Hey guys! So get ready for some hurt/comfort :)

First off, this is a sequel story (to my story "Katabasis") so if you haven't read that, you should probably go check that out so you understand the backstory behind this. Otherwise, I guess you could still enjoy this as itself, but you won't get the significance of the story quite as well.

But yes, as promised this is mostly fluffy h/c with some angst sprinkled in. I thought everyone needed a feature length fic dealing with the healing process :)

(The poem "Hope is the Thing With Feathers" is by Emily Dickinson and does not belong to me. Nor does Supernatural)

The Thing With Feathers

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

Hope is the thing with feathers

"Hey Cas! Chow's on—get it while it's hot!"

Castiel furrowed his brow as he set aside the book he had been reading with a regretful sigh. Even though he had to admit his stomach was ready for food again, it was a tedious process, eating, being hungry in general, and he still hadn't really gotten used to it.

He got off the couch carefully, folding his wings across his back to make sure he didn't hit anything, or knock anything over—that had been the norm, and even though Bobby didn't come right out and say anything, Castiel could tell that the older hunter was getting tired of stuff being knocked over or broken.

It had been a little over two weeks now that Sam and Dean had rescued him from Hell. Just the thought of that still boggled his mind. Of course, he had gone to Hell twice voluntarily, once to rescue each of them, but the fact that two mere humans had been able to traverse the Underworld, and did so for the sake of one broken, fallen angel…it made his heart ache in a grateful way every time he thought about it. Especially after their long talk that one day where Sam and Dean had essentially made a pact of brotherhood with him, adopting him into their small and broken family.

In a way, it was exactly where Castiel belonged, the first place he actually felt like he was right, but still, accepting the change was difficult. He still feared that one day the Winchesters would see him as too much of a burden and throw him out, despite their assurances that they would never do that. He had nightmares about it, now that he had to sleep. He had to remind himself that they were just fears, that in time, he would feel like he truly belonged. But it was hard to erase deep fears that had been partly realized before and hammered into his head more by the psychological manipulation he had endured in Hell.

But his physical changes might have even been harder to bear. After he had woken once again on Earth, he had determined that he was, for all intents and purposes, human. It was very similar to how he had felt in those last days before the Apocalypse, but then he had been so busy worrying about how they would stop Lucifer and Michael that he hadn't truly appreciated how hard it was to be human. He did still have his grace—a tiny nearly indistinguishable spark buried deep inside of him—but he had to eat, and sleep, and deal with bodily functions and personal hygiene; and wounds took a very long time to heal. He was still not fully recovered from his stint in Samyaza's dungeon, and he knew that some of the scars would stay with him for life.

But he still had his wings. They were currently corporeal as it was easier to heal them this way—and they were healing, thankfully. The wounds caused by Samyaza's chains were only scar tissue now that was tender but bearable.

He could still put his wings back on the ethereal plane too—he'd made sure to try it—but they felt even more confined than they had before, pinching and uncomfortable. He didn't quite know why, but decided it must have had something to do with how low his grace was, making his wings more corporeal. He supposed he should be grateful he had them at all, even if they were in pretty terrible condition.

He trudged into the kitchen where Dean was serving up bowls of chili and thick wedges of cornbread. The food smelled very appetizing, and Castiel couldn't really say that eating was all bad. Just tedious having to do it at least three times a day, unless he wanted his stomach to feel like it was eating itself.

He carefully settled at the table, angling his wings just right so that they didn't get in anyone's way, and took up his spoon as Dean set a bowl in front of him.

"Hope you like spicy things, Cas," Sam said somewhat wryly. "Dean makes chili hot enough to scald."

Castiel frowned, glancing at the bowl worriedly.

"Not literally, idjit," Bobby told him fondly.

"It's not that bad," Dean protested. "Cure what ails ya! Puts hair on your chest."

Castiel frowned further. "I don't think that's possible with the ingredients in this."

Dean rolled his eyes and Castiel figured he had missed some colloquialism again. "Just try it, Cas."

Castiel took a cautionary spoonful, waiting for it to cool down—he'd learned that one the hard way—and then put it into his mouth. It was spicy, burning his tongue and down his throat in a different way than temperature heat did, but he wasn't opposed to the feeling, and the flavor was rich and enjoyable, especially with the diced onions and the cheese Dean had melted on top.

"Well?" Dean asked, eager for his report.

"I like it," he told the hunter with a small smile.

Dean beamed. "Great! I'll show you how to make it sometime. It's not hard at all."

