Okay, so it's gonna take a little while longer to get the second chapter of Swimming in the Smoke up.

Why? Because my sister (yes, you. Gaw, I can't even look at you) accidentally ERASED what I'd written. I've still got a grudge against you for that, Sissy. But it's okay. I'm a dignified, mature adult. I can forgive you.

TWO DAYS AFTER NEVER.

Ahem.

As apology for drawing this out, I've written this little One Shot for all of you. I hope you enjoy it, and blame my sister accordingly.

Edit: I've been told that Cas is a wet blanket. I can't deny it, so I've decided to made him as fun as a bag full of cats. Feel free to wonder just how he goes from Angel-fuff to the life of every party.

If every party stood around with old confetti eggs and stoic expressions on their nonexistent faces, that is.

But! There's always hope, for there's always difference kinds of stoic!

("Why, Mr. Insert-Name-Here, you're looking particularly stoic today. Whatever is the name of your stoicist?")

Please ignore the last few seconds' bag of cats and continue.

Read on, my literary knights. Read on!

Diana Merston handed the customer his coffee (black, no sugar) and salad (with extra croutons and ranch-dressing) to go, then prepared to serve the next one.

It had been a particularly uneventful day, and she would be relieved when her shift ended. Her coworker, Maddy Hays, gave her a sympathetic look. They both knew nothing was worse than boredom with no outlet. It seemed like the very air was heavy with lethargy and what Maddy liked to call 'oh God make it stop.'

At least, it was, until a familiar-looking man came bursting through the door.

Diana recognized him from the day before. He'd come in with his partner (relative, sibling? She knew that easy banter), who'd flirted with her a bit before ordering the Chicken-Cheese Combo. With extra cheese. She remembered being impressed and telling him he was a braver man than she. He'd laughed and she'd smiled and then left to serve other customers. She'd never thought he was truly serious. And she was right.

She recalled hearing his partner telling him not to come to him when his arteries clogged and he had a heart-attack in the middle of reaching for the TV remote.

She'd smiled and wondered if they were brothers.

Now that same man looked panicked and unbearably worried. He reached the counter in a few long strides. "Have you seen my brother?" he asked, slightly breathless, and she knew he'd run all the way there. "Did he come here today?"

Diana shook her head, not even startled when he swore audibly. "Dean, where the hell are you?"

"You guys on a case?" Diana asked.

He looked surprised, then nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

"Try the warehouse," she suggested. "You'll have seen it when you drove here. The windows are broken and the doors are chained, but there's a back door not many people know about. It'll still be locked, so you'll need either the key or . . . certain skills."

He didn't bat an eyelash, and she was satisfied to realize he had those exact skills. "You'll have heard that people've been disappearing. Better get to your brother fast, Mr. Certain Skills. He'll need you."

Such profound relief crossed his face, she nearly gave in to the urge to muss his hair as if he was her younger brother.

He thanked her profusely and rushed out, leaving her gazing after him and with a longing to see her brothers. She got out her phone and scrolled to her contacts.

Heck, what could the owner of this fine establishment say if she wanted a day off with her family for the first time in a year? She deserved it, anyway.

Who cared if the customers sometimes took offense at her friendly insults and forgot to pay? She still deserved it.

The first thing Dean saw was darkness.

Damn it, who'd turned off the lights?

. . . He'd gone blind, hadn't he.

He couldn't see a thing, how was he to hunt with Sam now? There was no way his brother and Bobby would allow it. Now they'd have to leave him in some retirement place or whatever while Sammy went off to fight demons and vampires, probably getting scars left and right while Dean languished away in some kind of institution or something, those bastards, all because he was now blind, well, he'd show them, he'd escape their suffocating chains of despair and run wild like he was always meant to-

Wait, no.

His eyes were closed.

Well, this is embarrassing.

He opened his eyes and sat up, then immediately grabbed his head as a stabbing pain made him flinch.

When it faded away, he let go. "Sam?" he called, then grimaced at how raspy his voice sounded. How long had he been here? And where was he, anyway? It looked like a warehouse of some kind. God, he hoped Sam found him soon. He really didn't want to have to walk back to the motel room.

So he waited, and just minutes later got what he wanted.

He heard a door open, and a voice called out, "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam," he grunted, pushing himself to his feet. He staggered, but Sam immediately caught him before he could fall. "What took you so long?"

"Me? What happened to you? You said you were just going out to get some food, but I waited two hours and you didn't come back."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know."

Sam looked at him, concern in his hazel eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't remember anything from after I left the room." Dean finally turned his head to look at his brother. He blinked. "Whoa."

A worried expression crossed Sam's face. "What? Are you hurt? What is it?"

"You're . . ." Dean waved a hand vaguely, then glanced at him again. ". . . whoa."

Light sparked around Sam as he tilted his head, visibly trying to figure out what Dean meant. Which was when Dean noticed the wings.

