He has heard the soft fluttering of angel wings many times, the whispering of feathers brushing against each other. But… he has yet to see them. To know them with his main source of human perception. There had been close calls, sure. He remembers his first real meeting with Castiel, the shadows of his wings flashing against the wall. He remembers seeing them on corpse of an angel, their imprint charred into the ground. But that wasn't what he was looking for. He wanted the real thing

Dean sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, rubbing a sore shoulder. The ghost from the case he and Sam had just completed really liked throwing Dean around, and he smacked hard into a bookcase before they could salt and burn the bastard. Besides that though, it felt good to take a case that was a good old-fashioned haunting. It was like old times. He leaned his back against the seat, sighing with exhaustion. His eyes felt heavy, and he contemplated taking a nap. There was a crick forming in his neck as his head lolled against the seat, and he was nearly asleep when the rustling of feathers came from the right side of his hearing.

He straightened up, slowly opening his eyes. "Hey, Cas." He greeted the angel, not bothering to look and confirm this beforehand. Because, really, what other feathery asshole (no offense, Cas) would be visiting them these days? Any other winged ally they had managed to collect was dead, save for one. Possibly. Actually, Dean didn't really know what Balthazar's deal was. Either way, he didn't think he'd be randomly popping in for a friendly chat.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel greeted in return, his focus on an object outside the windshield. "I thought I'd check in, see if either you or Sam had managed to get yourselves into ungodly trouble that required my assistance." He turned to face him, the right side of his face briefly highlighted as a car's headlights passed over them. "But you appear to be fine."

"We're… we're pretty good. Y'know, as good as we get." Dean shrugged, placing a hand on the steering wheel. Castiel nodded, looking away from him.

"Well, as you appear to not be in any immediate danger… I suppose I'll take my leave." There was a subtle tensing in his shoulders, an indication that he was about to do his annoying disappearing act. Dean reached out, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ground him.

"Hey- You don't need to just leave. Stay with me and Sam for a bit, have a beer. I know you have all that civil war crap going on, but can't heaven live without you for a couple of hours?"

Castiel pursed his lips, contemplating. "I have explained this to you before, Dean. As I much I would love to put aside heaven being torn asunder to enjoy the company of you and your brother… I can't." His brow furrows slightly, and he looks down at his hands. "It would be selfish of me. I have armies to ready, tasks to complete. However," he looks back up at Dean, making eye contact. "I will do my best to visit you for reasons of social needs, with what little free time I am allowed. I wouldn't want my skills at human interaction to gain even more rust, would I?" A hint of a smile is at the corner of his lips. "As they are, according to you, in a deplorable state as it is."

Dean gives him a lopsided smile, one side of his mouth quirking up in amusement. "Yeah. You do that." He blinks, and the in next second Castiel is gone. There is a small pause before the passenger door opens, and the recently emptied seat is filled by Sam. He climbs in, folding his long limbs into the car and shutting the door. After buckling in he holds up two plastic grocery bags, one bulging with a distinctively round shape. Dean grins, hoping it's what he thinks it is.

"Sam, is that pie? Did you get me pie without me having to ask or even remind you?" Sam rolls his eyes, placing the bags by his feet.

"Dude, that was one time. One time. But yeah, it's pie. A surefire moral pickup after getting a your ask totally kicked by a ghost." Now it's Deans turned to get annoyed, frowning as he starts up the ignition.

"I didn't get my ass kicked by some run-of-the-mill ghost. Thrown around a little, sure. But my ass was not in any way kicked. And that fact doesn't cheat me out of pie." He turns his head to back out of the parking lot, one arm thrown behind the seat as he twists to look around.

"Whatever, man. If that's what to need to think." Sam says, turning to look out the window. Dean just squares his shoulders, resisting the urge to respond. If one of them didn't choose to be a mature, responsible adult, a stupid fight would erupt- and never end. So Dean ignores Sam's attempts at insulting him, choosing to dwell on his earlier train of thought.

Wings. Specifically, Angel wings. It was a stupid, trivial wish. He obviously didn't need to see them, but damn if wasn't curious. He realizes that should've asked Castiel while he was here. Who knows when he would pop in again? Calling him down just for the express purpose of seeing his wings seemed like a jerk move. Because, As Castiel couldn't stress enough, he was a very busy man. Er- very busy celestial entity. Whatever. Point was, he didn't want to bother the guy and have to deal with a pissed off angel. Dean rubs at his eyes, still feeling tired. He could think about all this nonsense after a decent night's sleep.