Castiel was a bit skeptical. He'd had several cooking lessons already and had seemed to somehow mess up each one—most infamously, putting baking soda into a batch of pancakes instead of baking powder. That had not been pleasant.

But chili didn't involve baking chemistry, so maybe he would have better luck with it.

He could help wash the dishes though, which was usually what he did with Sam after dinner—the rule was whichever person didn't make dinner had to clean up and since Sam didn't really cook, he and Castiel were usually stuck doing the cleaning up.

After the chili was consumed, Castiel helped clear the table and began to run the water in the sink. He twitched his wings, scrunching his face up at the discomfort he was feeling. They had been itchy all day for some reason, and were only getting worse. Sam noticed his squirming, and cocked his head at him with some concern.

"You doing okay, Cas? How are the shirts working out?"

After Castiel had regained consciousness and they realized he was going to have to keep his wings corporeal at least until they healed, Dean had surprised him by modifying some shirts—t-shirts, flannels, and even hooded jackets—with slits in the back for his wings to go through.

Castiel had been surprised and touched by the elder Winchester's ingenuity as Dean had self-consciously handed them over. Castiel hadn't even known Dean could sew.

"Who do you think sewed patches on all of Sammy's clothes when he was a kid?" Dean asked defensively when Castiel had commented on that.

"The shirts are fine," Castiel assured Sam, and they were. Even if it was a little difficult getting them on, he had plenty of room for his wings once he got them settled. "I think it's just the healing injuries. My wings itch a bit."

Sam nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, healing does itch a lot."

"It just doesn't usually take this long so I'm not quite used to the feeling of natural healing," Castiel said with a slight sigh as he took a wet plate Sam handed him and began to dry it off. "I suppose it's just another thing I'm going to have to get used to."

Sam smiled encouragingly. "For what it's worth, Cas, I think you're doing pretty well. I can't even imagine how it would be to have to learn everything I take for granted about being a human as an adult."

"Like understanding when you're hungry?" Castiel asked wryly. "Or how to brush your teeth?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. But you know what? At least we're not in the middle of a war or anything. You have plenty of time to learn and to get used to stuff without pressure. I know Dean's looking forward to teaching you how to drive once your wings are healed."

Castiel took another plate from the drainer. "Well, I am very grateful to you and Dean and Bobby as well for being so patient with me. I know I must be infuriating at times."

"Hey, that's not true," Sam said firmly. "Sometimes I think Dean and I just don't always think about stuff you may not know because it's second nature to us. But we definitely don't mind if you ever have questions, no matter how silly or ridiculous you might think they are."

Castiel snorted slightly. "You know, I sometimes find it amazing that, even though I spent so much time observing humanity and even living among you as an angel, it isn't until now that I have truly begun to see just how much goes into it—being human."

Sam laughed. "Well, it's not all easy, that's for sure. But to be fair, Dean and I aren't exactly the best examples either."

"On the contrary," Castiel said sincerely. "You and Dean are wonderful examples of the human race. Everything you have gone through, and survived, all the times you have saved the world—I am proud to know you and I wouldn't want anyone else to teach me how to be human."

Sam smiled, looking somewhat self-conscious. "Well, thanks, Cas. I'm just glad we can be here for you. I mean, after everything you've done for us…" he trailed off, a distant look in his eyes, before he swallowed hard and pulled his smile back on. "Well, I could say we owe you everything, but it's more than that too; it's because you're family."

Castiel still felt something warm uncurl inside his chest, small and slightly hesitant, whenever Sam or Dean reiterated that sentiment—and they had been doing so quite a bit lately as well, always making sure to remind him of why they had rescued him from Hell. Making sure he knew exactly how they felt about him so the issues they'd had in the past didn't come around to haunt them again. There was still that slightest bit of doubt and fear in the back of his mind when they said it, that it couldn't possibly last, but each time, he got better at shoving those cruel thoughts aside and was better able to just embrace this new feeling of family, of brotherhood, that he had been so grateful to experience.

"Thank you, Sam," he said softly, afraid that the pricks behind his eyes were going to make him embarrass himself. The stronger emotions were another thing that was hard to bear about his new condition.

But the moment broke as Dean strode into the kitchen and over to the fridge, pulling out a couple beers. "Hey, there's a game on tonight, you guys wanna watch?"

"Be in in a second," Sam told him and he and Castiel finished up the dishes and went into Bobby's den to watch the ballgame on TV. Castiel had never really watched one before and found it rather confusing.

Dean seemed to notice his furrowed brow because he began to explain the rules of the game. Pretty soon, Castiel was enjoying it more, now that he understood what was going on, but he was still having a hard time concentrating because his wings were itching even worse now.

