Dean wasn't sure what it was about the new kid.
Maybe it was just because he was new; new was fun and exciting. Maybe it was the black wings that stuck out from his back, something he was told was rare and made the boy special. All the other kids in his first grade class sure seemed to gravitate to him for those two reasons, but not Dean. There was something about the way the boy looked at them all, like he was seeing right through them, at something only he could see. The first time they made eye contact, Dean could have sworn time stopped for half a second. His eyes were a shade of blue Dean didn't think could exist on a person; deep and bright, observant but warm. It definitely felt like the blue-eyed boy held Dean's gaze a little longer than the other children's, but maybe that was just his imagination. The new kid had just moved in next door to him, though they hadn't gotten a chance to speak yet. He was going to wait, wait until he could talk to him away from all their gawking classmates.
The crowd of curious children had grown by recess, all swarming around the boy with the wings, all trying to find out everything there was to know about him. Dean watched from afar. Even from a distance, he could see how uneasy the boy looked, clearly not used to all of the attention. When a few of the kids started grabbing at one of his wings, the boy made a face of discomfort, and tried to back away from them. Dean was suddenly overcome by the urge to walk over there, and pull him away from all the prying eyes and prodding hands. Right at the moment he thought it, the boy with the wings looked right at him and held his gaze, as if having heard his thoughts.
Dean wasn't sure what it was about the new kid. He just wanted to protect him.
Unable to fight the impulse any longer, he marched over to the other kids, shoved them roughly aside, and grasped his hand.
"Alright, show and tell is over, move it along," Dean ordered. He shepherd the boy with the wings away from the small mob of kids, who, though frustrated, knew better than to pick a fight with Dean Winchester.
Once they were well out of earshot, and no one was watching them, Dean let go of his hand, and looked him over; his hair was untidy, and his clothes were disheveled. He looked slightly abashed, but grateful to be away from the rest of his new classmates. Dean's eyes hovered over his right wing, the feathers of which were sticking up at odd angles due to unwelcoming hands. Overall, he looked distinctly ruffled.
Dean had heard about angels; powerful creatures dispersed throughout humanity meant to protect and watch over them, but he had never seen one before. He didn't understand how such a powerful being could have so much difficulty fighting off a pack of 8-year-olds. Maybe his powers hadn't kicked in yet? Or maybe he didn't want to hurt the other kids?
"Thank you," the boy said, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. "My name is Castiel." He was fixing Dean with a peculiar, searching look, then reached his hand out for Dean to shake.
"I'm Dean," he told him, dropping his hand, "I'm your new neighbor. Sorry about the others, they're just-"
"I understand, I must be very..." Cas's gaze shifted to the left, searching for the right word, "...interesting to you all."
Dean kept looking over at his disheveled wing, wanting to smooth the feathers down. Without thinking, he reached out a hand towards it, causing the young angel to back away from him.
"Sorry, I was just- I was gonna fix them." Dean explained.
Castiel looked at him, tilting his head slightly. Dean felt like he was being x-rayed.
"Do they hurt?" Dean asked to break the silence.
"Not really. It is uncomfortable when they are pulled on." Castiel looked over his shoulder at his disturbed wing, then over at Dean. He could see his soul. It was brighter and stronger than the others. From the moment he first looked at him, Castiel understood why Dean was the one chosen for him to follow. Turning slightly, he extended his wing towards Dean, deciding to let him help. "Would you? I can't reach the back..."
Eyebrows raised, Dean walked up to the angel's wing. The feathers were black as coal, but at a closer look, had a slight blueish tint where the sunlight hit them. He hesitated, then, with a reassuring smile from Castiel, raised his hand to it, barely grazing over the topmost feathers. They were unexpectedly soft, not at all like the fallen feathers he had picked up off of the ground near the lake behind his house; they were unlike any material he had ever felt before, and very warm, like they generated their own heat. They also had a slight static to them, like the plastic slide at the playground, but pleasant. He dug his pointer finger slightly under one of the protruding feathers, and guided it back to it's intended direction. Continuing along the feather's path, he experimentally pushed his fingers deeper into the plumage, straightening them as he went along. Castiel closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.
Dean studied the different feathers as he undid the damage from earlier. He felt mesmerized by them, not just how pretty they looked when they moved, pitch black with shimmery metallic blue highlights; not just how they felt running between his fingers, warm and electric, and softer than silk; but how they made him feel; Castiel's wings made him feel safe. The longer he touched them, the more protected he felt, like nothing could hurt him as long as the wings were there.
Straightening the feathers did not take much time, much to Dean's disappointment. With a last slow touch over the wing, he stepped back.
"That should do it," he concluded, looking back at Castiel's face. He looked like he just snapped back from a reverie.
"Thank you, Dean. And for helping me earlier," Castiel replied.
"Don't worry about it. I won't let them bother you again."
Castiel smiled at him as the bell rang, ending recess, and they walked back together.