Chapter 3
The pain flared hot-white across his back. Dean stumbled through the bathroom, heaving his weight against each bathroom stall. He knocked the doors open with his shaking hand. Empty. All of them empty.
He let out a threaded sigh. At least he wouldn't have an audience. As he clenching his teeth, he ripped the zipper down as far as it could go and snaked his arms out of the jumpsuit's top. The fabric fell limp around his waist and down his back, the arms flapping aimlessly as his body shook. The muscles of his back started to pulse.
Dammit. This crap was supposed to be over.
He felt the tear-no, not tearing this time. Instead, the sensation felt like fluttering or wind on his back on a hot summer day. The only difference was that it wasn't a welcoming sensation. It burned and it seared, reminding him over and over just how wrong this whole mess was.
Dean stumbled and grabbed onto the edge of one of the bathroom stalls, feeling that odd light sensation he'd experienced back in the locker room in Middletown after Sam had hosed him down.
Across from him, the mirrors reflected his torment. He saw light and shadow blinking in and out behind his back, feathers furling and unfurling, bathed in a dim glow. The weight would return and his knees would buckle in time for the wings to vanish again and leave him off-balance.
Finally, they burst with incandescent white, chasing away the last vestiges of shadow. Both wings stretched open, like a long yawn after a deep sleep, and shook out their kinks. Dean found his back easing into the stretch, a feeling of satisfaction and contentment momentarily washing over him, as if this was the most normal and right thing in the world.
"Like hell," he muttered under his breath, disgusted at the thought.
He straightened his back and the wings nearly folded behind him. He stood there, staring for the longest time, unsure what to do, not knowing if he had enough strength to move, or if he even cared.
The loud pounding noise outside the door brought him back.
"Dean! Dean, open the door!"
He didn't want Sam to see him like this. When he used that glamour spell Bobby had given him, he could tolerate it a bit better, knowing Sam couldn't see the damn things, and they could at least pretend things were normal. Whenever Dean had the wings out in their full ridiculous glory, he couldn't stop Sam from staring, couldn't stop him from looking at him in a way no little brother should ever have to look at his older brother.
"Dean!"
He stared at the door as Sam pounded on it, struggling to remember why there would be so much urgency in Sam's voice.
His eyes widened. They were on a hunt. They were working a job. That fact had escaped Dean's mind. How had that happened?
How the hell was he going to get out of here unnoticed?
Dean crept toward the door. TCI Informatics could be crawling with cops or security by now. He had no idea how much time passed or what had happened between Sam and the guard outside, other than knowing Sam sounded okay, if not a bit frantic.
He considered unlocking the door, but thought better of it, choosing to lean on the cool metal instead. "Sam?"
"Dean?" There was a sigh of relief. "Open the door."
His head was filled with fogginess. It wasn't bad like last time, thankfully, but it was enough to throw him off his game. Dean didn't like feeling less than one hundred percent on a hunt.
"Dean."
"No, man." He felt the wings rustle behind him.
Sam fell quiet on the other side.
That was perfect. Sam didn't even need to see him to get back into over alert mode.
"They're back, aren't they?" Sam asked.
"What was your first clue?"
"You must have triggers that make them active. Fear? Anger?"
"Super. I'm the pansy-ass version of the Hulk," Dean muttered. "Instead of smashing things, I tickle people." But he wasn't going to talk about this. "What happened to the dick?"
"The guard? I locked him in one of the empty closets for now. But we're running out of time. His friend will be down here any minute, and it's well past dark. The sprites will be awake and on the move by now."
Fantastic. Could this day get any worse?
"We have to torch those sprites and get out of here." There was a shove at the door.
Dean refused to unlock it. "I can't come out of here, Sam. I mean, come on."
"You can't be serious."
"Dude, I have wings on my back and this place is littered with cameras."
There was another long pause. Dean decided he didn't like the emptiness to this break in conversation. It could only mean something bad.
"Then I'll have to do it myself. No time to take out the cameras. Go wallow in your self-pity. I'll take care of it."
"What? No. You crazy? You can't take on a whole nest by yourself."
"Watch me."
"Sam! Sam, don't you do this."
And that was it. Dean heard the shuffle of Sam's feet grow more and more distant until he was left with just the sound of the restless wings at his back.
xoxoxo
Dean paced the length of the bathroom as he tried to decide what to do. Sure, he could just waltz out there, wings and all, but they'd just finished having the cops chase them down. They didn't need to start that again with the added fun of crazy scientists or religious nutjobs.
But he couldn't just stay here either. Sam was taking on a nest of flesh-eating sprites who'd already killed at least once. Those bloodsucking freaks would be out for more. He needed to be there, making sure he had Sam's back.
Dean didn't know who or what did this to him, but when he found out they were going to the top of his hit list.
There had to be a way to make the wings go away. They had done it once before. Granted, he still didn't know how, but if they disappeared once, they could disappear again.
He would make the damn things disappear for good.
Dean stopped in front of one of the mirrors. He didn't bother to study or stare or even glance at the wings behind him. He just looked into the determined face of his reflection.
He concentrated. He thought about the times he had to really focus hard and pushed that energy into making the wings disappear. The first time he'd shot a gun. The first time he'd gotten laid without screwing it up. Passing his GED exam. That time he and those triplets…no that was too distracting.
"Come on," he muttered, feeling the weight remain, the rustle of restless wings at his back. Sam was out there alone. Sprites were a two-man job. He needed to be out there.
His back popped.
Dean winced and rolled his shoulders. When his gaze locked onto the wings, he saw them shudder, flashing in and out, before solidifying into the hulking mass of annoyance that had plagued him for nearly two weeks. He set his jaw and focused harder.
He focused on the sprites. Sammy. Getting out of the prison of a bathroom that smelled like pee and lavender. Driving his baby.
The wings flickered again, sputtering like an engine turning over.
He smiled.
