Chapter 4

Life progressed as normally as it could with a burnt out angel and a bad tempered hunter living under the same roof. Castiel had finally come to the realization that the toilet wouldn't eat him and had somewhat grasped the idea of the shower valve. But more often than not, Dean went to bed with a headache and a vague idea about what living with a toddler was like. If said toddler was six feet tall and still hadn't learned how to use a razor.

"Alright, Sam. Try not to get your ass killed," the hunter said as a goodbye before he clicked his phone shut. When he glanced up, Cas was standing in the doorway and staring at him with those penetrating eyes. Even blurred with sleep they were still way to blue.

"Sleep well?" he asked as he poured a cup of coffee. The angel glared at him before stepping into the room and snatching the mug out of Dean's hands.

"The process of waking up could be more agreeable," he grumbled, looking for all the world like a soccer dad with his six o'clock shadow and ruffled bed hair. As he chugged coffee, Dean took the opportunity to peer around the angel at the black mass behind him. He was starting to get worried; it got darker and darker every morning.

Castiel didn't seem to notice the shadow. Dean had walked though it a few times, and while the air felt thicker and warmer than the surrounding space there certainly wasn't a malevolent feel to it.

Cas went to put the mug down on the counter, but completely missed the hard surface and dropped it onto the tile floor instead. He glowered at it for a few seconds- Dean half expected it to burst into flames under that intense stare- before bending to pick up the broken pieces. The Winchester poured himself another cup of coffee while watching the shadow out of the corner of his eye. He noted that the cloud seemed to be coming out of Castiel's back, like an extension of his shoulder blades. It stretched and moved with the angel as he bent over, and now that he looked Dean thought he saw a faint looping pattern in the mass. Almost like it was made out of…made out of…

Feathers.

The realization hit him so hard that he gasped, his hand twitching and spilling hot coffee all over his flesh. He cursed and dropped the mug into the sink, sloshing more of the searing liquid all over himself in the process. Cas stood and observed calmly as the man hopped around the kitchen batting at the white hot fabric and flinging his hands around like he was trying to take off in flight.

It was so obvious. Of course they were wings! The way they moved in accordance to Castiel's body, the way they tucked behind his back, even the general shape of them all pointed in the same direction. But now the question was, why could he see Cas' wings?

"Are you okay?" Castiel asked finally, tossing the broken shards of his mug in the trash with a clatter. The man shot him a dirty look as he ran his hands under cool water to ease the burning sensation. He chose not to answer, instead stripping off his coffee-stained shirt and tossing it over a chair while he splashed water on his throbbing chest and stomach.

Suddenly, Dean was very aware of the angel's eyes on his body, and in truth, it made him kind of uncomfortable. Dean Winchester was not a man who was shy or self-conscious about his body. He had received way too many suggestive looks, compliments, and sly grins from women (and men, for that matter) to think otherwise. But now that Cas was looking at him, he felt like that awkward sweaty girl at the prom who accidentally stepped on the toes of the one guy who asked her to dance.

"Dean?" The hunter realized he had been staring blankly at the angel's face and quickly snapped his gaze away.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean grunted, crossing his arms over his chest as he experienced the alien feeling of self-awareness. His eyes flicked over Cas' shoulder as he glanced at the translucent wings, and the angel turned around half-way to follow Dean's gaze.

"Are you sure? You have been acting…strange around me lately." He spoke with such concern that the hunter felt compelled to tell him everything, how much he worried and cared about the angel. But he lowered his eyes to the floor to try and stop Cas from using his freaky angel mind reading thing and shook his head.

"Naw, I'm fine," Dean said in what he hoped as a reassuring tone, flashing his I'msoadorable grin for good measure, and shoved past Castiel. As he walked through the mass, goosebumps rose on his flesh and he could feel his friend' eyes boring into the back of his head as he walked away. He quickened his pace and disappeared around the corner, hoping that the angel hadn't seen into his thoughts.

As the man pulled another shirt over his bare chest, he tried to make sense of what he saw. Angel wings, for fucks sake. Why was he seeing angel wings? Did being Michael's vessel give him some sort of angel ESP? And if so, why was it only kicking in now?