The Impala pulls into their designated parking spot at the motel, the rumble of the engine cutting off as Dean twists the key. Muggy and humid air greets the brothers as the step out of the car, walking in silence to their room. As soon as Dean opens the door he makes his way to his bed, shrugging off his jacket and shoes before flopping face down onto the mattress. He makes a half-hearted attempt to crawl under the covers, wrapping the sheets around himself. Sam sets the grocery bags on the table, looking at his brother in mild surprise.

"You gonna pass out before pie?" He questions, pulling off his own jacket.

"Sleep now. Pie later." Dean mumbles into the pillow, pressing his cheek into the cheap and scratchy fabric.

It had been a couple of weeks since Castiel had popped in for his brief visit. He had tried patience. But you know what? Screw patience, Dean thought, sitting on the edge of his current hotel bed. He closed his eyes. Not that it was really necessary, but it made him feel like slightly less of an idiot when talking to an empty room. "Uh, hey Cas. I don't know if you're listening… But, if you are- Heads up, this isn't an emergency or anything. Me and Sam aren't bleeding out onto the floor. This is more of a… personal request, I guess. So, whatever, if you have nothing to do and wouldn't mind dropping by-"The air stirred as Castiel appeared before him, the disturbed fabric of his trench coat settling.

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel's voice sounded vaguely annoyed and tired, and Dean could've sworn his clothes were more disheveled than usual, his tie somehow more askew.

"Heh, didn't think you'd show up. Thought you'd have more important stuff to do." He says with a chuckle of happy surprise, standing up from the bed and taking a step towards Castiel.

"I wasn't going to. And, yes, I do have more important matters to attend to. But I have to admit, I was… curious." His eyes glance down and then back up, settling on Dean. "You two never seem to contact me for things besides help and life or death situations. So, what is it that you could possibly need?" He pauses, looking around the room. "And where is Sam?"

"Eh, he's out being a nerd. Said he needs to get a part for his laptop or something. And, well, I've been kinda wondering something." He pauses, wondering how to form the question "Could it be possible for me to… Well, see your wings?" Castiel frowns, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. "Sorry if that's like angel taboo or something, I have no friggin' idea."

He walks towards Dean, head tilting. "No, it's not that. I just don't understand why you would care to see my wings. What could you possibly gain from that experience?"

Dean shrugs, folding his arms. "No real reason. I guess I'm just curious, y'know?" Castiel just stares at him, implying that no, he doesn't know. "It's a human thing. You start wondering about things, it gets stuck your head, and then you have to find some closure to it."

Castiel nods, contemplating the information. "Does that mean if you don't view my wings, the thought will continue to be a distraction?"

"I guess, yeah."

He sighs, and begins to pull off his trench coat. "Very well. I would prefer it if you have a clear head when charging into the face of danger- an act you seem very intent on performing at every available chance. You greatly need one less thing clouding your judgment." As Castiel folds the coat over a chair he catches the look on Dean's face, which seems to be saying dude, you're kinda being a dick. He does his best to form his features into something he hopes is apologetic, loosening his tie. "My apologies, Dean. Due to current events, I have been…stressed. I did not intend to take it out on you."

"Whatever man, don't worry. My feelings aren't some delicate precious flower, they don't get hurt easily." Dean says with a wave of his hand. Castiel nods, pulling off his tie in one oddly fascinating smooth motion. His suit jacket follows, not getting the same treatment as the trench coat, merely being dropped on the floor. He walks over to the bed, sitting where Dean sat minutes ago. His fingers are now moving to his shirt, unbuttoning it in a precise and efficient matter.

Dean looks at Castiel in slight distress as he reaches the halfway point of unbuttoning, caught in the awkward moment of realizing something is happening, but being of unsure of whether you should call attention to it. "Uh… hey Cas, just saying, you do realize you're currently sitting of my bed undressing in front of me, right?" Castiel reaches the last button, looking up and squinting at Dean in confusion. "Not that's a bad thing." He says with a joking and conspiratorial wink, hoping it's as casual as he's intending it to be.

Castiel actually rolls his eyes, pulling off the dress shirt. It's not as smooth a motion as he intends it to be, his left hand getting caught in the cuff. After yanking it free he finally responds to Dean, dropping the shirt on the bed. "Ha ha, very funny Dean. I'll have you know that not everyone's mind jumps to that conclusion." At this point he's gotten past being flustered by Dean's comments, realizing that he does this to a good portion of people he knows. Castiel is no exception, and it certainly seems as though he'll never act on anything he implies. Much to his regret- not that Dean knows that.