They rose up behind Sam's back, pure white feathers entwined with sapphire ones, with a few dark-red streaks and splashes of inky black, along with a few flashes of amethyst and strokes of bright, soft silver whilst copper veins ran through the pure white. What Dean found the most interesting, however, was the emerald imbued with flecks of gold that lined the feathers, along with beautiful trails of fire.

It made a dazzling picture that he almost couldn't look away from.

Dean tore his gaze away from the wings when Sam waved a hand in front of his face. "What? Are you seeing something that I'm not?"

"Yeah," Dean said, still slightly stunned.

"What is it?"

"Dude, you've got wings."

Sam blinked. "What?"

Dean waved his hands in the air. "Huge wings. They're . . ." He stopped when he couldn't find a word large enough to describe the brilliant things. ". . . colorful."

Sam looked behind his own shoulder, as if he thought he could somehow see them by the power sheer will. "Really?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

And now that he could actually see them, he had a excruciating urge to touch them.

But this was Dean, and he just didn't do things like that. What if it was something sacred? And Dean was fully aware he wasn't a sacred anything.

He would suck it up and keep his hands to himself.

"Get me out of here," he muttered to Sam.

His brother helped him limp out of the warehouse, and they got a cab back to the motel room.

Dean's gaze kept going back to Sam's wings.

He couldn't help it, they were just so . . . vivid.

And they were right there. Sitting beside him in a cab that really wasn't all that large in the first place.

It seemed as if the wings shouldn't fit, but they did. They curled in close to Sam's back and stayed there for the duration of the drive.

It was driving Dean crazy.

"Dude," Sam finally spoke an hour later in their motel room, not even bothering to look up from his book. "Stop staring at me."

Dean blinked, becoming aware that he had been doing just that for at least twenty minutes or longer.

It seemed a shorter time than that.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting his gaze to the window.

Sam set down his book. "What's going on?" He paused. "Is it the wings?"

"What else would it be?" Dean muttered. "Your face? I don't think so."

"What bothers you about them?"

Bothered him? Nah. He only wanted to feel the pretty, soft feathers for himself.

Yeah, that would go over well. He could just say, 'Look, Sam, it's not that they bother me, it's that I want to see how cuddly they are. No big deal.'

Yeah, right. No big deal, his (nonexistent) Aunt Felicia.

"Nothing," Dean lied.

Sam raised a brow dubiously. Then he shrugged and got up, turning around to grab his bag.

They. Were. So. Close.

It seemed as if it as someone else. He just couldn't stop himself.

He reached out and ran his hand through the feathers.

It seemed like someone else, but it sure didn't feel like it. Those things were soft.

A shudder ran through Sam, and he jerked around.

Dean froze, his hand still hovering in the air.

They stared at each other.

Finally, Sam said, "What. Was that."

Dean let his hand fall to his side, shifting on his feet awkwardly. "It was just . . . they were right there. It was distracting me."

"So you touched them?" Sam questioned.

"Dude!" Dean objected, grimacing. "At least phrase it differently."

"You touched them," Sam stated.

"Ugh."

Sam watched him with a bemused expression on his face.

Finally, Dean had to ask. "What did it feel like?"

Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he thought back. "Like . . . someone was touching my head."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"It was like, ah, someone was trying to . . . you know, comfort me," Sam muttered.

Dean blinked. "It was?"

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah.

"Huh."

There was a moment of silence as they both thought about that.

Then, "What do they look like?"

Dean glanced over at Sam. "The wings? Well, they're . . . uh . . ." He tried to think of the words to suitably describe them, and came up with, ". . . big. And colorful."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I got that. What colors are they?"

"Dark-red, dark-blue, white, black, purple, silver, copper, green, gold, and fire," Dean said.

"Fire?"

He shrugged. "I can't think of another word for it."

"Saffron?" Sam suggested.

Dean looked at him incredulously.

It was Sam's turn to shrug. "It was for Jess." His expression turned thoughtful. "What do you think the colors mean?"

Dean squinted at the wings. "Things, maybe. People?"

"You think? Can you tell who?"

"I think the copper's Bobby," Dean said. He tilted his head, as if that would somehow make things clearer. "And . . . the black's Dad."

Sam looked surprised. "Really? Dad?"

"Yeah. The purple, uh . . . I think the purple's Jess."

Sam smiled. "It would be her."

"The silver's Cas. Dark-red is Ruby." He furrowed his brow slightly. "And I think the dark-blue and white's you."

"What about the green, gold, and fire?"

Dean hesitated. "I think that's meant to be me."

"Cool," Sam commented.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you have wings?" Sam asked.

Which caused them to burst out from Dean's back as if they'd just been waiting for the question.

Dean stared at Sam in shock.

His brother just stared back, as he didn't see the freakin' huge wings encompassing half the room, which seemed small now that two pairs of immense wings were filling it.

"Dean?" Sam prompted.

"Uh . . . yeah. Now I do."

"Now?"

"They just suddenly appeared," Dean told him. "Don't know why."

"What color are yours?"

Dean twisted around to see.

