Cas and Dean are roommates, neither one of them aware that the other is secretly flying around the city in the guise of a superhero saving innocent lives–even if they do regularly stitch each other up. Cas is quite convinced he's in love with Dean however, yet Dean is interested in someone else. Someone he "works with." Someone that later comes crashing through his window with a familiar face.
Rated T for violence and language.
Flight Paths Home
Part 1 of 3
Maybe it was cliché, but there wasn't much Cas could do about it. Rather, he'd learned to embrace it, if only because there was little else in his life worth holding onto. He'd grown up reading Superhero comics—Batman, Spiderman, Superman (one of his personal favorites)—and looking up to them had been one of the few ways he'd been able to get through. And how he'd learned why having a secret identity was so important.
He liked Superman the best because, though he was fictional, it was to whom he related the most. Not necessarily because they shared similar abilities or physical traits. Rather, it was because Cas related to his backstory, or liked to think he did. Superman was different, had come from another world, and sometimes Cas wondered if he was like that too. If, somewhere out there, others like him existed, or had. He didn't know how to go about finding out, but he'd take advantage of the gifts he'd inherited. He'd use them as best he could to protect those weaker than himself. The humans, with whom he lived in secrecy, and who he adored unconditionally despite their differences.
Well, some of them.
"You're late," that taunting voice carved into his ears, Cas scowling as he fluttered around to see a familiar shape rising up from the roof of one of New York City's tallest skyscrapers. Wings flapping, Cas pursed his lips, arms crossing over his chest.
"Who said I was coming to help in the first place?"
"Shadow Wing, Shadow Wing, c'mon, don't be like that," the other man laughed, the sound muffled by the mask covering his entire head. "Just because you didn't get here fast enough to clean up the mess. Don't worry, we had it under control."
"I'm completely convinced," Cas, Shadow Wing as the public called him, replied, actively observing the shattered chunks of road beneath them, police lights flashing in attempts to ward off traffic. "Why don't you try not destroying the city once in a while though, Morganite. New tactics can be refreshing."
"Collateral damage." He waved it off flippantly, the slight glow of his hands lighting up the night air. "Like you haven't taken out a few things throwing around baddies."
"I try to avoid it, if at all possible."
"Are you two arguing? Again?" It was the voice of Emerald, Morganite's partner and, from what Cas could deduce based on how they worked and spoke to one another, his brother. Together, they made up what the press called the Divine Duo. They were psychics of sorts, or so Cas had reasoned over the years. Emerald—dressed fittingly in a tight suit of green with golden accents—was an "internal psychic." He had the power to read minds (except for Cas's, thank goodness. Another one of his many defenses apparently), telepathically move things, control people, speak to them via mental projection (as he'd just done), and Cas had even heard the two speaking about an ability that allowed him to see visions. Which was how Cas supposed they sometimes beat him to certain crime scenes. Only sometimes, however. When Emerald utilized his abilities—at least when it came to moving objects—they tended to glow a light, bright green color.
Unlike Morganite. If Emerald was an "internal" psychic, then Morganite was the opposite. Like his brother, he had the ability to move objects, but Cas had noticed that it worked in a different fashion. Emerald seemed to have control via his brain, somehow, whereas Morganite was more of a physical being. When he moved objects, he gestured with his arms, as if his abilities were outward. Which would coincide with the rest of what he could do. In a matter of speaking, Morganite had control of external energies. He could shape and warp objects, project force fields, even occasionally create replicas of certain simple items. Mostly, however, he used his ability to control "energy" (Cas didn't know any other way to describe it) to create lethal beams that varied in size dependent on his preferences. Sometimes they acted like whips, sometimes he created small, zinging shards or bullets. Sometimes sheets, sometimes balls. Any simple shape, really. Cas supposed his force fields were made in much the same manner. And always they were a very light, glowing pink color. His uniform as well, tight and accented with silver.
Somehow, his powers also granted him the ability to fly. Whenever he was up in the air, his body glowed with that light pink outline, Cas supposing he was manipulating his own physical being somehow to accomplish it. Occasionally Emerald flew too, but it seemed to be more challenging for him than his brother. He was all mental—telepathy, as he never glowed while doing it—so perhaps that was more difficult.
