Dean frowned at the screen, where the hero of the terrible movie he was watching had just been thrown out of a window, and looked away, bored. He hated not having a job to work, and being stuck in a house with his idiot brother and a clueless angel was torture. Yeah, yeah, they were waiting out some dumb-ass "storm that was brewing" (Cas's words, of course). Some crap about Michael's little cohorts being on the warpath to find them again.
Dean was sick of it all.
He sighed, flipped off the flailing man onscreen, and rose to his feet, a vague plan forming in his head to go to the kitchen- God knows where that was- and find a beer. It'd been, what, maybe two hours since he'd had a drink? That was his record for the week. He smiled, somewhat proud of himself.
And then punched himself inwardly, because what the hell kind of thing was that to be proud of himself for?
He had to walk through three different hallways- somehow always finding himself back in the TV room- before finding an open door. Unsurprisingly, that led to another hallway. Jesus, how do people that can actually afford houses like this live? Without getting lost and starving to death by accident?
Dean had managed to distract himself with his train of thought to the point where he had no idea where he was. There was a staircase above him that seemed to go up into infinity and Dean stared at it blankly as he tried to place himself on a mental map of this goddamn house. Sammy was probably in the library, trying to salvage what he could of the rain-soaked and destroyed books. Cas- well, who knows where Cas ever is? Probably praying somewhere. Dean smirked and then stopped, remembering that at the rate he was going, he would more likely than not never see either of them ever again.
He would die under this staircase.
Chuckling quietly to himself, Dean started to go up to the next floor, hoping that none of the ancient stairs would give way. Sure, there were pluses to living in a house that had been uninhabited since the late 90s- a dilapidated television that only showed the classic movie channel not being one of them- but the minuses quite heavily outweighed them.
Such as, uh, breaking the door to one of the (freakishly many) bedrooms two days ago. Or pulling off one of the banisters on some random staircase. Or- the list was endless, pretty much. Dean was getting kinda sick of living in a house that was falling apart, and he was getting even more stir-crazy with every second he passed inside the mouldy thing.
It took him maybe five minutes to go through the entire second floor. Upon seeing that there were no others in the rooms and, more importantly, no beer, Dean returned to the staircase- if it was the same one, which he doubted- and went up another floor.
Still no kitchen.
Dammit, where was it hiding?
As he approached the fifth room on that floor, he heard a rustle. Stopping dead in his tracks, as was his hunter's instinct, he crept somewhat cautiously towards the opened door only to find-
Cas.
Sitting on the floor.
With... a hairbrush in his hand.
He appeared to be- actually, Dean had no idea of what he was doing. It didn't really look like anything. Curiosity getting the better of him, Dean quietly entered the room.
"What'cha up to, Cas?" he asked, grinning as the angel looked up at him, startled.
"I- uh-"
Dean smiled again, enjoying every second of catching Cas unawares and at a loss for words. "What's the hairbrush for?"
Cas looked at the thing in his hand, seemingly surprised that it was there as though he'd forgotten he had it. He glanced back up at Dean, and suddenly there was a tiny glimmer of embarrassment in his unnaturally blue eyes. "I was..."
"Come on, Cas, spit it out," Dean said, his own eyes twinkling as he jumped to conclusions.
Castiel sighed. "I was brushing my wings, okay?"
Dean's jaw dropped. Instantly ashamed of himself, he closed his mouth but left his eyes as wide as they were. Wordlessly, he gestured to the area around Cas's slim shoulders. "You... You don't... have wings..."
A tiny smile darted across Castiel's mouth and vanished. "Yes, I do, Dean. Human eyes just can't perceive them."
Dean swallowed, trying to come to terms with this. "So... you have wings, and you... You need to brush them."
Cas nodded placidly. "It's something I don't do very often. But it needs to be done." He looks left and right and frowns. "It's also quite difficult for me. I can't quite reach all of the areas that need brushing."
Dean, pleasantly incredulous, took a few steps forward. "You seriously have wings?"
Cas looked up at him and something feathery brushed Dean's face. He jumped back, eyes wild as he tried and failed to find a source for the sensation. "Holy shit, dude! What- was- was that-"
Castiel nodded again. "That was my wing. You can't see it. But you can feel it if I choose to reveal them."