"I swear, if you winged dickheads are fucking with me again I'm gonna blow your feathered asses so far into oblivion even God won't be able to bring you back," he snarled under his breath to whoever might be looking down at him.

But as much as threatening someone usually calmed Dean's nerves, he only felt more on edge. Should he tell Castiel he could see his wings? Maybe he could do something about it, pull the blind down again.

Almost as soon as the question popped into his head, Dean decided on a firm no. It wasn't because he didn't want Cas to know, he just didn't want the angel to tuck the wings back into God knows where. Dean liked them. And for that amazingly selfish reason, the hunter decided to shove the whole matter into the back of his mind and pile so much crap on top of it that even Castiel the psychic angel couldn't dig it out again.

….

But, as we all know, new resolutions are not easy to keep. It became harder and harder to ignore the wings. Every day, they got darker and more detailed, individual feathers coming into view and patterns being detectable from what used to be a senseless smudge of color. Dean found himself staring openly now, and Cas had caught him on several occasions. He was running out of credible excuses.

Dean?

Huh? Oh, just looking out the window.

There's no window there.

Right…well I was imagining there was.

Dean, are you…okay?

Shuddup.

It was a lazy, TV-watching afternoon when it all broke down. Dean had gone to the kitchen to grab a few beers, and when he came back he couldn't help but pause for a few moments in the doorway to admire Castiel's wings. He leaned against the archway as he stared at them.

The wings melted through the busted up couch Cas was sitting on like they were a ghost and shimmied in a way similar to when heat rose up off hot asphalt. The angel had taken the bandages off his wound, but went without a shirt to avoid the irritation of the fabric rubbing over the sensitive skin. This exposed the curious place where wing melted into body, a joint as thick as Dean's arms that was covered in fluffy looking fuzz.

The plumage of the wings was, well, amazing. Even in their partially translucent state. The feathers were the same midnight-brown as the angel's hair, and while it was hard to tell exactly how detailed the quills were, they ranged in size from the length of a baby carrot to as tall as the angel himself. Castiel turned when he felt Dean staring, his wings melting through the couch as he did so.

"Uh," Dean blurted intelligently, lifting the beers in his hand as he quickly launched himself off the wall, stumbling a few inches as he regained his balance. "Just getting the beers!"

Cas locked him with a suspicious stare and the hunter flashed an unconvincing smile as he cleared his throat and held out one of the bottles. Castiel reached out to get it, one of his wings stretching almost the full length of the room as he did so. The Winchester's eyes followed the movement, head still facing Cas as he made a weak attempt to hide what he was doing. In fact, he was so engrossed in the way the tiny feathers on the top of the wing rustled as it spread that he was unaware of the growing horror in Castiel's eyes. Suddenly, Cas snapped his wings in so close to his body that they could have passed for poles.

"You can see them?" he choked, recoiling from Dean in terror. The man suddenly realized what had just happened and guilt flowered in his chest like a horrible monster. The angel crossed his arms over his bare torso and Dean could literally feel the air around him dropped several degrees. His eyes widened and he felt his cheeks grow warm like that one time his sixth grade teacher had caught him with Penthouse Magazine in the school bathroom.

"Cas, I didn't…I mean, I shouldn't have…I just-" Dean sputtered, taking a step towards the angel and depositing the beers on a small corner table. Castiel leapt up as the hunter approached him, taking a step back for each one the man took towards him.

"Don't come near me!" Cas cried, panic clearly written all over his face and in his eyes. He sounded so hurt, so scared, that it made Dean want to pin him down and explain himself until the angel understood.

"Please Cas," he begged, but the angel wasn't having any of it. He darted past the human and slammed the door of his room, bolting it behind him. Dean padded up to the door, head hung low, and rapped softly.

"Cas?" he called gently, trying to door handle. No answer came, and the Winchester knew that if he could, the angel would be halfway across the world right now, wallowing in his embarrassment in Australia or some other god forsaken place.

"Listen, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Or whatever," he apologized awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted from foot to foot. How do you ask for forgiveness from an angel you had just violated with your eyes for over a week?

"I just…I don't know. Liked them?" Dean felt his ears heat up as he realized how perverted that sounded. He may be a lot of things, but a pervert was not one of them.

