Dean woke up the next morning to the door opening, instantly alert on as the memories of yesterday slammed into the fore of his mind. Sammy walked in slowly, his balance looking as precarious as Dean's had felt. He kind of pitied his huge brother, as the wings seemed to be quite proportional and looked damned heavy.

"This is gonna take some getting used to," Sam said, looking behind him to send a glower towards a smirking Gabriel.

Dean felt his eyes narrow into slits as he tried to observe any telltale signs of their 'mating'.

"Dean-o, how are ya buddy? Sorry about the abrupt departure yesterday, but it seems your brother is an Alpha and hey, I'm not well known for my self control."

"Can you just rewind and explain it without intimate details. And, earth to Sam; why the hell do you seem so comfortable with all this?"

Except Dean noticed he wasn't as nonchalant as he had been when he entered the room. Sam's eyes were locked onto Gabriel's lips and he was squirming, feathers puffing up and secreting a sickly sweet scent that hit a nerve on Dean, instinct he didn't know existed telling him, ew, his brother was horny.

"Sam, turn it down a notch. Dean's gonna lose his shit and I really don't feel like dealing with that. Keep your head in the game; breakfast, and then back to the room."

"You're bossy for a Beta," Sam responded darkly, licking his lips.

"Can you guys cut that shit out and explain this part of the whole situation," Dean ground out, glaring at the pair as he felt his wings spread out. He was posturing. Fuck. This was all too bizarre.

"Okay, so it goes like this; Sammy wasn't the focus of the witch's spell, but somehow it bled into him. It wasn't as clean a transition as yours, and he seems to have formed right into his heat."

"Heat." Dean's voice was deadpan, and the twisting in his gut returned with a vengeance.

"Yeah, and lucky I came here because you do not want to have dealt with that unmated energy. Anyway, it triggered my latent Beta urges and synced us right up."

Dean made a gagging noise. Gabriel smirked.

"Couple that lovely stroke of fate with a hand job shared long ago and two personalities that are going to clash and spark, and we found ourselves in a mutual mating clench."

"Yeah, so I saw. And wait, what?" Dean spluttered a bit. "What hand job? No. No, wait. I don't want to know."

Dean looked at Sam with a new perspective, kind of proud that his prissy little brother was so open minded, until he noticed the smoldering look he was sending Gabriel. His damn brother had barely said a word since he came into his room; shit, he seemed incapable of looking away from the archangel. No way he was getting breakfast with them; didn't even have an appetite. And really, he should be starving; he hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours. What if he was never hungry again? What if he couldn't enjoy food? What if he couldn't taste pie.

Oh fuck. Okay. One thing at a time.

"Are all angels like this? The whole Alpha, Beta, Omega thing. You said it was latent?" Dean wanted to know everything there was about what he might be. What he could become.

"It's kind of like a recessive gene. Any being that was ever created for Heaven is capable of existing. Since it once was, it still may be. It's in our blood and, apparently, in yours; a recessive angel gene with some awesome hormonal influence."

Dean made another gagging sound.

"Yeah, Gabe says God must have helped, or at least allowed it as a possibility in our bloodline, like the whole vessel thing," Sam supplied. He'd finally seemed to focus on something besides sex and decide to add to the conversation as he packed up his bags. "Uh, I'm gonna be sleeping in the room down the hall."

"So really; you and Gabe?" Sam blushed but nodded, leaning instinctively towards his mate. Dean gave him a wave. "Yeah, Cas told me; three doors down. Thanks for keeping a good distance. He also told me about the Big Guy."

Dean sprawled out with a huff, his wings wrapping around himself as he felt distinctly lonely. Where had Cas gone? Off with Balthazar? Dean's wings pulled tighter as he felt a whine threaten to rise from somewhere deep in his chest.

As if summoned by Dean's longing (longing; where'd that even come from?) alone, flapping feathers filled his ears before he felt the bed beside him dip.

"Good, you're here. You can look after that one. We'll see you folks in, say, three or four days? Sound good? Alright. Bye." With a wave of fingers the Beta was pulling his Alpha towards the door.

Gabriel ignored Dean's middle finger as he tugged Sam out of the room, but not before Sam could send Cas a 'look after my brother' grimace, which morphed into a lusty grin when he turned towards his mate and shut the door.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Think I'll still be able to hunt?" Dean sounded kind of terrified. It was all so much, and while Sam was distracted by his heat and his mate (mate, his mate, the word kept repeating in Dean's head) the older Winchester had no such catharsis.