They were large, less colored than Sam's. Inky black slashed across his pale gray wings, only the black gleamed smoother than it did on Sam's. The same copper, except brighter, lined the wings, along with deep burgundy and a silvery-white color that glittered in the light. Dark green splashed across the feathers, made lighter by burnished gold and rust. His wings were awash in royal blue, gunmetal-gray, and bright white. The feathers were nearly glowing with the vivid colors.

He wouldn't have believed they were his but for the harsh, silvery scars crisscrossing through them.

"They're gray," Dean said, "black, copper, red, silvery-white, dark-green, dark-gold, rust, blue, like really, really blue, dark-gray, and bright white. With silver scars."

"They're scarred?" Sam asked. "Are mine?"

Dean stopped looking behind him and glanced at Sam's wings. "Yeah. Not as much as mine, but they're still there."

Sam nodded, looking thoughtful. "Who's the red?"

"Mom."

His brother paused. "Oh." Sadness flashed through his eyes before it was gone. "So why do you think the green, gold and blue on yours are different from mine?"

Dean shrugged, not willing to admit it was probably because of what they thought of themselves and each other.

"Are my feathers of you very bright?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"Thought they would be," he said.

Ah, Sam.

Dean's lips curved, and he felt rather than saw his wings curl themselves around his brother.

Sam's eyes widened as a look of surprise crossed his face.

Dean blinked. "What?"

"It feels like you just hugged me," Sam said without thinking about it.

Dean surveyed the wings, which still lay wrapped around Sam. "Huh."

A feather drifted down in front of Dean, and he grabbed it, then put it in Sam's hand.

It seemed to melt into his skin. Sam looked at the wings surrounding him in shock. "Dean I can see them." There was a moment of visible hesitation before he reached out and let his fingers sift through the feathers.

A snort burst from Dean.

Sam stared at him.

Dean looked astounded.

Sam dragged his hand down one of the wings.

Dean made a strange sound, then burst out into loud laughter. He staggered and went down, his brother following him to the floor before he raked his fingers through the feathers.

It was several minutes before Dean stopped laughing enough to breathe.

"Stop it," he wheezed. "Sam, sto-HA!" He went off again as Sam ignored him.

Fifteen minutes later, he lay in a heap on the floor while Sam read his book, lying against Dean's wings as if it was the most normal thing he'd ever done.

"I can't move," he mumbled into the pillow Sam had handed him.

"That's too bad, Dean," Sam said, gazing at the pages of the book. He didn't move.

Dean gave up.

Castiel visited them ten minutes later.

"Dean."

"Cas," Dean said into his pillow, too relaxed to be startled.

Castiel paused. "What are you doing?"

"Besides laying here?"

"How are you able to see, to touch your wings?" Cas asked.

At that, Sam looked up. "You could see them before?"

"Of course."

"And mine?"

Castiel nodded. "How did this happen?"

Dean shrugged, still not moving from his place on the floor. "Dunno. I just woke up in this abandoned warehouse, and boom, Sammy's got wings."

Cas looked questioningly at Sam. "Boom?" he enquired.

Sam smiled, but didn't answer.

Castiel let it go. "If this was caused by . . . well, if it was, I believe whatever did this will wear off in a few hours."

He noticed the dismay crossing Sam's face before he could hide it. "They will always be there," he assured him. "The spell may not last, but the wings do. You need only pray to me when you have need of them, and I will recreate it."

Sam smiled in relief. He'd just begun to enjoy the wings. He didn't want them taken away so soon.

Dean lifted a hand to give them a thumbs-up, not evn bothering to raise his head from the pillow.

Castiel wondered if he could breathe. If not, he could hold it for an amazingly long time, but Sam didn't seem concerned, so he let the thought go.

"What caused this?" Sam asked.

Castiel paused. "I would rather not say."

"Will it come after Dean again?"

"It is safe to say this is the last time you will ever get such a visit again," Castiel said.

"How come?"

But Cas was already gone.

Sam looked down at Dean, who had lifted his head to watch the Angel. They exchanged glances.

"What was that about?"

Dean let his face fall back into the pillow to prove how much he cared.

Elsewhere, someone powerful ran wild and free, passing large trees and green brushes, big rocks and small animals hiding from the roaring of the rain.

Thunder crashed and lightning flashed as she stopped at the edge of the forest and raised her hand above her eyes, her long beard blowing in the wind, just as her loincloth did.

She raised her fist to the heavens, brave defiance in her very stance and facial hair. "You won't get me this time," she shouted, her face lifted to the sky. "I do what I want, Thor!" Then and there, confronted by vast, frightening adversity, she turned and bent over. Then she reached behind her and lifted the loincloth. "Feast your eyes, douchebag!"

After a moment, she straightened.

Her sister stood there, gazing at her with no expression on her face.

They stared at each other.

Then her sister turned, and walked away.

She raised both fists to the sky. "WHYYYYY?!"

That, ladies and gentleman, was the Author. Watch and learn from her example.

Then do everything you can to not be her.

Thank you.