(no subject)
It all happens very quickly. Sam and Dean are sitting at the small motel table, Sam picking at a salad and Dean just finishing off his second burger. It’s quiet, just the sound of the street outside and Sam’s fork scraping against the styrofoam of his bowl.
They hear it before they see it. A loud tearing sound from nowhere, like carpet ripping, and then Dean is falling out of his chair, hunching over himself, grasping at his shoulder blades.
“Woah, Dean-what’s going--,” Sam asks, tripping over himself to get on the floor beside his brother. He reaches out to touch Dean, but he shies away, cringing through grit teeth. A few more moments of pain and then a flash of light so bright that Sam falls backwards onto his ass and has to crawl away. When his vision clears, he thinks he’s hallucinating, he must be, because Dean is curled up on his hands and knees and there are two wings sprouting out of his back.
“Holy shit,” Dean whispers, and slowly takes his hands from his face. He spares a glance over his shoulder and quickly jerks his head back to stare at the floor. “What the fuck, Sam,” he says, sounding miserable. The wings flap once, slowly, like they’re stretching.
Sam crawls closer, mouth fallen open. “Do-do they hurt?” he asks.
Dean shakes his head. “It’s weird-they’re, like…I can feel them back there, but they don’t hurt.” The wings flap twice then, a response, and when the sun catches in them, Sam can see thin veins running through them, a network of pulsing life weaving through the paperthin membrane. Like a dragonfly’s wings. In the quiet, Dean can hear a slight hum coming from them-he can feel the pulse, the beat in the wings matching his heart rate. The wings are glowing, just slightly, in the dim motel room.
It’s odd. He can feel them, but they’re barely physical. Almost like they’re made of light, or physical on some other plane. Dean can feel them rooted firmly to his back, but they don’t feel heavy. He doesn’t feel like his back just got jack-knifed open.
Dean shifts slowly to his feet, getting his feet under him carefully, and Sam jumps up, offers a hand to get Dean up. “Who did you piss off this time?” Sam muses softly, staring.
Dean looks over his shoulder again, and his wings twitch obediently. “Huh,” he says, because honestly, in the course of their lives, this isn’t that weird. Which is kind of fucked up. His wings flap three times, hard, making the napkins on the table skate over the top and float to the floor. “I wonder if I can fly.”
Sam cocks his head a little. “I don’t think the physics of that would hold up.”
Dean makes another contemplative sound with his mouth and tries to bend his arms up to touch the wings. The angle is awkward though, and his fingertips can’t quite touch them. Sam takes a step towards Dean, hand out, and then every electrical appliance in the room shorts out with a loud pop. The room is bathed in black. The tv cracks and sizzles static and after a minute, Sam asks quietly, “Did you do that?”
The lights flicker back on, and Dean jumps because Castiel is right there, in his face, peering at him with the most peculiar expression. His face is flushed, and Dean can feel his ragged breath as it puffs hotly against his cheeks. Dean takes a step back, holds out his hand. “Hey,” he says lowly, and Castiel visibly has to stop himself from following Dean.
“Dean,” Castiel says urgently, sounding pained. His fingers are twitching at his sides against his trench coat and Dean watches them, swallows heavily.
Sam speaks up from behind him. “Do you know what this is, Castiel?” he asks. “It just-they just came out of him like that. I have no idea--,”
It takes Castiel great effort, but he tears his gaze from Dean to look at Sam over his shoulder. “They’re his grace,” Castiel says with effort.
“His what?” Sam says just as Dean asks, “My what?”
Castiel wets his lips, swallows, then looks back at Dean. “It’s not…humans don’t…” he struggles “They’re your soul, Dean,” he finally says. “They’re physical manifestations of your soul.”
The room grows quiet then, and Dean can practically hear Sam’s brain kicking into overdrive, trying to science it out. Dean just watches Castiel. Something is wrong.
“Am I…” Dean asks, frowning. “Is it bad for this to happen?” It doesn’t feel bad. It feels kinda good, actually, feeling them flutter against his back.
Sam moves up behind Dean. “Dean says they don’t hurt-“
Sam reaches out for Dean’s wings and his fingertips are inches from them when Castiel moves, bullet fast, to stand in front of Sam. Sam barely has time to startle before Castiel’s fingers are pressed to his forehead, and then just like that, Sam is gone.
“Cas, what the hell?” Dean yells, spinning around to face the angel. “Where did you--…” His voice trails.
