Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds...Or So They Say
Chapter 2 Mood Wings Pack A Punch...
Disclaimer: Not mine, Supernatural belongs to Eric Kirpke.
Rating: T obviously. I mean, c'mon Dean's in this.
This story is based off of the plot bunny for The Stars Fall Like Feathers, which I've finally freaking finished and am starting to post up. Because this was written first though, there are some continuity errors that I'm going through and re-writing. It's also why this fic hasn't been updated for a while.
Okay, down to the wing!One-shots now that we have the little prequel bit done.
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Mood Wings Pack A Punch
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One of the first things the Winchester brothers learn about Castiel's wings, is that they are a much better window into his emotions than his face is. Castiel's expressions are usually only ever visible in his eyes, and it's taken nearly three years for Dean to learn how to read them fluently. And now that the angel is getting used to having them manifested on this plane, he has far better control of both them, and his balance. Which is a freaking God send for Dean because he's running out of skin on his chest that isn't bruised a faint purple.
Sam, being the nerdy gigantor that he his, had been the first to ask why it was that the angel had struggled with them. Leading to a long, complicated, but not overly satisfying answer that could pretty much be summed up as; his wings were a part of his Grace, he was able to manifest his wings physically like this, but the witch had forced them too. And it was, lightly put, screwing around with how his Grace was flowing. The older Winchester's almost impressed with the angel's ability to over-complicate something that's really actually pretty damn simple.
Not for the first time, Dean Winchester curses that particular witch in his head.
But, the wings have their perks. Besides looking just down right awesome.
The first clue they receive about how sensitive the new limbs are to his emotions came when they'd first flared up at Dean. The elder Winchester had been staring at them again as they finally arrived back to the motel room in Lordsburg, not long after the initial curse. The angel had already made it clear, or so he thought - a narrowed blue eyed glare and challenging head tilt- that he doesn't like them staring. Sam had shuffled off to shower, claiming there was too much dust in his locks to sleep with. Dean wasn't so smart.
The small flashes of discomfort and nervousness showing in Castiel's eyes had gone unnoticed for once, and after a few moments longer, Dean had shifted a little closer with a clear intention on his face, to enthralled with the shifting tints to see the cornered skittishness.
Castiel's expression didn't change really change except for his eyes, but he did lean away a little. Touching an angel's wings without permission was not just rude, it was down right inconsiderate by angel standards.
The ebony wings however, did not remain unmoved.
He didn't mean to do so, but the slightly irritated and mostly uncomfortable feelings shooting through him had them flare upwards from their folded position in the time it took for the human to blink. Reminding the Winchesters of a swan that was more than a little pissed off, albeit a black one. The feathers had curled forwards towards him with an unmissable air of defence, and Dean had jumped backwards at the sudden shift from them being folded carefully by his shoulder's to suddenly being every-fucking-where, scrambling back to the wall.
For his part, Castiel didn't really notice he had done anything at all. He'd felt his wings shift, but that was nothing new, they did it naturally when in heaven (even if they weren't manifested on this plane there), so hadn't paid it any heed. So seeing Dean clamber backwards until he came up against the motel room wall was a little perplexing. All he could do was sigh and watch in confusion. Humans were such strange creatures.
At least he wasn't trying to touch his wings any more. Even if the staring was suddenly far worse.
Sam, who had re-emerged from the bathroom to collect the wash bag he'd left in his duffel nearly tripped over his feet with a double take. Dean's huge eyes met his and Sam's voice may have been an octave higher than was strictly manly. "O-okay...that's not... intimidating at all."
Castiel gave his trade mark curious head tilt of 'I will never understand you humans, now what are you talking about?'
His confusion at their behaviour had trumped the minor irritation of their staring and the wings folded themselves back against his back, if a little tensely. Ruffling just a little with Castiel's displeasure.
"Damn Cas!" Dean managed to growl, though there was no menace in it, just slight agitation that he had freaked out the way he had. "Just tell us if you catch us doing..." the elder Winchester flapped his hand in a universal gesture that summed up everything in that direction, "...whatever the hell that was you didn't like. Thought you were gonna freakin' skewer me, Jesus Christ."
The angel looked more confused.
They did stop trying to touch his wings though.
Or so the angel thought.