He shifted uncomfortably several times, before giving up and reaching back to scratch one of his wings, finally relieving some of the itching.

However, when he pulled his hand away, several feathers came with it, fluttering to the floor. He frowned. Perhaps he was also itching because he needed to get rid of some of the damaged feathers.

But he didn't really want to litter Bobby's house with them. Maybe tomorrow, he would go outside and see if he could loosen some of them out there.

Unfortunately, the itching only got worse and Dean finally turned to him from the other side of the couch with an incredulous look.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

It was then that Castiel realized he had been subconsciously rubbing his wing against the back of the couch in an effort to relieve the itching sensation. He stopped instantly, embarrassed.

Thankfully, Sam interrupted. "Are your wings still itching, Cas?"

He nodded, still feeling slightly self-conscious about the situation.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You need a back scratcher or something?"

Cas shook his head. "No, I think it's just a combination of the injuries and the damaged feathers. It should be okay within a couple days."

"Well, all right, but let us know if it gets any worse," Dean said. "Experience with having wings is one thing we can't really help you with. But stop scratching, okay? You don't want to reopen those wounds."

Castiel bit his lip as the itching continued, seeming even more persistent now that he wasn't allowed to scratch, but he nodded. "Okay."

For the next few days, his wings continued to itch, but Sam checked his wounds and saw they were healing properly—probably the main cause—and he had gone outside and shook his wings out, dislodging several feathers that needed to go.

But as the week went on, feathers started appearing all around Bobby's house, finding their way into corners and under books, and in books, and on furniture. Castiel's bed was especially littered with them every morning when he got up. They were clogging the bathroom sink for some reason, and probably would have been in the shower too, but he usually put his wings back on the ethereal plane when he showered because he wouldn't have fit in the small stall otherwise.

Finally, it was getting to the point where no one could go anywhere without stepping or sitting on feathers, and when Bobby found one floating in his morning coffee, he'd had enough.

"You idjits need to figure out what's going on with your angel!" he said to Sam and Dean as he put a coffee soaked feather onto the table. "Before he goes bald."

Castiel had caught the tail end of the conversation and stood by awkwardly, the whole situation rather embarrassing. It was even more so when Sam and Dean turned concerned looks toward him.

"He's right, Cas, this is…well, I don't really know what it is," Dean admitted with a shrug. "Is this…normal?"

Castiel hung his head, pulling his wings closer to his body self-consciously. "I—I'm sorry for the inconvenience, I can make them incorporeal again…"

"No, Cas, it's not an inconvenience," Sam said and for some reason a feather chose just that moment to dislodge itself, catch a breeze, and fly right past Sam's face, almost tickling his nose. "It's just…we're not sure what's going on with you right now. We want to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I mean, you've never left feathers lying around before," Dean said. "At least, not that we've seen anyway, and now it looks like ground zero of an epic pillow fight—without the sorority girls."

Castiel shifted on his feet, hugging his arms close to his chest. "Well, normally, I would say this is like a molt, but it's not time for a normal molt and I don't usually lose so many feathers at once."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "So…angels molt?" Dean shot his brother a longsuffering look.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Of course. We have feathers and feathers naturally fall out just like hair. But we don't molt annually like birds since we live much longer."

"Huh," Sam said, his face scrunching up in that way it did when he found something interesting.

"You're such a nerd," Dean hissed at him. "So if it's not a molt, what it is?" he addressed Castiel.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Perhaps it's because of the injuries."

"Actually, you're probably not that far off with that assumption," Sam told them. "When I was looking into wing care before when we first got you back, I saw something about how sometimes when birds have heavy wing or feather damage, they go into out of season molts. I guess it could be the same for angels."

Castiel furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "There was one time Anna was injured badly in the original war against Lucifer. Her wings were damaged and she did lose most of her feathers before growing them back. Perhaps you are right, Sam."

"So, what do we do about this?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, is there any way we can help?" Sam added with that earnest look on his face.

Castiel shrugged helplessly. "I don't really think there's anything anyone can do. I'm just going to have to weather this as well as everything else until it passes." What he didn't say was that he was afraid he wouldn't grow his feathers back at all. He had never heard of an angel having this problem when they didn't have their grace, and worried that because of his fallen and nearly human state, his wings would simply wither away with the feathers. He was really as clueless as the Winchesters with this one as to what would happen in the long run.

One thing he did know though, was that it probably wasn't exactly going to be pleasant.

Castiel sighed inwardly. Just one more thing he had to look forward to with his new condition.