It'll be like a bag of Skittles on an acid trip.
Color Wheel
Dean had always thought that Castiel's wings were the most fantastic thing he had ever laid eyes on. There was nothing more glorious or more enchanting than the angel's wings spread in their full glory. Night or day, they shone brighter than the sunlight, made the rest of the world seem bland and colorless in comparison. They had no equal.
What eluded Dean for the longest time was what else, aside from pleasure, those wings were good for.
If he thought about it hard enough, he probably realized that he had always known that Cas' wings were like a bulletin board for the angel's emotions. But with the swirl of colors and lights it had never really, really stuck. Well, that and most of the time when he saw those wings it was because he was running his fingers through them and smothering their owner in kisses.
Until the day Dean decided to try and tell Cas no.
"I'm coming with you." The angel stated as Dean shoved some guns into a bag.
"Yeah, I told you no." Dean responded, "This isn't just some half-assed parlor witch, Cas, this is a mega bitch. She knows how to mojo you into next week."
"I am an Angel of the Lord." Castiel said, "She cannot harm me."
"This one can." Check, reload, stow away, rinse, lather, repeat, "She knows how to hurt you, we've been poking around. I don't want you to get hurt. You're staying here."
"Dean." The tone of Castiel's voice had become dark and Dean looked over his shoulder to see the angel's blue eyes glaring angrily at him, "Do not tell me I cannot go with you."
"Tough shit." Dean muttered, turning his back, "You. Are not. Coming. End of story."
"It is not." Cas snapped and the room was suddenly lit with color and lights not coming from the lamps. Dean spun around to see the angel's wings unfurled from his back, half spread, lighting up the angry glare on his face, "If she can harm me then there is more danger to you. I will not allow you to go by yourself."
"Sammy's coming." Dean said, sticking his chin in the air. He wasn't about to let his angel push him around.
"Dean." Castiel growled, "Do not test me."
It was then that Dean noticed how the colors in Castiel's wings were shifting. More of the reds and oranges and yellows were rising to the surface. Angry lava red flared against defensive orange, pushing back the cooling tones of winter shadows blue and sea surf green. Traffic light yellow flared, sending a cascade of lights down the walls, and was quickly followed by a burst of rich burgundy.
Cas was seriously pissed. Must have been a bad week.
Dean had backed down and allowed Castiel to come along on the hunt. Which had turned out to be a good thing because the witch was a bitch to deal with and all three of them went home a little worse for wear. But Castiel's wings returned to their usual tirade of wild colors and lights and nothing was said about the subject.
But Cas had apparently realized that Dean was finally beginning to understand the subtle shifts in color that played across his wings.
The next time they saw each other—no hunt, just a meal together at a rather crowded Cracker Barrel that had been the only thing for miles in a stretch of industrial factories—Cas let his wings open loosely from his shoulders for no apparent reason.
Dean was not really in the mood to fondle them and Castiel didn't seem to be in any mood to let him. He simply sat across the table from Dean, occasionally poking at food he really didn't need to eat, and watching Dean out of the corner of his eye like he thought the oldest Winchester couldn't tell. Dean ignored him, mostly. Sort of. He couldn't help but let his eye wander around the restaurant, watching the colors and lights play off the walls and the people and the glasses.
"He's got his wings out again, doesn't he?" Sam asked in a resigned tone, watching as Dean's green eyes stared at a spot on the table. Dean grunted in return; Sam couldn't see it but Castiel's wings were making some pretty cool light shapes through his glass of water. And it was while he was staring at the particular strands of light playing across the worn wooden tabletop that he noticed something.
The majority of the colors coming off of Cas' wings had changed again. They were mostly reds, not the angry ones from before, subtle, warm reds. Deep crimson splashed across an old set of hockey gear hanging on the wall, maraschino cherry played across a waitress' face as she walked past, firelight red danced on the ceiling, and…
"Cas, is that hot pink? Are you wings seriously hot pink?"
"No." Castiel said in the flattest tone he could muster and he pulled his wings close against his back. But he didn't put them away.
After that, Dean kept noticing the colors. And he started to understand what they meant. A little. Reading people had never really been a huge forte of his but with Cas…he just sort of knew.
Like he knew that when that particular shade of lime green surfaced that it meant Cas didn't agree with him about something. He knew that a wash of rich, deep, royal purples were pride either for Cas himself or for someone he was close to, like one of the Winchesters. Bright oranges and yellows meant caution and alertness but throw in a dash of blinding red and it was rage, a certain silvery shade laced in light yellow like a wedding band in sunlight was contentment, deeper yellows and golds were happiness that lightened or darkened depending on the depth of that happiness, and waves of deep sea blues tangled with forest greens were worry for people Cas was close to.
Castiel's wings were as complex as he was and sometimes Dean got the wrong message but for the most part he understood what Cas' wings were trying to tell him. The only ones he couldn't figure out were those rich displays of reds and magentas and, hell, pinks. They were very distracting and whenever Dean saw them, his wandering gaze eventually found Castiel's brilliant blue eyes and the angel would hurriedly tuck his wings against his back as if this would stem the flow of light and color radiating from them.
And they popped up at the oddest moments.
Like when they were driving in the car and the interior of the Impala was abruptly filled with shimmering reds. Or when Dean was lounging on the bed, slowing himself down for a good night's sleep, and Cas' wings would just spontaneously unfold in a shower of iridescent crimson. Or when Dean was eating, those were the weirdest ones. And sometimes Castiel would just pop up for no apart reason, coat the room in scarlet for a while as he stared pointedly at Dean, and then left without ever really saying anything.