Later on, it became even more apparent that the wings were like neon signs for the angels thoughts. And this was never more obvious then when they took a break from researching possible solutions for this curse and turned on the T.V.
They quickly learned not to sit too close to the angel. The wings would twitch with curiosity and bewilderment at whatever happened to be on, the two humans were still wary from the bruises they had already received from the appendages and were taking few chances. 'Giant damn Mood Rings, that's what they are.' Dean had grumbled quietly as one twitch had nearly knocked his beer off of the small rickety table.
At least Castiel actually seemed to realise how much his wings moved under subconscious thoughts after that.
After that, it hadn't taken Sam and Dean long to realise that it was the staring that was putting the angel on edge, and the angel himself had finally snapped out a line about angel etiquette. The wings had flared a little more purposefully then, and if that hadn't convinced them then nothing would.
And then Dean did something stupid.
Castiel knew it was going to happen eventually, humans are a curious and tactile species. He just didn't expect Dean to cross that line so soon.
Sam had been scouring through what few lore books they had stashed in the Impala until the words were all mashing together and he found himself having to read several pages twice just to take in the information. Finally giving up, he'd declared further research a lost cause, and went to sleep.
It was somewhat surprising that Castiel was even still here. But, if a curse could manifest an angel's most well protected piece of Grace against their will... Well, Dean figured that he would stick around if he was an angel too, too spooked if nothing else to venture far from familiar faces.
So, Dean had left the angel at the table, the Seraph scouring through his lore book pile with such an intense concentration that his wings were hitched up and tense. All Dean had to do was walk past from his seat to his bed. Simple, right?
Then the hunter had hesitated, the angel wasn't really paying attention, a small brush on the way past wouldn't do any harm surely? Hell, he probably wouldn't even feel it. His curiosity was smothering his Hunter's deafening instinctual warnings, the ignored alarm bells in his head ringing out this is the worst idea you've ever had in your miserable life you stupid son-of-a-bitch!
"Night, Cas" he'd supplied tiredly, barely getting a grunt of acknowledgement from the angel. Hell, he might as well of said "I'm planning on scrapping the Impala tomorrow" or something else just as impossibly ludicrous and the angel wouldn't have bat an eyelash at it.
Plan in mind, he stood. It was six steps max to the side of his bed. One step down and the pinions came into reach, instincts began roaring against moving his hand, but it stretched out subtly anyway. Second step, his fingertips brushed gently across the side of two of Castiel's Primaries.
Big Fucking mistake
Unfortunately for Dean, they had not been sitting too far from one of the motel room walls, so when the massive black appendage shot out like a solid coiled spring, it crushed him between the solid feathery mass and the wall.
Castiel's sudden gasp at having reality slam it's way through his thoughts on the lore he was currently reading, sharply turned into a grunt of pain at the impact. Mixing with Sam's sudden sleep filled shout of surprise as the younger man reached for his knife and leapt out of the bed at the same moment, tripping over his duffel bag and face-planting the floor. Miraculously managing not to stab himself in the process.
The angel's instinctual reaction at the foreign touch was a natural defence, and this was exactly why he hadn't wanted them touching his wings without permission. Retracting his wing and saw his human coughing his lungs out. He couldn't find it within himself to be sympathetic.
The wing had hit Dean right in the Solar Plexus, thoroughly winding him. Not to mention how many bruises there would be on his skin tomorrow. "...D-Damn! Cas!" his voice may have been a little hysterical as bits of the plaster from the damaged wall rained down around him.
Peeling himself off of the floor, Sam immediately connected the dots. "What the hell Dean!" Sam was far too tired to deal with this.
"Me!" Dean stuttered in disbelief, glancing between the glare of his taller brother and quietly exasperated stare of the angel.
Castiel let out a gentle sigh, human's are innately curious, that's hardly Dean's fault. Though he's glad that this can be a learned lesson in exercising caution in the future, this in mind, he took pity of the elder Winchester. "I'm sorry Dean, you startled me... my wings are...sensitive."
Dean's first impulse was to growl, but this was undeniably his own fault, so he sighed instead, "Okay Alright! I Get it, no touching."
Like Dean could forget feeling a damn wing smash his ribs to pieces. Freakin' Jesus.
Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds...Or So They Say