Hannah wandered through the bunker looking for Dean, her hands cupped to her chest. It took a little while before she found him in the garage working on the impala. She stood off to the side, waiting for him to notice her. Dean glanced over his shoulder and saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. Stopping what he was doing, he wiped his hands on his jeans and walked over to her.
"Hannah, whats happened?" He stood in front of her, hands up, holding her elbows. She slowly brought her hands away from her body and revealed what was in them. In dark contrast to her pale skin, laid a pair of ashy wings from a fledgling. Dean looked down at Mary's wings and felt a pang of regret, he knew they would eventually fall off, but they had made it to a year without a clue to their decay. He took one of the wings in his hand, carefully, so not to disturb the feathers. The wing was intact, only one or two feathers missing. Dean looked up from the wing to the Angel before him, a tear had made it's way down her cheek and dangled from her chin, just above her open hands.
"Did it hurt her?" He turned the collection of feathers over to examine the base of the wing. Hannah shook her head, the tear fell on Dean's wrist.
"No, when she was taking a nap they must have fallen of when she turned over." She softly stroked the slate feathers, a drop tracing a previous path.
Dean softly placed his daughter's wing back in Hannah's hand and gathered his Angel in his safe arms. She once again clutched the feathers to her chest. She had known this was going to happen, that it had to happen. Mary Ellen wasn't an angel, she couldn't keep her wings, but that didn't mean that it didn't hut to see her daughter's soft, beautiful, fledgling wings laying on the pink rose print sheets. Hannah leaned into the hunter's arms, feeling the strength that came from the very physical job and relaxed in his hold.
Dean knew that the wings meant more to Hannah than they did to him, they were the only visible part of her true nature that their daughter showed, but what she didn't know was that Mary Ellen looked just like her mother. Dark brown locks, and deep empathetic eyes that could make Dean do anything she wanted, just like her mother. Dean didn't need the wings to show him how alike they were, he saw it in every action, in every move Mary Ellen made that she was there daughter, that she was Hannah's copy, and that made Dean the happiest man in the world, and he wondered how he had ever been able to get so lucky.
That night, before they went to bed, Dean handed Hannah a wooden memory box.
"What is this for?" She looked at the shadow box, not sure what to do with it. Dean grinned and gently went over to the side table where she had hidden Mary Ellen's wings. Sitting back down on the bed, he carefully placed them between the pegs made to support them. Closing the glass door, he handed it back to Hannah.
"One day, when she's old enough to understand, we'll be able to show her her wings and they'll be ready for her." Dean felt pretty good about himself, but he wasn't expecting the tears that quickly came from the angel. The box was set aside and Dean found Hannah's arms around his neck. Felling slightly unsure, he rubbed her back, hoping she would would explain what was going on.
"It's beautiful."