A/N: My first foray into the Supernatural fandom. I just started the series like this past month so if I have a few things canonically wrong, I'm sorry! Let me know! Otherwise I hope you enjoy :D
Disclaimer: Don't own.
"What color are your wings?"
The soft question breaks the comfortable silence as Cas lies on the hood of the Impala beside Dean, staring up at the star-speckled sky, reveling in the calm after a job-well-done. It comes out almost timid – or at least as timid as Dean can be when it's just him and Cas – but Dean waits for his answer, intriguing in his quiet persistence. Cas is silent as he attempts to form a reply.
His wings aren't any color really, and they were all of them at the same time. Even in the plane of existence that angels live in, their wings remain a forever changing, nearly abstract entity, which yet possess a physical form. They are stories, stories of the angels that bear them, and always, always, changing to reflect their trials or triumphs, their faith or their fall. At best, the most accurate assumption Dean can form is that they were indeed feathered.
He says as much to Dean who quirks a wry smile with a chuckle. "I figured that out for myself, funnily enough, from your macho display when we met. Filling the entire barn with those shadows." He raises his eyebrows, amused. "It's okay, Cas. You can tell me that I'm intruding."
There's a tightening in Cas' chest which makes him want to scowl, and he labels it frustration. He's doing that a lot more now – emoting at the drop of a hat. He used to save it for the big things, but feeling is becoming as common as breathing. He tries again.
It is a true testament to the progress of their relationship from their grudging working partnership (and Cas uses that term loosely) to this incredible bond of friendship, when Castiel makes a sudden decision.
Carefully, he extends one wing to hover over them, hanging right in Dean's line of sight. Of course, Dean makes no sign he can see anything since – well – he can't. After a moment, Cas manages to manifest them as best he can, given his lack of Heaven-mojo-boost.
Dean sucks in a gasp of awe as something suddenly appears in front of his face. It's a defined disruption of the air, like looking through waved glass. He can still see the stars, but they are more faint smudges than clear pinpricks. His hands itch to touch, but he holds himself back just staring, afraid that it would disappear if he so much as blinked. A warm hand closes around his own and guides it up to gently lie on the outermost crest, where the bones of the wing ripple beneath neat rows of smooth feathers, short and soft.
Cas releases his hand, but his fingers linger on Dean's wrist as the man strokes the feathers reverently.
"Here, the feathers are white," Cas begins, his voice low and lilting, drawing Dean into his storytelling. "For faith in God…"
{[o0O0o]}
Michael gazed down at the tiny fledgling on his arms as it snuffled and burrowed into his warmth, yet to wake. The dark hair curled gently, soft against Michael's inquisitive fingers. It had been a while since Michael had held a newborn. Usually they were given to one of the lesser angels to raise, but Father had placed the newest angel in Michael's hands, and Michael had a sudden feeling that he was holding something more valuable than he could fathom, the key to an era.
The first archangel and the newest fledgling. How fitting.
Soft white fluff fluttered with the angel's sighs. Michael marveled. Every angel was created with white feathers – a mark of God, of the only touch and love they knew. And even so, this one's – Castiel, his Father's voice supplied – were brighter and purer than any he had seen in a very long while. His own wings – all eight of them – shivered in response, reaching out to brush against the fledgling. The stark contrast between his own marked ones and Castiel's bright white was jarring.
Castiel finally woke, blinking solemn eyes at Michael before letting out a peal of laughter and joy, his Grace ballooning like a warm embrace. Michael found himself smiling in reply. He bent, placing a gentle kiss on Castiel's dark hair and smoothing his excited, trembling wings.
"May your faith remain strong, little one."
{[o0O0o]}
Cas moves Dean's hand down a little into the middle expanse of feathers, tucked in but not quite at the joint. These feathers are longer and they run through Dean's hand like water. He caresses them, still in shock that he's been granted this. Cas suppresses a sudden shiver as warmth courses through him, the feathers shifting slightly to accommodate for this new experience. His wings flex, preening for the one man who couldn't understand.
He begins again. "Here they are four different colors, for I have been blessed by each archangel."
"That special, huh?"
"Yes. No one else has ever received all four. Two perhaps." Cas tries to keep the smug satisfaction carefully out of his voice.
"Wow, the teacher's pet were we? No wonder you and Sam click," Dean teases, grinning until another invisible force swats him. "OW!"
Castiel hushes him, scowling even as a smile dances in his eyes. "Here is Michael's crimson, Lucifer's ebony, Gabriel's gold, Raphael's navy." With each name, he passes Dean's hand over the memories.