"I'm sorry, okay? Just come on out when you're ready." He cocked his head, listening for a response, a noise, anything, but when no sound reached his ears he shrugged and sighed.

"Alright then, good talk," the man said sarcastically, patting the door before he walked away.

….

Castiel had never been so humiliated in his entire life. Not even when Gabriel convinced him that pine sap was good for his wings. He shuddered just thinking about it, feathers ruffling indignantly as they remembered the two whole days it took to clean them.

Feathers that Dean Winchester could see.

Wings were the direct manifestation of an angel's grace, the most private thing in the history of private things. And now, Dean had seen them. It wasn't like Cas didn't trust the man; he trusted the Winchester with his life. But an angel's feelings about his wings were something akin to how a human felt about their genitals, very private and very taboo to discuss. Other angels could always see each other's wings, of course, especially in heaven. And to touch another angel's wings was a display of deep trust and compassion. But that was different. That was his family.

Why then could Dean, an average human, see them in the first place?
Castiel sighed and the appendages in question drop down beside him with a rustle. He could always see them, which was why he hadn't noticed the man's strange behavior sooner. But they were supposed to be in another plane of existence and only come if Cas summoned them.

And he had not summoned them.

The angel glanced down at his wings as he pinched one of the primary feathers between his fingers and rubbed. He could understand why Dean hadn't told him, they must be a remarkable sight for someone who hadn't been seeing wings since his creation so many centuries ago. But he couldn't face the man, not yet. He couldn't expect the hunter to understand. And he needed answers for the questions the man would surely ask.

Plus, his mortification would take a few days to dull to the point he could withstand.

….

It was three days before Cas left his room. Dean had been spending his hours stewing in front of the television, drinking bear and seriously considering kicking down the goddam door. When the angel finally emerged from his lair, it was with heavy bags under his eyes, hair more rumpled than usual, and disheveled shadow feathers ruffling nervously. The Winchester immediately jumped up as the angel approached him, ready to say whatever he needed to in order to comfort his friend.

"Cas, I-"

"My wings are a direct materialization of my grace and very private, similar to walking around naked all day," the angel interrupted. "Staring at them is not deemed acceptable and makes me highly uncomfortable, so I ask that you please advert your eyes as much as possible."

"Um, okay. But why can I se-"

"I believe that because my grace is at such a low level, it is trying to rid itself of as much strain as possible while it regenerates. A lot of power is required to keep my wings in their alternate dimension and away from me, and it is possible that they are manifesting without being summoned to ease the strain on my grace. This is the closest they can come to their true form while I am in my vessel." Dean nodded, eyes lowered humbly. Instead of making Castiel feel more comfortable, though, the direction of the hunter's eyes actually made him feel more self-conscious.

"Never mind what I said about the eye adverting," he spat, and Dean glanced up in confusion.

"Bu-"

"Forget it!"

"What ab-"

"Dean, I said forget it!" Cas' wings bristled and his eyes flashing dangerously. The air thickened around him, and a faint memory in his head growled I can throw you back in. But Dean wasn't intimidated like he had been in that barn years ago. No, Castiel didn't scare him anymore. Now he was…well just was just pissed.

"Well you can stop being such a dick about it," the hunter snapped, his patience ebbing away as the angel kept interrupting him. Suddenly, there was a hand pressing him to the wall by his throat and Castiel's face was inches from his, teeth bared like a predator about to tear its prey's throat out.

Yeah, maybe a little intimidated.

"Imagine, if you can, walking around with your soul strapped to your back. Imagine being completely naked in every sense of the word," Cas hissed, his breath smelling like a fresh spring breeze. He closed his hand tighter around Dean's throat, feeling the pulse of the delicate creature quicken beneath his fingers.

"Point made," Dean managed to choke out, and Castiel pulled his hand away.

"I'm going to completely form my wings instead of just waiting for them to solidify it on their own," the angel announced moodily, rolling his shoulders and taking a few more steps away from Dean.

"Can I watch?" Cas momentarily forgot all his frustration as his eyes widened at the man's question. Dean immediately backtracked and started stumbling backwards towards the door.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude," the human said quickly, trying to avoid another celestial outburst. He preferred not to be smited where he stood. "I'll just-"

"You can watch," Cas decided, voice softer than before. "But you might want to stand back. It's been a few thousand years since I've done this."

