A/N: This is the third fic in the gen portion of the Playing the Angel series following The Genesis Variant and Cleanliness is Next to Godliness.

Series Info: While Sam and Dean continue fighting to prevent the Apocalypse, Dean inexplicably manifests a pair of wings. The brothers must work together to figure out what is happening and reverse the act before the changes overtake Dean completely.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.

Chapter 1

And they were gone.

Dean's sleepy reflection stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. No wings. Nothing.

He rubbed his eyes. Still nothing.

He had to be dreaming or on the verge of waking. The damn things couldn't just vanish without warning. Not after nearly two weeks of suffering.

But here Dean stood, middle of the night, staring at his very wingless reflection in the bathroom mirror. And he felt very much awake.

Dean flung his arms over his head and started to pat his back. He felt the scars-two minor ones-where the wings had originally shredded through his skin and muscle, but there was no hint of wing bone, or feathers, or anything remotely wing worthy.

He laughed.

In the adjoining room, he heard Sam shuffle in bed as he awoke. "You okay?" Sam called.

Better than okay. He was fantastic.

Dean stood in the archway that connected their bedroom to the bathroom. His lips split into a face-eating grin and he extended his arms on either side. "What's different?"

Sam examined him, his eyes still heavy with sleep. Despite the sandy look to his eyes, Dean noticed Sam's hand hovered next to his gun. Inwardly, Dean sighed. Sam needed to quit the immediate gun reaction with him. While he was glad Sam was quick to pull on the road these days, the fact he was quick to pull on him just ticked Dean off.

"Dean." Sam stifled a yawn. "What's this all about?"

"Come on. What's different?"

"That you're perky this early in the morning?"

Part of Dean wanted to throttle him, but he just laughed instead, which managed to set Sam even more on edge. His brother was awake now, and based on the uneasy look on his face, slightly disturbed.

Dean just kept grinning.

Sam sighed. "Are you drunk?"

"You suck the fun out of everything, you know that, right?" Dean shook his head. "Check it out."

After Dean held up his finger for Sam to wait, he ran over to his bag and fished through the contents, finally pulling out a shirt. He yanked it over the top of his head and tugged his arms through before spreading them out in an attempt to show off.

Sam sat straighter.

"Gone," Dean said for him, his grin still firmly in place. He jumped backwards onto his bed, letting his body fall onto the mattress, and obviously satisfied, he laced his fingers behind his head.

His wings were gone.

Sam leaned away from the gun on the nightstand, but kept his eyes on Dean. "What happened?"

Dean shrugged. "I got up to take a leak, and whaddya know?"

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Sam grew quiet. Years of living with the guy told Dean that Sam wasn't going to let this go. Man, he needed to let it go. But here it came.

"Something like this doesn't just stop," Sam said. "There has to be a reason."

"Hey, don't ruin this for me." Dean smiled and closed his eyes.

"Wings just don't disappear," Sam insisted. "We know it's not a curse or witchcraft. But if it's something to do with your time in Hell or with the angels…" He shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. I guess they could be temporary, but why?"

Dean was glaring at him. "What part of 'don't ruin this for me' don't you get? This is the first time I'm gonna get a full night's sleep in almost two weeks." He turned his head away from Sam and wrapped himself like a cocoon in the sheets.

Sam could stay up all night if he wanted, fretting over the change, but Dean wasn't going to dwell on it. He curled himself tighter in the sheets and allowed himself to drift into sleep, hoping that none of this was just a dream.

xoxoxo

The next morning seemed like any other. Sam was up first, as usual, and by the time Dean woke, he had already showered, downed a cup of coffee and an energy bar, and compiled extra research on the case they were working.

Even now, after all they'd been through, Sam was still a bit of a geek. Dean decided he could geek out all he wanted if it meant he could sleep in a little more. It was the sidelong glances that Dean could do without.

"What?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing." He paused and that was when Dean knew it was not even close to being nothing. "Just…are you feeling all right?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He should have known this would go on for a while.

"Never been better, Sammy." He plopped down in the seat across from Sam and grabbed a donut. "Lay it on me."

Sam hesitated, giving him another once over. Dean could see the thought process going into overdrive in his eyes, like his mind was making calculations as quick as a computer. Just because Sam had all those fancy college classes under his belt, didn't mean Dean couldn't keep up with him. He knew what Sam was thinking, and he wasn't letting it get in the way of their job.

"Sam." He left no room for argument in his voice.

"Sprites." Sam tossed the newspaper across the table. "A nest of them."

Dean grabbed the paper, his search bringing him to an article on the bottom half of the first page. Some poor bastard on the security team had his face eaten off in the basement with the servers. Thankfully, the reporter had enough sense-or maybe not enough connections-to take a picture.

It wasn't a big write-up, and lacked all the necessary details to make this easy, but it was enough to get the job done.

"TCI Informatics."

"Sprites love electricity," Sam said.

Dean scoffed. "They're calling it a freak accident. I swear, people try to be dense."

Sam almost laughed. He tapped the paper in Dean's hands. "Apparently, a power surge fried Benny Lawson."

"Because power surges chew your face like kibble." Dean wasn't going to like this job. He already knew it. "This happened, what, a month ago?"

"Every full moon cycle."

Dean pushed the paper away, disgusted. He hated sprites almost as much as he hated witches. And he really hated witches.

Electricity was like candy to these suckers, nearly as tasty as human flesh. Who knew how many nests were out there, chewing on the power cables and whatever the hell else was needed to keep computer systems up and running. Back in the day, they loved to dance around power plants. He guessed they'd gotten a sweet tooth for the digital age.

"Full moon's tonight, isn't it?"

Sam nodded. "We need to get into TCI Informatics."