"I'm sitting on the bed because if I'm going to be gawked for who knows long, I'd rather be vaguely comfortable." He glances to the right, focusing on the chair with his coat and narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "I do not trust that chair in those regards. And I'm merely removing the clothes covering the upper portion of my body to prepare for my wings. I only have one set clothes, and I would prefer not to shred them in the process."

"Can't you mojo them back together?"

"Well, yes. But removing them in the first place just makes more sense, doesn't it?"

Dean scoffs, folding his arms. "Well, yeah. If you want to use logic. The Winchesters prefer other methods."

Castiel rolls his shoulders, closing his eyes. "Right. Of course you do." His neck cranes slightly as he concentrates, eyebrows creasing together. The lights in the room began to flicker, making the shadows of the two men flash against the wall. Dean watches as Castiel's shadow gains more shapes, the beginnings of wings unfurling from his back. In rapid succession they blink in and out of shadows to actual, solid mass. A light bulb pops somewhere in the room, the lights returning to normal as if on cue.

Taking up most up the available space in the room is a pair of massive black wings. As the feathers catch the light the colors shift in various deep jewel tones, not unlike the iridescent surface of an oil slick. Dean's mouth opens in surprise, eyes widening.

"Wow, those are badass." He walks forward, raising a hand, letting it hover a couple inches away from the black feathers. "Let me tell you, if I had these bad boys I wouldn't be keeping them hidden. I would probably use them to scare the shit out of everyone. Maybe whack a few people upside the head while I'm at it, I don't know."

Castiel glances to the side, eyebrows raised slightly as he looks at his own wings. "I must admit, I am also surprised at their appearance."

Dean lowers his hand, frowning. "What? How can you not know what your own wings look like?"

He continues to stare at them, flexing one wing slightly. "You see, I've never bothered to manifest them on this plane before. In my true form they are every color on the spectrum and more, as well as being more the idea of wings. Less literal. When in a vessel they are automatically hidden away from human perception, as they would melt your eyes out of your skull. The same as the rest of my form."

"That's a nice thought," Dean mutters, hand moving back towards the feathers with slow uncertainty.

"Manifesting them while in a vessel is more a matter of vanity," Castiel continues. "And I've never really thought to care before. But they can also be used as way of displaying power or strength, as you mused on earlier. Angels on earth in earlier centuries were quite keen on displaying them, showing their obvious difference between them and humans. That's how the idea of wings and angels managed to get documented. Of course, we prefer to try and blend in more these days."

"Mm hm, fascinating. Now can I touch them, or…?" Dean asks, fingertips centimeters away from the dark plumage.

Castiel extends the wing closest to Dean. "If you must." Carefully, Dean strokes a feather. He's surprised that it feels like an honest-to-god feather. Although, as his hands explore more of the wing, he thinks they feel too much like feathers. Like an idea that it doing its best to make you think so.

"This is downright trippy," he mutters, hands having no desire to stop moving. As he continues Castiel let's his eyes slip close, unconsciously leaning towards Dean's touch. After a while Dean discovers with amusement that Cas is humming with quiet contentment.

"Heh, you're like a cat or something." he says, grinning. Castiel's eyes opens and he frowns, moving his wing away from Dean.

"I am not some domesticated pet."

"Aw c'mon, I was joking-"Dean's interrupted as the wing swings forward, hitting him hard on the back of his head.

"Hey!" He sputters, pushing it away from him.

"You gave me the idea." Castiel says, his usual deadpan- save for a small smile beginning to threaten the corners of his lips.

Dean shakes his head, resting his forehead in is palm. "Right, right. Forgot how much of a bad influence I can be."

Castiel shakes his wings out, stretching them. "I will forgive you. And I give you permission to continue touching them, if you so desire."

"Yeah, right. Thanks." He smiles and reaches out, decided not to comment on more of the parallels that could be drawn between Cas and a housecat. He isn't making it easy, though. With continued measured movements he walks around to the back of the wing, tracing the bones and muscles. He has to squeeze past where the edge of Cas's wings brush against the motel wall, choosing to kneel behind him on the bed for the sake of conserving space. As Dean's hands continue to move they eventually rests on the joint of bone that where the feathers temper down, back to skin. There's a large contrast behind Castiel's pale shoulder blades and the impressive black plumage. (Jimmy's Dean corrects himself, Jimmy's shoulder blades.)