{[o0O0o]}
Castiel laughed as he clung to Gabriel's curly locks while the archangel sprinted away from a howling Raphael. The cries of a varied menagerie of creatures, that were once Raphael's wardrobe, accompanied him from his rooms as they hounded the other archangel, courtesy of the giggling pair. Gabriel's shoulders shook, his full rich laugh melding with Castiel's tinkling bells.
"Not bad, kiddo," Gabriel smirked, looking up and patting Castiel's head, stroking over the cooing fledgling's wings. Castiel gasped as a strange sensation fluttered through him, a sort of shift in his wings. He pulled them forward to inspect, shrieking in delight and wonder at the sight of a few golden feathers shining with his own pearl white ones. He prodded at them curiously and laughed when Gabriel's Grace washed comfortingly over him.
"Well, look at that," Lucifer interrupted them suddenly. Castiel ducked his head, intimidated, but then looked up, drawn to the bright Morningstar. "An archangel's blessing." Lucifer took Castiel into his arms, cradling the fledgling to his chest and stroking his wings gently. Castiel burrowed happily into his elder brother's comfort, content to be held. A soft smile graced the second angel's face.
"What's this? The Morningstar's strong walls gone soft for a fledgling?" Michael's gentle tease broke through. His face was calm, open, but Lucifer bristled, nearly hostile. Gabriel tensed. Recently, everything seemed to turn into a fight, and he was ready to take Castiel and run.
Michael looked at Castiel, placing a hand on his brow. "May your faith be strong and may you be the best and most obedient of God's children."
Lucifer snorted, placing his own hand. "May you do what is right, and may you never lose your self."
"Lucifer," Michael began.
Raphael appeared, taking Castiel away from the Morningstar, who barely noticed in his bickering with Heaven's First while Gabriel attempted to mediate. He bounced the fledgling, earlier irritation having vanished, and studied his wings interestedly. The white shone, shot through with the gold, crimson and ebony of his brothers.
"First time for everything," the last archangel muttered, placing his own hand over Castiel's brow. "May you have endless patience," he said and looked back at his increasingly volatile brothers. "Father knows you will need it." Castiel hummed in agreement.
{[o0O0o]}
Cas lets Dean's hand trail through his feathers. Only a few more have specific stories. There the one that sometimes shines a fiery red for Anael's fall, the soft silver of Balthazar's comfort and care, the fading dull whites of his own doubt.
Dean reaches the edges of his wings, the primary feathers, and frowns, running his fingers through again and again. "Cas? What's happened to these?" he asks. "They feel odd. Are you hurt?" Alarm seeps into his tone.
Cas pauses, thinking that perhaps he didn't think this through properly, but he owes Dean the truth, no matter how painful it is. "The feathers are black, burnt and scarred from when I descended into Hell to find you."
Dean goes rigid, shock and grief warring with guilt on his face. "God, Cas, I'm – I'm so sorry." He rises, trying to leave. His self-loathing is carved into every line on his face, suddenly aging him. "I ruined them, shit, sorry."
Cas shoots up, trapping him with one arm against the hood and grasping his face with the other hand. "No, listen to me. Dean," he growls to get the frantic man's attention. "I journeyed to the depths of Hell, I pulled the Righteous Man from the Pit, I saved Dean Winchester, I screamed it to the heavens, and I would do it again. Every time." He locks blazing eyes with the disbelieving man. "They are badges of honor."
Dean finally sinks back, nodding jerkily and swallowing. They lay quietly for a moment. Cas' wing is still over them. Eventually, Dean reaches out for the feathers once more. He avoids the ruined edges for now and Cas pushes away the hurt. Dean would understand one day.
"What color do you leave on other angels' wings?" Dean asks, curious.
"Blue. A very rich blue."
"Like your eyes?" Dean wonders, and kicks himself mentally because if that didn't scream his gay love for Cas then nothing would.
But Cas doesn't seem to notice, humming in agreement. "Something like that. My vessels eye color was a pleasing coincidence."
"What about these?" Dean swipes along the expanse of his secondary feathers, reaching back to the joint where the wings met shoulder blade (approximately since they are just a manifestation and not really attached to the vessel but Castiel isn't about to argue technicalities, not when Dean's hands are so close to––)
Cas swallows hard. Nervousness, that's a new one. He finally understands the human idiom 'butterflies in your stomach'. "They're – uh – green." He hopes Dean doesn't pick up on the pause, but of course he does.
"Just green? No story?"
