"Angels are lying, clever, evil things that'll kill you if you don't kill them first," John Winchester had always said to his sons, Dean and Sam. Angels were known to trick humans into going into dark woods and then killing them for the fun of it. So angels were highly mistrusted and hunted for sports and glory. The bigger and more beautiful the wings, the better.
John Winchester was one of the most renowned angel hunters. He'd shot down angels of all sizes, some with small, fragile wings and some with large, glorious wings. John would always carve the wings out of the dead angel's back and keep the wings as a reminder, like a hunter would keep the rack of a buck. As a child, Dean was largely fascinated with the wings hanging around the house. The soft, downy feathers always intrigued his younger mind to where he would spend days just feeling the different feather types of the angels.
John taught Dean everything he needed to know. Where to shoot an angel to make them suffer as they die, where to shoot the arrow in the wing so that they were incapable of flight and the most pain was caused, how to track a hurt angel. Dean kept all these things to memory and would practice regularly, shooting trees and wildlife. When Dean turned 16, he was supposed to go on his first hunt to kill his first angel. Dean had awoken in the wee hours of the morning, making sure everything was prepared and ready. As Dean was packing the bows and arrows, his father entered his room. "Dean," John said, his face dark and voice gravely.
Dean turned and beamed at his father, "I'm almost done packing and we can get going as soon as I get-"
"Listen, Dean…we can't go hunting this morning. Maybe…maybe later tonight. I have to go somewhere." John's face was blank as he spoke to Dean.
Dean's face fell, his jaw slack and his eyes glowing with disappointment, "But…where are you going?"
John simply shook his head and walked out to his car, Dean following like a puppy. Dean watched as his dad got into the car and drove away, and Dean waited, at that exact place by the window, for two days straight.
But his dad never did come back for his first hunt.
"Sam, get yur ass up! We've got a hunt awaitin us!"
Dean was almost positive he was more excited for Sam's first hunt than Sam was. Dean moved through the small house to pound on Sam's door, stopping only when he heard him begin to stir.
Dean had been deprived of his first hunt and so he was making sure Sam's was perfect. He'd gone hunting after his dad left, though he went alone and has yet to actually kill an angel. He's wounded a handful but had never managed to track them down afterwards to finish the kill. Angels were far more clever than Dean had anticipated.
Today was different. He wouldn't be alone. He'd have Sam to help watch his back and track down the angels and Dean whole heartedly believed that today he would finally kill an angel.
Sam finally emerged from his room, hair a mess and clothes rumbled. But his eyes shone with his excitement.
"You packed and ready?" Dean asked. Sam picked up a duffel bag that was resting against the wall and nodded, goofy grin breaking across his face. "Well let's get a move on, we got some huntin' to do."
They drove in relative silence. Dean could feel Sam radiating eagerness and excitement. Dean didn't comment on it though, instead smiled to himself. When they were roughly half a mile from their hunting grounds, he pulled over and parked the car. He and Sam got out of the car and donned their quivers in silence. Sam grabbed the crossbow and held it against him; Dean reached for his old loyal, his wooden bow that John had made for him. It was a few hours before sunrise and the woods were misty and dark.
Dean led the way, Sam creeping along behind him. They kept their bows at the ready, never knowing when an angel could attack. Angels actually engaging humans in fights was very uncommon now a days but it never hurt to be careful. Especially when Sammy was involved.
Dean had hunted before and so he was more accustom to listening for certain things that would tell him where an angel was. So when he heard quiet voices conversing not that far away he came to a halt, putting an arm out to stop Sam. He turned to Sam and pointed in the direction of the voices. He could see Sam straining to hear them but he finally nodded.
They resumed their quiet creeping but were far more diligent on how much sound they made. The closer the voices were the more Dean was tensing up. He was familiar with the area, had walked through it several times before, so when they reached the low brush he crouched and motioned for Sam to stay low. The clearing where the voices were coming from was less than ten feet away through the brush. Dean laid on his stomach, hearing Sam mimic him, and peered through the brush to see the creatures that were making the noise.
Two angels were crouched low to the ground in front of a tree, conversing quietly in what seemed to be an argument. One was standing nervously, it had large black wings that fluttered with unease. The one crouched on the ground had smaller, golden wings. Dean leaned forward to try and listen to what they were saying.
"Gabriel these are hunting grounds. We need to leave, it's too dangerous to be here," the one with the dark wings said, following it with a frantic look around.
The angel crouched near the tree responded, "Castiel, hush, I'm still looking." It didn't seem as bothered as the dark winged one did.
Dean glanced at Sam, wondering if he was listening, and saw his brother's eyes trained on the angels. It was lucky they'd found two angels, angels usually didn't travel in packs anymore. They could both bring home a kill. He tapped Sam's knee and mouthed 'I've got black, you get orange'. Sam nodded and crept forward until he was touching Dean's shoulder with his. Sam brought his crossbow up as Dean notched an arrow.
They both waited for a clear, clean shot. Dean made sure the arrow was trained on the dark winged angel but its wings wouldn't move to let Dean get a good head shot. Its wings were beautiful, an amazing pair to add to dad's collection. He would've been proud.
The sound of an arrow flying loose distracts Dean's from his thoughts. Sammy has shot and Dean watches as the arrow soars right into the golden winged angel's neck, sticking there as it falls forward. Dean released his arrow and watched it connect with the other angel's shoulder. It jerked towards the ground, a look of horror on its face. The angel cradeled the other's head, a hard set to its jaw. Dean was stunned by the action and by the time he got another arrow notched, the angel was glaring at Dean. It dropped the other angel and stood, wings extended to their full height. Dean stared at how huge the wings were, larger than he'd originally thought. They were pitch black and seemed to reflect no light at all. Dean released his arrow and it landed in the angel's right wing, where it arches up at the junction. The angel let out a howling scream and Dean was on his feet, grabbing for Sam.
"Dean, what're you-" Sam began but Dean yelled over him, "Sammy leave!" Sam began to run and Dean turned back one last time to see if the angel would follow them. It was crouched on the ground, cradeling the other angel again. Dean had seen the dead, slack faces of many angels in his life. All his dad's kills, of course. This angel was most certainly dead, body limp and face slack. Sam had shot the arrow perfectly.
He turns and run before the angel sees them hovering and decides to pursue and kill them. He catches up with Sam and as they run to the Impala, they hear an echoing, strangled cry of, "GABRIEL."
The voice sounds like a person begging for death to come.