his gaze with Dean's.
"I think your wings are beautiful, Dean," he states with all the seriousness of a defense attorney and he leans in to brush his lips soothingly against Dean's. It's a practiced gesture, something they've done countless times before, but this time feels different somehow. Charged, deep, unbridled. And even though it's a simple press of lips, Dean's skin suddenly feels like its on fire, flames burning through his veins. He grabs Cas's waist and yanks him closer, his hand going to tangle in Castiel's hair deepening the kiss. The light above them buzzes and then pops, shards of glass raining down on them and they pull apart to look up.
"Was that you too?" Dean asks looking back down to Cas. Cas, with that damn smile back on his face is shaking his head.
"No, Dean that was you."