Of course, they're not just green you fool! Cas wants to shout, wants with a ferocity that startles him. How can he tell Dean that here are the feathers that shine with the spring green of Dean's laughter? Here is the hunter green of Dean's worry and fury when Cas goes MIA. Here is the emerald green of Dean's courage in a fight, blazing and beautiful. And here, nestled at the joint, is the dark black green of Dean's stolen gazes, the ones where he watches Cas as if Cas doesn't know, when Cas is only pretending not to just to savor it for a while, savor the love in in Dean's eyes. And the rest of the swath is just Dean, Dean, Dean – green-flecked-with-gold Dean.
There's a few of Sam's warm brown in there too – the burgeoning of Sam's quiet and loyal friendship, trust and family. But mainly his feathers cry for Dean.
So he settles for saying, "It's you."
Dean blushes like a schoolboy given his first hand to hold. "Shut up, man. Don't make fun of me."
Castiel breaks. He grabs Dean's hand, threading his fingers through the man's and then through the wings.
He names each feather by color and emotion. Each stupid incident which let Dean into the heart of God's perfect blessed-by-four-archangels soldier. Each ridiculous smile Dean had ever thrown his way, each insane attempt of Dean's to educate Cas in human pop culture and customs, each time they had argued, each time Dean had clung to Cas for comfort after yet another night's sleep was broken by nightmares, every look of pure love and need that Dean had ever cast, every intonation of his name, Cas, Cas, Cas. By the end, as they reach the joint of Cas' wing, he is simply murmuring "I love you" over and over and Dean just watches, devastated.
"Wh-Why?" Dean almost whimpers. He's pale, the blush chased away by shock. He wants to leave, wants to run far away from the cold, cutting truths that are being thrown in his face. He's dead inside. He's known that even before Famine callously spat it at him. He's too dark, too much of a void. "God, Cas, why me?" He gazes at the beautiful, glowing creature in front of him, terrified by himself. He's straining towards the light, the darkness inside him craving the warmth. He can't he can't he can't not Cas. He can't let himself destroy the only good thing since Sam.
But Cas hasn't blinked, just watching him with the same intense stare from day one. The angel runs his hand through Dean's hair, curving to cup his face and stroking his cheekbone. "Because you are worth it, Dean."
Dean shakes his head, not breaking eye contact. "No, not me. You deserve better." Cas tightens his hand. "I'm broken, Cas. I'm broken and scarred and––"
"Courageous. Steadfast," Cas counters.
"Weak-minded."
"Pure soul."
"Stop it." Dean is almost angry, because who the hell is Cas to tell him that everything is okay. God, Cas knows what Dean could be. Has seen Dean at his lowest. "Cas, I tortured souls for ten years, as badly as I could. I'm evil."
"I know what you've done Dean," Cas reminds him gently. "I pulled you from the Pit, pulled you away even as you whipped and tortured and I fought to drag you back. I saw you laughing like a crazed man." Tears stream down Dean's face. He doesn't deserve Cas, he knows that, but he didn't want this. He didn't need to be torn apart by the angel he loves more than anything. And just as Dean thinks his heart might physically shatter, Cas continues. "I saw you take each blow you dealt ten times upon yourself; still, I see you shatter each time you think of it. And after all that horror, your soul was beautiful. Shining and pure, broken and battered but radiant even through the hellfire. It was the most wondrous thing I have ever seen. And I loved."
And finally, Cas thinks Dean may have understood, as the man shakes and finally splinters in his arms, heaving sobs into Cas' collar. The angel rocks his human, soothing him, letting him fall apart and trying to reassure him that he is finally safe and so, so loved.
Dean's sobs subside until he's simply breathing into Cas' neck, his heart still racing and his body trembling. "You know," he says, his voice cracking and thick with tears. "I – uh – I like your eyes. A lot. Might even – uh – love them." And he waits, hoping Cas understands. After all, what else can he say to the angel who just told him he is in love with him, all the way to his shining, beautiful soul?
Cas understands, his bright blue eyes dancing with happiness as he huffs a quiet laugh. "I love your eyes too." And he presses his lips to Dean's softly. Dean sighs a little (though he'll deny it from now till his grave and beyond because a Winchester doesn't sigh into closed mouth kisses excuse you) and presses back. He trails small kisses down Cas' neck and then buries his face in the junction of his shoulder reveling in the safety and warmth of Cas' arms.
Cas tightens his embrace, marveling at the man he held. The man who was so strong despite all the tribulations. He wraps them in his wings, shifting comfortably on the hood of the Impala and gazing back up at the endless night sky as Dean continues to curl into him.
And for now, this is enough.
A/N: I have a possible possible plan for a Sabriel pt. 2 with a little more humor, so tell me if I should continue! 3