"Of course. I see no reason why anything should have to change. We've heard no word from Heaven, but I doubt anyone from above will touch you. This has been ordained." Castiel sounded so sure, resolute, as if he would make what he was saying the truth by sheer will. Dean almost believed he would.

"You keep saying that. According to Gabriel, God could have like, I dunno, planted something in our bloodline that made us not only ideal vessels for freaking archangels, but also allowed room for," Dean swept his hands around the room before puffing out his wings, "this."

"The Winchester name has long been synonymous with duty for the greater good. This could be your reward."

Dean laughed in a self deprecating way that rankled under Castiel's skin.

"You are deserving of every gift Heaven and earth can bestow. Your soul is one of the purist I have ever seen, and –"

"Enough." Dean was back to curling in on himself, and Castiel clenched his fists, forcing himself to calm down. "I want some food. This is all too damn much and I just wanna go out and stuff myself full of some greasy diner grub. I need something normal." As he said the words his stomach growled, and he suddenly felt hollow but so damn glad because that was good. That was human.

Castiel nodded as Dean pulled on a shirt (he had slept in his jeans, pulling on a semi-clean pair after his shower, not even caring enough to put on boxers) and headed towards the door. Just as he was stepping out he turned towards Cas, still sitting on the bed, expectantly.

"Well?"

Castiel took it as the invitation it was and followed Dean, as he always would.


Apparently Dean still retained his earthly hunger and reliance on sustenance (as well as each and every glorious taste bud), because his mood improved with every bite of pancakes and bacon, stirring the strips into his grits and devouring every last bite.

"Damn, I didn't even realize how hungry I was."

"So it seems," Castiel said, with just a touch of humor that Dean smiled, his first truly relaxed smile since he first spotted the overabundance of feathers in the motel room.

"It's so weird; I can just see your wings now. Always wondered what they looked like."

Dean stared at the dark, shimmering feathers that looked like smooth, silky ink. Dean wanted to touch them, to feel them spread across him, spilling over his skin, slipping between his fingers, between his –

"Dean?" There was color high on Cas' cheeks, and their eyes locked in a way that was familiar and yet charged with something markedly different.

"Cas, I," but Dean wasn't sure what he was, wasn't sure of anything at the moment. He could not, would not, let his mind wander into those shadowed corners and crevices of desire. He had to be practical, since Sam was off having his lost weekend. "I want to know what I can do now. Can I smite? Am I as immortal as you all? How are we even supposed to figure that out? Then there's flying or teleporting or whatever thing you dicks love to do," the words flew out as Dean tried to diffuse that moment of what if within himself and focus. He took a quick look around. "We should get out of here."

"I did come here to help you test your abilities, as promised, but I also have news. Balthazar spoke to Parmida," Dean flinched, knew what was coming, "and it would seem she pulled on the Grace of the universe to grant you a "full life". She had no idea how it would happen, what way the spell was going to affect you, but she seemed confident that it was completely pure. She used the word pure a lot, according to Balthazar. He also said she claimed to have dreamt of flying that night."

"The universe has Grace? Like, light" Castiel nodded. "Hold on, hold on. Purity? Someone described something to do with me and used the word purity? I don't buy it; this whole situation stinks."

"Damnit Dean, how often must I tell you that the purity of your soul is unmatched by any other I've seen. I know you still hold on to your time in Hell, but you were weak; you were human. It doesn't change the fact that whatever your request was, she said it was the request of your soul; that it came from the depth of you. You and the witch are the only ones who know what it was, but keep that in mind."

So she hadn't told Balthazar. He really was being forced to reevaluate his stance on white witches.

"Cas," it was on the tip of his tongue, 'I asked for love and it led me here. Why?' But he couldn't bring himself to say it; story of his life. Another part of him wanted to suggest that he go speak to Parmida himself, but he really didn't want to see her again. He let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face, realized they were still at the diner. "C'mon, let's go."

Getting into the Impala, Dean inclined his head towards Cas, noting once again how strange it was seeing both sets of their wings going through the seats of his baby. Was this seriously his reality now?

"I saw an empty field not far from here. Seems an ideal location to practice away from prying eyes."

"Yeah, okay." Full stomach and a purring engine overriding his nerves, Dean put on the radio and pulled out.

With the music blasting, Castiel had to shout out the directions that led to an empty cornfield.