Dean tried to add it all up in his head, absentmindedly scratching at the place where Cas's wing had brushed his cheek- it had tickled. "So... No matter what, I can't see your wings, right? But... if you release your wings or whatever, I can feel them?"
"Yes. But I mostly keep my wings away. They can..." Cas sighed. "Let's just say I'm not the most graceful angel."
Dean smiled at the thought of Cas clumsily knocking things over with his invisible wings. "Why do you need to brush them?"
"The feathers get knotted."
"Feathers?"
Cas looked at Dean, somewhat unamused. "...yes. My wings have feathers. I believe most human depictions of angels show them as such?"
Dean chuckled. "No, I thought so, it's just- heh. Somehow, I expected your wings to be made of, I don't know, electricity or something. So they're seriously just normal bird feathers?"
"Y-yes. I'm- I'm not quite sure why you're so amused by this-"
In a sudden, fluid motion, Dean sat on the floor, cross-legged, next to Cas. "May I?..." he asked, gingerly raising a hand towards Castiel's shoulder. Looking somewhat confused, Cas nodded once.
Dean bit his lip and moved his hand forward into the air surrounding Cas's back and shoulders. He explored the air for a few seconds and finding nothing before looking at Cas expectantly. Cas obliged by twitching minisculely and, an instant later, Dean's trembling fingers met feathers. Awe on every inch of his face, Dean cautiously stroked the proffered wing.
It was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Yes, there were feathers, but there was just something about it that felt... different. Made sense, obviously- it's not like angels were pigeons or something.
It was rough and smooth at the same time, somehow. The feathers were oily in the strangest way. He thought he could feel a vein pulsing under his fingers, and every pore on the wing exuded physical warmth.
And in that moment- just for that one moment- Dean found his religion.
He pulled his hand away abruptly and looked at Cas, only to find the other man staring at him as though he was seeing him for the first time. "What?" Dean asked, somewhat gruffly, trying to cover up the intense emotions he was feeling.
"N-nothing, I just-" Cas stopped and Dean could practically see him collecting his thoughts. "I realize this is an- odd thing to ask, but... Could you brush my wings for me?"
Slightly unnerved by the intensity of Cas's eyes, Dean looks away. "I- sure, Cas. Sure." Cas hands Dean the brush, and their fingers touch for an instant and electricity flies. Dean meets Cas's gaze for a second and then turns to the seemingly empty space next to and above the other man. "Okay, Cas. Where do you want it?"
There was a very faint rustle, so faint Dean thought he imagined it, and a sudden swirl of air. Dean guessed that Cas had moved his wing so that it was right in front of him. "Just there," Cas said softly.
Shrugging, Dean raised the brush and was somehow still surprised when he met something solid in the empty airspace. Trying to accustom himself to it, he began brushing the proffered wing, smoothing the feathers with his other hand. "Not to be rude, Cas, but why can't you do this yourself?"
"Can't reach."
Dean paused his brushing for a second, startled at the change in his friend's voice. He looked over at Cas only to find him with his eyes closed and an expression more reverent than he'd ever seen him with, even more so than when the angel was praying. "You okay, man?"
"Yes, I just-"
Dean had resumed brushing Cas's wing and somehow, Cas found himself unable to finish his sentence. Smirking slightly, Dean continued.
"You- you can't imagine how this feels," Cas said softly, eyes still closed, most of the gravel in his voice gone.
Thinking wistfully of a gorgeous redhead from Amarillo, Dean shook his head. "Eh, I think I can relate."
"No, the human brain lacks enough sensory receptors," Cas murmured, and Dean looked at him again.
The angel's eyes were still closed and he looked more relaxed than Dean had ever seen him in the while that they'd known each other. Also, he looked truly, genuinely, deeply happy for the first time since the start of his existence in Jimmy Novak's body.
Dean smiled softly, unused to seeing Cas like this. It was somehow moving to know that he was responsible for it, and Dean suddenly felt a surge of affection for the broken little angel sitting next to him. Who had given up everything to be there that day. Dean really didn't appreciate Cas enough- he knew that- but just for a second, he did.
And then Dean looked away, afraid of everything he was feeling, the moment passed, and Dean continued to brush Cas's wing. Occasionally, Cas would shift the wing to a different spot for Dean to brush and that he would do.
A few minutes passed, and Cas, very slowly and regretfully, opened his eyes. "Alright."