He hears Castiel sigh, feels the weight of the mattress shifting as he stands up. Before Dean can say anything the wings disappear, the room suddenly seeming less claustrophobic. "I'm sorry. I've spent too long here, I should return." Cas picks his shirt of the bed, pulling it on and straightening it with a tug before buttoning it back up. He slips his tie back under the collar, somehow managing to retie it with the same crookedness.

"Hey, you forgot to tuck your shirt back in." Dean says before Castiel can disappear. "Just saying. You probably wanna look sharp for commanding your angel armies or whatever. No one can respect a poorly dressed leader, right?"

"Oh. I suppose I should fix it, then." Castiel didn't bother mentioning that he doesn't actually use his vessel to manifest himself when in heaven. But, he didn't see any harm in humoring him. He looked down, grabbing the edges of his shirt, making an attempt to properly tuck the fabric into the waist of his pants. As he was halfway done with task the door to the room opened, Sam walking in.

"God, that took forever. Apparently my laptop is an older model than I thought, because none of the stores carried the battery replacement I need. I ended up going to this weird specialty electronics store, and I'm pretty sure they overcharged me-"he stopped, pausing just as he was in the room. What Sam saw was Cas, either in the process of tucking or untucking his shirt (lacking his overcoat, a rarity) his fingers just happening to rest on his belt. Dean was on the bed, kneeling in front of him.

Sam put his battery on the table, clearing his throat. "Uh. Hey guys. Am I interrupting, or…?"

Dean glanced at his brother in confusion, not understanding what he was getting at. Then he looked at Castiel, thought about the situation with no context, and realized what his brother thought he walked into. "What! No, no! Don't be stupid. Listen, this makes perfect sense with context. Cas, back me up here-"Dean looks up, surprised to find Castiel gone. "Aw, c'mon man! Really?" Goddamn angels and their abilities to disappear from awkward situations, he thinks bitterly.

Sam retrieved his laptop, sliding off the bottom panel to replace the battery. "Hey, whatever man, I'm not judging. Whatever you guys do in your free time isn't my business. It's about time, actually."

Dean got up from the bed, walking towards Sam. "It wasn't like that! Cas was just showing me his wings, okay? They were pretty badass, actually. You'd probably nerd out over them. Anyway, Cas is just a friend. A really good friend. I mean, I like the like the guy- but not like like."

"Like like? Really? What is this, elementary school?" Sam said with his eyebrows raised in amusement, clicking the laptop battery into place.

"Shut up." Dean said with a scowl. He grabbed the TV remote from the table, stalking towards the bed and sitting down with more force than necessary, the springs creaking in protest. He swung his legs onto the comforter, turning on the television. "And if you hadn't already guessed, this conversation is over."

Sam sighed, leaning his elbow on the table. "Fine, we'll drop it. But bottling this stuff up isn't healthy."

Dean refused to respond, suddenly becoming engrossed in whatever show he had stumbled on. Sam realized it was lost cause, and turned his attention back to his laptop. Dean tried to focus on the show, but it was one of the gazillion cop dramas that he found absolutely no interest in. At least it made Sam stop bothering him. Good thing too, because Sam was completely and utterly wrong. He had no feelings towards Castiel that in anyway weren't platonic.

…I don't, right? Right? Oh god, why am I even questioning this. He blamed Sam. If it wasn't for him, these thoughts wouldn't even be in his brain right now. But, now that his mind was on the subject, he couldn't stop. Unbidden, the thought of kissing Castiel flashes through his mind. Okay, that's the last straw. He quickly gets up from the bed, grabbing his leather jacket and heading towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asks.

"Out," Dean replies curtly. Maybe it'll help clear my head. He leaves the hotel room, walking across the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. He begins a slow loop around the block, hoping that by some miracle his thoughts will have sorted themselves out by the time he's circled.

Kissing Castiel. Why does he think that it doesn't sound so bad? In fact, it sounded… good. Great, even. When did that happen? When did his feelings cross from friendship to- no. Dean doesn't want to say love. Not just yet. But he definitely couldn't pretend they were merely platonic. Really, they hadn't been platonic for a while. If Sam were with him he'd spout some crap about his self-denial masking and burying his feelings and blah blah blah. Point was, he had some things he needed to deal with. Should he call up Cas? No, he's probably busy. I should wait until I try another personal call. He gave an exasperated sigh, running his hands through his hair.

Shit, I think I am in-

Love-

With Castiel.

…

Well, damn. What do I do with that?