Like Cas, they kept their real identities hidden behind full facial masks. Theirs reminded Cas somewhat of the fictional Spiderman's, stretched over their noses with gold and silver eyes that allowed them to see, yet others couldn't peer in.
Cas had something similar, though the location of his eyes wasn't visible from the outside. Just a black pallet, the only thing giving away that he even had a face at all being how his nose protruded from the front. That, and the black hood slouching over his shoulders. Though he'd like for his whole body to be covered, his giant black wings hardly allowed for as much. Rather, his matching suit revealed his back, coming around like a halter-top turtleneck that attached to his mask. It was tight, like Morganite's and Emerald's outfits, and his black boots strapped around his thighs. Similar to how his gloves reached along his upper arms, muscular shoulders revealed.
Fastened to Cas's waist was a long, silver blade. He called it an angel blade, but, really, he didn't know what it was. He'd had it since before he could remember, learning early on how valuable it was. Able to cut through anything, he'd been saved by its edge on many occasions. He supposed, much like his wings and his "super strength," he'd inherited it from wherever he'd come from.
"We're not arguing," Morganite sighed. "We're just… talking."
"You guys never just 'talk.' It always escalates. If you both weren't fighting for the same things, you'd probably be enemies."
"Me and Shadow Wing?" Morganite "pffted" in doubt. "C'mon, Em. We're, like, best friends."
"Don't flatter yourself." Cas rolled his eyes despite the fact that Morganite couldn't see. Keeping himself suspended, his wings flapped, stirring the night air.
"That hurts," Morganite's glowing hand went to his chest. "Really. You cut me deep, Shadow. I'm telling you, if we all worked together, we'd be much better off."
"I work alone," Cas said for what seemed like the billionth time. He couldn't afford to reveal his identity. It was too dangerous, both for himself and what few people he valued.
"Doesn't that ever get lonely?" Morganite floated a little closer to him. "C'mon. I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours." Cas imagined that, if Morganite had eyebrows, they'd be waggling suggestively.
"Thanks, but no thanks." He flapped back some. "I have business to attend to. You two have a good rest of the night." He turned, ready to fly off and pausing only quickly to look over his shoulder. "Try not to destroy any more of the city."
He was flying off before Morganite could get in a proper rebuke.
Soaring up above the city, his wings flapped silently against the night air. The sparkling lights below drew some of his attention, before he then glanced up to the sky. He couldn't see the stars very well, not with the glare of New York fogging the darkness. Sometimes, he flew up as high as he could to get a better look. He wondered what was out there, if one of those little specks was where he'd come from. But the city, and the people, and his self-proclaimed responsibility, always drew him back.
He didn't have the time to look at the stars that night. He had to go home.
He'd been out, listening in on police radios and getting updates via his phone, since nearly five that afternoon, after he'd gotten out of work. The case he'd come upon Morganite and Emerald dealing with had related to a few crime bosses he'd been tracking for a while. It didn't bother him that the other two had beat him to the punch—they were on the same side, strictly speaking—but he didn't like the pattern the criminals were working in. Something was coming, someone was planning something big, but he didn't know what.
In any case, he'd gotten no closer to finding out that night, and it was nearing six in the morning. If at all possible, he tried to retain a schedule. Mostly for the sake of his roommate. Not because being out all night somehow impeded on the other man's goings on, but because Cas preferred to have the apartment to himself after coming in following a round through the city. His roommate was rarely in before seven, so if Cas got home before then, he'd be better off.
Their apartment wasn't in the best part of the city, the fading glimmer leading Cas home. He was thankful for the lack of light however. It allowed him to drop down onto the balcony unnoticed. Pushing his way silently in through the unlocked doors, he glanced quickly around to make absolutely sure he was alone before clipping them shut again. Slipping silently through the dark apartment, he was soon shutting himself securely up in his bedroom.
Flicking on the light, he glanced quickly to the window to make sure the drapes were pulled closed before pushing back his hood. Yanking off his black mask, he took a deep breath of air and ran his hand through his flattened black hair.
Not wanting to be walked in on by his roommate coming home, Cas forced his attention to what was important. That was, his wings. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture and, like he had hundreds of times before, began to mold the muscles.
Like a well-oiled machine, the tendons and bones protruding from his back began to fold in on themselves. Curling and retracting, the feathers shrank back into tiny seeds littering the bones. Bones that tightened until they were mere twigs. All at once, his skin sucked it in—until all that was remaining were two closed scars beside his shoulder blades.
