Castiel was enormous.
It wasn't a brag, just a fact. The size of his true form was hard to pin down, because he wasn't a solid thing, but through a series of equations, he had estimated that he was about the size of the Chrysler building. Which was small for an angel, not that he'd ever considered being self conscious over it.
Like his kin, he was made soley from particals of constantly shifting light, bright enough to burn the eyes out of any non angelic creature who caught sight of him. Castiel preferred the colors of twilight to the white hot grace of his brothers and sisters. He supposes this set him apart from the beginning.
His wings were different as well, but this was typical. Every angel's wings manifested differently, revealing the core of who they were. Some had rounded wings like butterflies, painted in burnt orange and green and shocking yellow, that cast strange rainbows over the ground when they flew. They were, more often than not, messengers who despite their soft exterior could weild a blade as quick as thought.
Others had wings like bats, with nearly transclucent gray skin stretched over bones like steel. They were unbreakable, frightening, dark thing who no longer existed in heaven. They were followers of Lucifer, and had been cast out, but that is a story for another day.
Raphael had wings of lightning, and the sound of thunder followed him everywhere he went.
Michael's looked as if they had been forged from bronze, with primary feathers as sharp as daggers.
Gabriel's had been the strangest of all. They were the lightest shade of peach, soft and formless like cotton, permanently casting him in a haze of warm light.
Castiel appreciated the beauty of every set of wings he had seen, even those that belonged to Lucifer's followers. He even appreciated the beauty in his own, simply because his Father had given them to him as a gift.
They arched high over his back, with rumpled downy feathers that were a startling shade of black. More often than not, they looked like shadows, but during battle they became as solid as anything had ever been, and he used them in unusual ways: vaulting off the ground, tucking into them when he rolled, throwing them backwards to knock an enemy off their feet.
Castiel was mighty, heaven even more so, and he sometimes thinks that is why he feels so uncomfortable stuffed into the confines of Jimmy Novak's skin. It wasn't the only reason he was out of sorts, of course (Dean's yelling played a big part) but he still felt cramped and unhappy as he raised his voice just enough to be heard over Dean's.
"Enough." It wasn't a shout, but the mirror on the main wall of the hotel room still shoot and threatened to splinter. Dean turned slowly to look him in the eye, awe and defiance fighting for reign over his features. When Castiel didn't say anything, Dean spoke in a low voice, the way he would talk to a startled animal.
"Dude. You fell onto my CAR." His facial expression was pained, and he made an exasperated gesture with his hands, palms facing the ceiling.
"I am aware. There was a... malfunction during flight." Cas looked down at the floor, bashful and self conscious. Dean was suddenly on edge.
"What happened?" He didn't bother asking if Castiel was okay, because if took a lot more than a crash landing onto the hood of a car to hurt him.
"I was thinking about wings." Cas said, sighing. Dean started to roll his eyes, to pass it off as one of Castiel's "episodes" when he spoke up again. "I got distracted. All my brothers and sisters have different wings, you know. Some of them look similar, but they are not the same. I... They were beautiful."
Dean looks almost startled. Most of the time when Cas talks about home, it is to lament his sins, not speak fondly. Even if his tone is a little sad, Dean's look screams "PROGRESS", even if his lips stay in a thin line. Castiel has the presence of mind to feel a little ashamed that this, this halfway conversation about heaven, would be considered something to be proud of.
Dean sat back onto one of the motel beds with an earnest face, and Castiel slowly moved to sit on the other, with enough space between him and Dean that his friend wouldn't feel crowded. He knew emotions were difficult for Dean, it was enough that he obviously was willing to lisen.
"What do your wings look like, Cas?" Dean questioned, curious. "I've seen the shadows, but..."
"Most of the time they look just like that...shadows." Dean looked surprised that he had, in fact, seen Castiel's wings in the flesh before, but he stayed quiet, letting him continue. "When they are fully present, they're black and resemble a bird. Now that I've found the wonder of bees, I am anvious of my brothers who had their wings."
"I'm sure your wings are fine, Cas." Dean said, a little gruffly. Compliments made him uncomfortable unless they were directed toward and attractive woman, but his comment towards Castiel was ernest. "The shadows are impressive."
"Sometimes I think about what your wings would have looks like." Castiel said, hunching forward slightly and resting his forearms on his bent knees.
"My what?" Dean sputtered, caught just enough off guard to cause him to slip.
"Your wings. If Michael had used you as a vessel, you would have had his." He realized too late he was probably making Dean uncomfortable, but his friend made a noise that could be considered encouragement to go on, so he plowed forward. "They were solid bronze. Dangerous. His wingspan was the greatest of all the angels. You would have liked them."
Dean chuckled lightly as he considered it. "Guess they would have gone good with the leather jacket, huh?" Then he seemed to realize what he had said, and growled, "If you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll... I dunno, I'll take away all the bees. I'll lock you in a beeless room." At Cas's stunned expression, he broke out in real laughter, the rich sound filling Castiel's ears. "I'm just kidding, man."
Castiel was nervous. His skin was too small.
He needed the bees.