Dean stepped back nervously, partially hiding himself behind the couch as he watched the angel. Castiel inhaled deeply and turned his face upwards with closed eyes, slowly rising his arms on either side of him. His wings started to pulse, sending off visible shockwaves in the air with each throb. Cas' eyes glowed beneath his eyelids as the pulsating grew stronger and stronger, and Dean felt his own heartbeat align with the shockwaves rippling the air.

And then, with a crack of electricity, every single light bulb in the entire building shattered with a deafening blast.

"Well, fuck," the hunter said, and to his credit he sounded quite calm.

"My apologies," the angel muttered, pacing over to the hunter. Dean could only tell where his friend was by the sound of crunching glass under his feet, it was so black he couldn't see his hand in front of his own face. He reached out blindly and came in contact with something very warm, very strong, and very soft. Immediately, the hunter jerked his hand back. After all that talk about wings being the manifestation of grace, he wasn't so eager to get all up in Cas' privacy.

But the angel leaned forward and pressed his wing into Dean's hand.

"It's alright, Dean," came a gravelly voice from the dark. "You can touch them."

Dean paused, letting his palm rest on the feathers, because this seemed like something so much more than touching a wing. It was Castiel's way of saying that he trusted the Winchester, fully and completely, and that was really kind of overwhelming to accept. It was only when the angel nudged Dean's hand gently that he inhaled sharply and started to feel the wing.

The brother slowly ran his hand down Castiel's wing, marveling at how the strong muscles rippled underneath the feathers despite how it was barely even moving. Dean felt Cas stretch it out in his hand with a soft shake and heard the tips brush the walls on both sides of the room.

The Winchester walked up and down the full length of the appendage, at least fifteen feet long, running his hands over the feathers. The plumage transmitted warmth to his hand unlike anything else Dean had ever felt, like the quills where harboring energy underneath their silky softness.

"Wow," the man breathed, unable to think of anything else to say. He stood in front of Cas (or where he thought Cas was) and heard the angel draw up the wings behind him with a loud swish.

"I will clean up the mess," he announced, wrapping his hand around Dean's wrist as he guided him towards the door. "My night vision is significantly better than yours and it will go much faster without you bumbling about and messing everything up." The hunter would have been slightly wounded if it were not for a soft rustle and the brushing of feathers against his back.

"Dude, did you…did you just make a joke?"

"Yes," Cas said proudly, emitting another rustle. Dean barked a laugh and blindly reached out for the door handle, grasping onto it like it was his lifeline when he found it.

"You know how to be sarcastic?" he teased, prodding the angel with his elbow. Cas shoved Dean's arm back against him a little harder than he had intended, but not hard enough for the action to not come off as playful.

Maybe living with an angel wasn't so bad after all.

….

Turns out, living with an angel was definitely not on the "Worst Things That Could Happen to a Guy" list. Granted, Dean's list might be slightly biased considering the top two hundred were horribly gruesome deaths, but he figured Castiel would rank very close to the bottom on a normal Joe's list as well.

He woke to the smell of eggs and sound of frying sausage along with a hint of the pleasant aroma of coffee. Dean leapt out of bed and crept to the kitchen, peering around the corner to see Cas bedecked in a frilly pink apron with lace trimming and shaking a pan with scrambled eggs in it. The words Kiss the Cook were splashed across his chest in whimsical swirling letters.

"Morning'," he greeted, coming around the corner. Cas nodded in response, too buried in the task of ensuring unburnt eggs to really concentrate on niceties. Dean watched the angel out of the corner of his eye as he poured a cup of coffee. He was tense, wings pulls tight against his body and spine as straight as a ruler. He picked up a pepper shaker and shook it over the eggs with much more force than necessary before chancing a glance at the man beside him.

"What?" he snapped, flipping the sausage in the pan with a scowl. Dean raised an eyebrow and put his coffee down before leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. He waited impatiently, fingers tapping out a beat on his forearm as he stared expectantly at Cas. When the angel did nothing but ignore him to peek in the oven, Dean decided to take the lead.