"What would you like to figure out first?"

"Well uh, I mean, I guess we won't know what our lifespan is until enough time has passed to notice, ya know, wrinkles and grays. But I figure we can test my healing abilities." Dean's obvious hesitancy made Castiel uneasy.

"In what way?"

"Uh, I guess you could like, stab me? And if I can't heal or something, you can fix me right up."

"Why not just slice your arm?" Castiel was wholly troubled by this. There was no way he could cause his charge (was that still the right word for what Dean meant to him?) any sort of pain or suffering. Never again.

"'Cause I've seen you sport a cut for a while, like your Grace or whatever doesn't power up for superficial shit, and I wanna know as soon as possible."

Still Castiel hesitated.

"Go ahead, Cas." Dean hoped this would work, and when he saw the logic of it all settle heavily on Castiel's features he started doing some deep breathing, swinging his fisted hands back and forth to get himself worked up.

"If you're sure," Castiel agreed, clearly reluctant, eyes wide and searching as he watched Dean pull out his dagger.

"I am; I trust you."

That seemed to strengthen Castiel's resolve (and it came out so easily, which, really, should have astounded Dean, but he would examine later) and the hunter realized he was really about to get airholed through the gut.

"What's it feel like, being stabbed when you're all angeled up?" The question took Cas by surprise, his eyes fixed on the blade Dean had sunk into his chest all those years ago. So much had changed…

"It's not quite painless, but at the very same time the discomfort is on the edge of your awareness; as if you're remembering lacing white heat from a long time ago."

Dean was still trying to get himself worked up enough, nodding his head like he understood, and reminding Cas to jab the thing somewhere in semi-neutral territory; no organ damage, even if he was gonna get healed. Slowly lifting his shirt, Dean squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

He sucked in a breath before Castiel struck out, lodging the knife right next to his stomach. Dean knew that, knew every piece of tissue that was being torn apart, just as he knew the hiss he let out was an automatic response, not a reaction to pain. Because the only pain Dean knew was the abstract idea that nerves were being damaged. Castiel's hand was still holding tight to the knife and Dean fitted his own over it, looking Cas right in the eye as he slowly withdrew the blade.

Dean felt a smile stretch tight across his lips, losing a bit of its feral edge when his eyes met the other angel's and saw Cas' head tilted in curiosity.

"No discomfort?"

"Holy shit," was all Dean could say. Probably about five or six times, even as he stared at the line in his skin. He wasn't even bleeding. "Holy shit."

"It seems your extra rest served you well. As you've noticed, angels can bleed. But it's only under the circumstances where you allow yourself to, or you're weakened. That's why a simple slice would have sufficed, but you are a mule." His tone was almost teasing and he wasn't wrong, so Dean simply shrugged. "Now, concentrate and try to heal."

Dean closed his eyes, letting Cas' voice wash over him as he encouraged Dean to simply 'command your body to heal'.

As soon as Dean focused on that thought, that simple, obvious thought, he felt a cord of energy travel from the middle of his forehead down to his abdomen and a brief press of warmth against the injury. When he opened his eyes he half expected Cas' hand to be on him, but he looked down and realized, taking in the unmarred skin, that he had done that himself.

"Holy shit. I mean, really. This is. Wow. I'm an angel, Cas."

Dean was rubbing his hand back and forth across the spot repeatedly and finally lifted his eyes to his fellow angel, because this was real, when he noticed that Cas was still focused on the smooth skin of his belly. His hand was still rubbing, but it was more in a small circular pattern and had moved to the spot just above his navel.

"You truly are, Dean," Cas' voice held a soft reverence that made something in Dean's chest tighten, and he told himself that soon, soon he would think about all of that.

Right now, though, he was still focusing. Because he had this feeling, a very foreign, hopeful feeling much the opposite of the usual foreboding he felt, well, always. It was right in the back of his mind telling him that something else might take priority over how-to-angel lessons soon.

With one glance of awe at his handiwork, Dean lowered his shirt and spread out his wings, Castiel's eyes to dart from Dean's stomach and chest. The look in his eyes caused a thrumming to begin in Dean's veins. When the blue orbs took in Dean's wingspan, seeming to inventory the placement of every quill, every separate shade, Dean could almost feel his eyes on him.

"How 'bout flying?" Dean forced out.

Castiel took one last sweeping look before fixing Dean with his comforting stare (he wasn't sure when the stare had gone from creepy to comforting, but it had happened fairly soon after his trip to the future) before spreading his own wings.