"Is something wrong with Cas?" Sam asked one evening as they were unpacking in the motel room.
"I think so." Dean muttered, shoving a stash of guns under his bed with his foot, "He just keeps showing off his wings everywhere and they keep turning red and it's weirding me out."
"Maybe it's a mating dance." Sam joked and then laughed and ducked as Dean hurled a pillow at him.
"Seriously, Sam, I'm not kidding." Dean flopped onto his bed, yanking his shoes off and dropping the on the floor before shimmying up the covers to lean against the headboard, "You remember how I told you his wings are usually, like, all the colors of the universe?"
Sam nodded, fighting the smile he always got when Dean talked about Castiel's wings, "Like rainbows, yeah, I remember."
"Dude, really, cut it out with the double rainbow thing. It stopped being funny the first time you said it." Dean scowled at his younger brother and returned to the topic at hand, "Anyway, sometimes the colors just sort of…go all red. I mean, there's still other colors there but it's like they're pushed back or something."
"Maybe he's mad at you?" Sam offered, sitting down on his own bed and draping his arms over his knees.
Dean shook his head, "Wrong kind of red. If he was mad, they'd be orange and yellow too. Nah, these are all…I dunno, soft reds or something."
Sam made his "wtf" face and shrugged, "I don't know what to tell you, Dean, I don't know angel…biology or whatever. Look, maybe you should just ask—."
A flutter of wings and rubies were scraping across the walls as crimson spilled across the floor, pooling in the cracks and overflowing magenta onto the bed sheets. Sam looked at the newly appeared Castiel (who only had eyes for Dean) and then back to his brother. Dean raised his eyebrows and gave a small nod.
"Cas, are you sick?" Sam asked, turning back to the angel.
Those blue eyes darted to look at the youngest Winchester and then immediately snapped back to Dean, "No." He tilted his head to the side and Dean realized that the angel was observing him, waiting for something, like he kept expecting Dean to catch onto this huge joke that had been going on around him.
Dean's eyes narrowed, "You sure? 'Cause your wings have been turning red a lot lately."
There was a twitch across Castiel's lips as though he had thought about smiling and then decided against it, "I know." Was all he said.
"God, you're frustrating." Dean threw up his hands in defeat, sinking back against the pillows.
"Think about it." Castiel said and it was such a sly response that both Winchesters looked around at him in wonderment.
"What?" Dean muttered.
"Red, Dean." The barest hint of exasperation in the angel's voice, "Think about it."
"Red?" Dean looked to Sam who was frowning and then turned back to the angel, "What, red, like, blood?" No response, "Fire?" Nothing, "Uh, dragons?"
Sam started laughing and Dean glared at him. The youngest Winchester just waved a hand through the air, rolled off the bed, and headed for the door, still chuckling to himself. Dean watched him go, confused and annoyed, and sat back with a huff.
"Stop signs." He offered to which Castiel still said nothing, those brilliantly red wings still cascading color and light all over the room, "Crayons. A crayon. Cure for caner—no wait, that's pink. Um, candy? Jawbreakers. Skittles. Come on, give me a clue. Roses? Hearts? Valentine's Da—oh."
And then Castiel actually smiled and his wings spread out wide. Scarlet and magenta tangled with gold and lion's mane yellow, clashing brightly against the hot pink and neon blazes of silver and white that were streaking through the feathers. Arches of light whipped around the room and Dean suddenly found himself pinned to the bed by an angel coated in light. Somewhere in the journey between the wall and the bed, Castiel had lost his coat. And his tie. And his shirt.
He leaned against Dean and pressed his face into the man's neck, breathing in deeply. Words tumbled past his lips in a hot whisper but Dean only caught five. Five very important, burning hot, world-shattering words,
"I love you, Dean Winchester."
Dean wove his fingers into those glorious feathers which were once again spilling out every color ever dreamed of, "Me too."
"Say it." Castiel ground out and his hands rode up Dean's shirt, pushing it aside so he could trace the chest beneath, "I want to hear you say it, Dean."
Dean tried to lean up and kiss him but Castiel twisted away, lips brushing over Dean's collarbone, fingers drawing sigils and warnings and claims against Dean's skin with invisible lines.
"I…" The words got stuck somewhere and Dean choked on them. He tightened his grip on those wings in a sudden fear that if Cas didn't hear what he wanted, then he would simply leave, "Cas, I…God, Castiel…I…"
"Tell me." Castiel urged in a soothing tone, his breath whispering in Dean's ear, "Tell me, tell me, Dean Winchester, I want to hear you say those words. Please, I need to hear you say them to me."
Dean fought past all of his mental blocks, all of his guards, all of his safeties. He pushed them aside, tore them down, left them scattered in pieces behind him. Rare was it that Dean Winchester ever told anyone how he really felt. He would show them, he would defend them, but hard pressed was the person who could say they had ever actually heard Dean say that he cared.
But Castiel wanted to hear, needed to hear it. And Dean wanted to tell him, he really did, it was just that terrible aching fear of losing someone that had kept the words at bay. Now all of those defenses against that fear, all of those blockades and walls and bared wire fences meant to keep those things from rushing forth had holes in them.
Dean took a breath, shaking in his throat, turned his head so he could look into Castiel's impossible, blue eyes, and said in a voice that was just above a whisper,
"I love you, Castiel."