"Something's obliviously bothering you, Big Bird," the hunter observed, motioning a hand to Castiel's body stance. The angel ignored him again and reached into the oven with a bare hand. Before Dean could stop him, he grabbed at the pan inside.

With a yelp, Castiel yanked his arm out of the oven, eyes wide, and leapt back, knocking into the counter in the process. He clutched at his hand, hissing as he accidentally prodded burnt flesh. The Winchester yanked open the fridge and tossed a cool beer bottle to Cas, who caught it in his uninjured hand before pressing it to his seared skin. He sighed at the cool, smooth surface of the glass.

"What the fuck was that?!" Dean demanded, padding up to Cas and removing his hand from the bottle to inspect it. Castiel watched impassively as the man examined his skin for any serious damage.

"I am not used to my mortal state," Cas said softly, pulling his hand away from the hunter's and pressing it to the cool beer again. "Certain things seem to affect me more now."

"Yeah, like the fucking oven," Dean guffawed sarcastically, tilting his head back at the appliance. Cas poked his hand experimentally, sucking in air as the skin sparked painfully. Dean opened his mouth, intending to lecture Castiel more, but when he caught sight of his wings splayed out on the counter the words died on his tongue. They were in a sorry state, a few obvious gaps in the pattern and feathers frayed at the bottom.

"What happened to your wings, Cas?" Dean questioned in concern. The angel glanced down in the direction of the man's gaze, and Dean was surprised to see embarrassment glinting in his eyes when he glanced back up.

"They are…difficult to control at first. These corporeal wings," he murmured. As if to prove his point, one of the wings shot out and smacked a pile of books onto the floor with a dull thump before colliding into the opposite wall and falling limply to the floor. Cas cringed and shook it, dislodging a few loose feathers, before pulling it back into his body. The movements reminded Dean of a newborn, unsure about which muscles did what or the force that was required to complete certain action.

Dean swallowed the rude joke that was trying to force its way out of his mouth and bent down and picked up the feathers off the floor. He could make out tiny black specks sprinkling the deep brown of the feathers, almost indistinguishable from the main hue of the quills. Dean ran a finger down the longest one, lips parting in wonder when the light hit the plume just right and made it glimmer blue for a fraction of a second. Cas watched him intently, breakfast and injured hand momentarily forgotten.

"They're…they're-" he whispered, stopping just short of having a chick flick moment. Dean glanced up at the angel's wings, eyes skimming over complex patterns of feathers, the shimmering sheen of oil, and the light glowing through the primary feathers where there was no flesh to block it. Castiel grinned, one that actually showed teeth, before occupying himself with the food again. He shut off the burners beneath the eggs and the sausage before putting on an oven mitt and reaching into the oven.

"What's tha-aaaaaah." Dean's question dissolved into a sort of breathy moan when he saw what the other had pulled out of the oven.

"You made pie?" the hunter groaned, grabbing a knife and slicing into the still steaming dish while the angel dumped the sausage and eggs into two equal piles on a pair of plates.

"It seems Jimmy had a certain knack for the culinary arts," Castiel said appreciatively as he gazed down at the dishes before him. Dean stopped cutting the dessert and slowly turned his gaze on the other.

"Had?" he demanded, putting the knife down. Cas cleared this throat uncomfortably as he put the plates on the table. Dean followed with the pie raised to his nose in appreciation. The thick aroma of cinnamon and apples made his head spin and his mouth water in anticipation.

"I have been in control of this vessel much longer than was first intended," Castiel admitted as he rummaged around in a drawer in search of silverware. "Jimmy has chosen to move on rather than share his body with me."

"Move on? As in die?"

"If you want to put it so harshly, yes," Cas agreed, pulling out a pair of forks. "He chose heaven over rebirth."

"Rebirth?" the man repeated in surprise as the angel handed him a fork. "You can be reborn? Why don't I know about this?"

"Because," the other sighed, as if Dean should really know this "you only have that option if you are an angelic vessel."

"I'm a vessel," Dean argued stubbornly. "Why don't I get the option to choose Curtain Number Two?"

"You were never an occupied vessel," Cas explained, sitting down opposite Dean. "The rules don't apply to you." The hunter huffed indignantly at this and scooped a bite of egg into his mouth. He swallowed and was about to shovel another bite past his lips when suddenly he had a mouthful of feathers.