"It should come as naturally as the healing did. You just spread your wings, focus on a location, and –" Cas brought his wings down once and disappeared, popping up right behind Dean. "Start small; try to fly to the other side of the field," he suggested.

Dean picked a spot, thought about being there, brought his wings down as easily as moving a finger, and then he felt that usual sensation of moving through the atmosphere, only it was different; he was in control. In a blink he was on the other side of the field right where he meant to land and Cas was giving him one of his rare, wide smiles. He looked proud, and it caused a feeling like warm water to wash over the new angel from head to toe.

That smile that was right in his face the next second.

"Excellent. This is all good news. We'll slowly see how far and strong your powers reach. Until then you should go about your life as usual. Eventually we'll find a demon and see if you have the power to smite."

"This is kind of awesome, I'm not gonna lie," Dean admitted, a sheepish grin appearing on his face before he frowned, because his mind never let him dwell on an upside for too long.. "Doesn't mean there couldn't be some more sinister ulterior motive behind all this. I mean, as an angel, am I gonna be bound to any sort of duty? Is there some form inside of me that's freakishly tall with multiple faces that would burn the eyes out of anyone that sees me? What if I lose control in the middle of the mall?" The panic was starting to rise again. Dean could heal. He could fucking teleport cause he had fucking wings. He didn't even go to the mall.

Cas' hand landed warmly on Dean's shoulder where his handprint used to be; he'd healed it away along with every other scar he'd gotten since Hell the day the apocalypse never was.

Instantly Dean felt his entire face flush and that urge, the one he thought he'd choked down with booze and women; the one that told him he's right there to kiss, touch, taste, but before he could either listen to it or pull away, Cas started speaking.

"I can read your true form, tell you for sure if you're an angel in a vessel or if you're a hybrid."

"Cas, do me a favor?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Don't ever use the word 'hybrid' again. It makes me feel like a damn science experiment." A beat; Dean rolled his eyes and missed the corner of Castiel's lips tug up at the hunter's phrasing. "So why didn't you mention this little 'read' earlier?" Dean was trying to sound annoyed, he was, but Cas' proximity was sending out a message to him (what was that smell?) and he was hypnotized by it.

"It is… invasive."

That got Dean's attention.

"Can we skip the 20 questions routine? Just spit it out."

"I would have to reach inside of you and feel your soul."

Dean felt his jaw drop before trying to cover by pulling a face.

"But I thought you could already see my soul, anyway. Has that changed?"

Castiel huffed and rolled his eyes; Dean spared a moment to feel pride at the small human mannerisms the angel had picked up.

"Nothing about your outward appearance has changed to me, save for your wings. And, as Balthazar mentioned," Cas hesitated, eyes fluttering from Dean's face, to his wings, before he looked at his own hands, "you are emitting a particular glow."

"A glow? Like, my skin looks really nice or there's some kind of heavenly spotlight on me?"

"I would say the former. I assure you, there's been no word from Heaven about any of this and I don't expect there to be."

"Never say never," Dean grumbled. "So we gonna do this or what?"

"We should go back to the motel room and you should eat something before we begin. This will be draining for both of us," Cas warned, zapping himself into the Impala. Dean decided to take his time meandering through the field.

He was trying to figure out why and when he became so willing to listen to Cas implicitly. It had to be because this was all his bag. Guy had been an angel longer than Dean could even half grasp, and would definitely know more than either the Winchesters or any of their contacts. Dean was pretty sure they were setting a precedent here, anyway. No ordinary research was going to give him the answers he wanted.

Dean couldn't deny how much Cas meant to him, knew that he was in safe hands. Cas had remained by his side while his brother was off being blissed out with Gabriel and Dean was losing count of all the reasons he was grateful for the angel he'd been saved by time and again. Maybe he really didn't have to examine too closely why he could declare his trust for Castiel so easily; Cas was his angel and Dean, his charge. They took care of each other.

For the first time, he had someone to lean on that was strong enough to hold Dean up. Sam, even if he saw Dean's weakness, could only try to help most of the time because the older brother instincts would kick in and Dean would turn the situation around. But now Sam had Gabriel, his mate. Dean couldn't help but wonder if maybe he had something, too.

With that thought he got into the car, breathed in that smell just on the edge of his awareness, and turned the key, taking his usual dose of comfort in the rumble of the engine.

Angel or not, at least he'd always have his baby.