Dean looked up, somewhat startled at the sudden sound. "What?"
"That wing's done. I thank you."
"Uh, sure thing," Dean said and lowered the brush, somewhat at a loss for what to do now. "So, does the other one need brushing, or-"
"Yes," Cas said very seriously and turned so that his other shoulder was facing Dean.
"Okay," Dean said and was rewarded with a mouthful of feathers. "Hey!" he protested loudly, spluttering as he tried to get the oddly sugary taste of angel wing out of his mouth.
"I apologize," Cas said, but Dean could hear the tiny hint of a smile in his voice. "As I told you, I am not the most graceful of my kind."
Dean wiped his mouth with his hand, still mildly reproachful, and lifted the brush again. "Right here, then?"
"Yes."
The routine starts again and they sit in silence uninterrupted by anything but the soft sound of brush against feathers for a few more minutes.
Cas shifts his wing to a new spot, and Dean begins to brush.
And a small sound tears its way from Cas's throat- it's part moan, part growl. It's quiet and raw and real and it makes Dean's heart leap and then stop.
"There?"
"Yes," Cas barely manages to reply, voice ragged.
Dean smiles fondly- although he would never admit to ever doing that- and continues brushing. He can kind of see Cas's eyelids fluttering from the angle he's sitting at and he's happy Cas is happy for once. "Man, Cas, when was the last time you did this?" Dean says, brushing away a stubborn tangle of invisible feathers.
"What?" Cas asks, mouth not fully able to form the word.
Dean grins. "Nah, nothing." It's great to finally be able to see Cas without that stick up his ass. If this is what he looks like real- no pretenses, no nothing, just pure rapture on his completely care-free face- Dean isn't sure he ever wants to stop brushing Cas's wings just so that he can stay this way forever.
It'd be a small favour to repay everything Cas has done for him.
They've seen so much death. Caused so much of it, together. Both have lost so much, especially Cas, who gave up everything he had or could ever have to protect someone he barely knew.
And it broke Dean's heart sometimes to see the way Cas looked at fellow angels or even at Dean.
Dean knew it was all his fault. If he hadn't made that deal, if he hadn't given up in Hell, if he hadn't- oh, he had too many regrets.
But if he hadn't, he wouldn't have Sammy.
That's almost worth all of it.
But still. It hurt to see Cas the way he was.
Although, he'd been a complete dick before they became friends, so it was easy to say that he at least somewhat preferred this current version, emotional scars and all.
And so, temporarily forgetting the pain of his, Cas's, and Sam's day-to-day life, Dean simply brushed the fallen angel's wings and reveled in the sight of seeing true joy for the first time in a long time.
God, Dean was so turning into such a chick.
Cas began to glow.
Extremely startled, Dean looked at him, not sure if this was his mind playing tricks on him or if the angel was actually giving off ambient light. "Cas, you're-"
"Am I shining?" Cas interrupted, and opened his eyes to look at Dean somewhat awkwardly. "I apologize." The glow went away and Dean could almost sense Cas's discomfort. "That tends to happen at times of extreme tranquil for angels."
"Trippy, man," Dean said, smirking. "I'd love to see you high."
Cas closed his eyes and they lapsed into silence again as Dean brushed steadily, trying to be gentle with the more tangled bits. He hated to think how painful it would be for Cas if he pulled out a feather or something.
And suddenly, Dean was ashamed of the way he'd been thinking of Cas and Sam for the past hour or so. They were big boys, they could take care of themselves. They needed no sympathy. It was their damn faults they're messed up, not Dean's. Everyone always blames emotional trauma on Dean, but it's never his fault!
The tenderness inside of Dean at seeing Cas so vulnerable and trusting somehow vanished and Dean returned to being his usual self. No cares. No worries. Everything and everyone was fine, and if they weren't, what did he care?
He chose to ignore and push away the persistent, nagging doubt inside of him that told him he was wrong about that and that everything he'd been thinking about Sam and Cas and everyone was right.
And even more, he ignored the thoughts that Cas needed his help with healing all that was broken inside of the both of them.
The wing under his brush disappeared and there was the sound of rustling feathers as, Dean assumed, Cas tucked them away into oblivion again.
"That is all. Thank you, Dean, truly, I-"
But when Castiel opened his eyes, Dean had gone.
And they never spoke of that again.