The Winchester dropped his fork and raked at his mouth, spitting and gagging as he pulled the feathers out of his face. Then, the quills were gone, replaced by the sight of Castiel looking immensely interested in the construction of his fork as a slow flush bloomed over his face. Dean worked his jaw and dug between his teeth with his tongue to remove the spindly fibers of feather was were stuck there. A the light blush that danced across Cas' cheeks turned a shade or two darker when the hunter spit the threads out.

"Sorry," he muttered, lifting a bite of sausage to his mouth. Dean licked his lips, tongue encountering the oily residue left from the plumage, and was slightly shocked to find that it didn't actually taste that bad. The oil had a fresh taste, like mint or chive.

"It's alright, man. Like you said, hard to control," the hunter replied with a soft chuckle, scooping up his neglected forkful of egg. The next few bites were chewed in silence before Dean decided to speak again.

"I know its taboo to talk about it, but I gotta ask, what is having wings like?" Dean asked eagerly, lifting another bite to his mouth. Cas lowered his fork and chewed at his bottom lip, glancing over his shoulder at the feathery appendages jutting out of his back.

Dean knew it was cliché, but he always imagined angels to have huge, white fluffy things. But Castiel's wings…they were warrior's wings. Their shape reminded the man vaguely of a falcon, and the very tips of the longest feathers shimmered with the smallest hint of gold.

"I can't answer that," Cas decided finally before closing his dry lips around his last bite of breakfast and standing to clear off his dish. Dean shoved the rest of his food into his mouth and dropped a piece of pie onto his plate.

"Why not?" he demanded around the bite, a piece of egg falling out of the corner of his mouth and onto his lap. "Against the rules?" Cas shook his head as he rinsed off his plate, glancing over his shoulder disapprovingly at the rude manners his friend was displaying.

"How would you describe having an arm or a leg? I don't know what it's like not to have them, therefore I can't possible explain what it's like to have them." Dean considered for a moment before shrugging and swallowing the obscenely large bite in his mouth.

"Fair enough," he concluded, prodding at his pie so it would cool down. "Hey," he said, a sly smile sliding over his face. "Do you guys have kinky wing sex up in heaven?" Cas' fork slipped from between his fingers and fell to the floor as his face turned bright red and his lips set in a straight line.

"Oh my god," Dean grinned. "You do have kinky wing sex!"

"We do not," Cas retorted, feathers ruffling indignantly. "But wings do play a large part in mating ceremonies."

"You guys mate?" Dean asked skeptically, testing a bite of apple filling with his tongue before deciding, regretfully, that it was too hot to eat.

"Well, the proper term would probably be "bond,'" the angel said, picking up the utensil that had clattered to the floor moments before. "And even that is a poor definition. You humans can't wrap your head around it, when two angels bond their graces mix together to create a nearly unbreakable connection."

"Nearly unbreakable? What, even angels can get divorced?"

"It has only happened a few times since my creation. Supposedly, it is very painful and scarring for both parties."

Dean finally took a bite of pie, rolling his eyes back into his head as he chewed loudly. He made strange noises in the back of his throat when he swallowed and eagerly gulped another bite down with equally pornographic sounds. Cas shook his head as he turned to pick up the books he had knocked over before, accidentally slapping the other across the face with his primary feathers as he did so. The man didn't even bother to brush them away as he chewed.

"Dude," he groaned, dumping another slice onto his plate. "Marry me?"

Castiel's feathers shuddered, but Dean couldn't tell if it was with annoyance or amusement. Truthfully, he didn't really care.

Because…pie.

...

I apologize profusely for accidently posting chapter one again yesterday instead of this chapter. Let it be known to all that I feel like an immense idjit and hopefully it shall never happen again!

Also I'm so sorry about the horrible cliché of Cas making pie for Dean. I just...ngh. I love clichéd fluff. The more the merrier. There is definitely more coming, including maybe the slight possibility of something feline. Maybe. I haven't decided yet. Be sure to check back next Monday for Chapter 5!(: And, of course, leave a review saying how awesome I am.(; 'Cause, yah know. I am Batman...