Something is wrong with Castiel. He looks like he’s actually sweating and he’s out of breath like he just ran a marathon. Castiel rubs his hands hard over his face and makes a noise Dean’s never heard, something deep and desperate.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel grits, and there’s what sounds like thunder as Castiel’s wings unfurl, curling out from his back and filling up the tiny motel room. They’re huge and black and far too large for the room and Dean can hear them crackling with energy. It makes the hair on his arms stand up. He takes a step back.
“Cas, what the hell is going on?” he asks, voice catching. Something races down his back, a hot thrill and his wings beat without his consent, five times, hard. Like they see Cas’ wings and are responding in turn. Dean gets full body chills at the way his wings alight, feeling suddenly feverish at his back, burning him, beating hard enough to stir a breeze around him. He tries to still them and realizes he can’t.
“Just…” Castiel says, eyebrows furrowed down to a sharp point. “Let me,” he says, stepping forward.
Dean steels himself, grunts at the hot flash that spikes in his wings as Castiel approaches. “Just let me,” Castiel repeats, voice a low, rough gravel. Dean stays rigid as Castiel’s right hand comes up to hold Dean’s neck, brushing his thumb over Dean’s collarbone. Dean exhales shakily; Castiel’s eyes are burning him, too blue, too much. He tries to look away, tries to move away, but he can’t. His wings are beating hard enough to propel in forward, into Castiel’s space. Castiel reaches carefully over Dean’s shoulder with his left hand and brushes his fingers against the ridge of Dean’s wing.
Dean’s world stops in that moment.
Arousal rockets through him like an electric current, wracking his body with sensation, weakening his knees and stealing his breath. His dick is hot and alive, and when Castiel drags his fingertips down the edge of his wing, Dean groans heavily, can ‘t stop the way his head drops. Castiel moves in, angel fast, and grips at Dean’s neck with his right hand. He bumps his nose against Dean’s cheek, messes his lips over Dean’s rough jaw, licks the skin there and Dean’s breathe rushes out of him in a guttural sound. He’s grabbing the front of Castiel’s jacket and pulling him tighter, closer, without even realizing it, and then he can hear the way Castiel is breathing, erratic and falling apart.
Castiel’s mouth passes over Dean’s, lips scraping over lips, and that’s it. Dean pulls him in, gets his tongue in Castiel’s mouth, sucks at him desperately. Castiel gets a full hand on Dean’s wings and squeezes hard, and it nearly brings Dean to his knees. Dean reaches out with fumbling hands, wraps his arm around Castiel’s waist and buries his fingers into the thick mass of feathers where Castiel’s wings meet his back.
Another shock rocks Dean and he hears Castiel gasp, swear something under his breath in a language Dean doesn’t understand. He scratches his fingernails into the skin there and ruts against Castiel, out of control, lost to himself. Castiel’s wings beat, hard, ruffling the bedding and knocking the TV off its stand. Dean can see electricity thrumming through them as they furl tightly around both he and Cas, blocking out the light. They hover just above Dean’s wings and Dean can feel the magnetic pull between them. His wings want Castiel’s, he realizes, and when Castiel’s teeth scrape at his skin, Dean’s dick jumps a little, blurting a wad of precome into his pants.
Castiel is mouthing at Dean’s jaw in the dark, teething there, and he groans, “Dean,” under his breath, like a warning, before his wings clamp down and collide with Dean’s.
It’s like lightning and thunder and an earthquake through Dean’s body. He has to grip Castiel tight, he shouts out in the shock of it, the immense ecstasy that spikes through him like a drug, tugs at his toes and curls up his insides. He shoots off in his pants, dick shaking, and Castiel is kissing his face, lipping at his mouth breathlessly, and Dean can feel him shaking.
Castiel holds him tight, wings gripping them together until he grunts in pain and shock, and his wings unfurl, snapping open and slamming back into the wall behind them. Castiel is gasping, breath deep and labored, and he shoves Dean back away from him with a firm hand on his chest.
Dean wobbles on his feet, watching Castiel’s dumbstruck face as he falls to his knees. He has time to feel the last shock of pleasure from his wings, shorting out hotly, before he falls back onto his ass and has to lean against the bed.
Dean heart is roaring in his ears, and there’s a harsh rustling sound, and Dean knows when he looks up that Castiel will be gone.
Dean sits on the floor of his motel room, staring at the handful of oil spill black feathers grasped in his fist, and waits for Sam to find him.
Continuation here.