Rolling his shoulders, Cas quickly adjusted to the change and was unbuckling the neck strap of his suit and sliding it down his body within the moment. Zipping down the boots and the gloves, he stood in only his briefs, his muscular body exposed for only a moment. He exchanged the ensemble for a pair of baggy pants and a long sleeved shirt that was probably two sizes too big. Adding a pair of black-rimmed glasses he didn't actually have to wear, and the disguise was complete.
He was Castiel Novak, early twenties, earned his living at the flower shop three streets over. Simple, and certainly not the type that flew out by night to chase criminals.
Picking up his suit, he stored in in the locked chest in his closet before heading out into the main part of the apartment. Two hours and he'd have to be to work, which was fine as far as he was concerned. Cas didn't sleep (unless he was severely injured or exhausted), which meant he could get away with his schedule. Doing his duty when others thought he was asleep and working his job otherwise.
Going to the kitchen, he flipped the switch to light the overhanging fluorescents. He established that all was in regular order before heading to the fridge. The apartment wasn't anything spectacular—exposed concrete walls and supports, foggy windows, only two bedrooms and a bathroom aside from the main area. But they'd decorated as best they could with used furniture, cheap dishes, and street art. It was home, in any case, and Cas even brought home flowers from work on occasion. He sat them in front of the glass so their colors came out in the sunlight.
He didn't know if his roommate appreciated his attempts, but he hoped so.
Just as Cas was sitting down at the table with his bowl of cereal, the sliding front door slid noisily aside. A single figure walked in.
A man, his roommate—Dean Winchester.
"Morning, Cas," he said as he slid the door closed behind him. The exchange was typical, Cas simply nodding as he returned to his cereal. Looking rather worn and tired—as he always did when he came home—Dean made his way over to the table and pulled out a chair across from Cas before bending down and beginning to untie is boots.
Cas watched him, taking in his hunched-over profile. His mussed, dirty-blonde hair and screen of freckles. His leather jacket was old and worn, and even though his jeans were below the table-line, Cas knew they were ripped and holey. Still, it made no difference to Cas.
Because when Dean finally sighed and leaned back, boots removed, and looked to Cas, he was as breathless as always.
Maybe Cas was a little in love with Dean. Maybe he was a lot in love with him. He'd stopped trying to measure it years ago. They'd moved in together five years prior, strangers then who'd made it clear on both sides that they had their own lives and preferred others stay out of it. It was their respect for each other's boundaries that had eventually allowed for a shallow friendship to form. And Cas's feelings had then run away from him.
Not only was Dean beautiful—with his big, green eyes, and long lashes, and perfectly full lips—but he was sweet. He liked to put on a rough façade, but Cas had learned to look beyond the cocky smiles to see the beauty behind. To see the man that had once helped a woman carry groceries up seventeen flights of stairs when they'd been shopping for food (with food stamps) one weekend. And the guy who had bought a group of ten elementary kids, with dirt marks on their faces and clothes that were too small, each an ice cream cone simply because he'd seen them loitering around the shop. He'd used the last ten dollars he'd told Cas he'd have to make due for food.
Cas had made sure to get enough for them both that week.
Yes, Cas was hopelessly in love with Dean. He was one of the few people that Cas cared about, and one of the biggest reasons he never gave his real identity out to anyone.
If the wrong person knew who he was, where he lived—with whom he lived—then Dean would be in danger. Cas would have to leave. And that was probably one of the most heartbreaking things he could fathom.
"Damn, I'm tired," Dean said, flashing Cas a quick, dazzling smile as he leaned back in the rickety dining chair. "But here you are, up and ready for work already. Flowers aren't even awake yet."
"Someone has to wake them up." Cas smiled just barely, lips only.
"And I'll be going to sleep." Dean stretched his arms, raising them above his head, which was when Cas saw it—the streak of blood dripping down the back of his upper arm.
"You're bleeding," he said in alarm, spoon plopping down into his cereal.
"Oh, yeah," Dean sighed, trying to look down the back of his arm at the wound. "Got nicked at work." They both heard the silent "again," but neither dared actually voice it. Cas didn't know what Dean did, working the late night hours that he did, and it'd been made pretty clear that he couldn't ask. Just as Dean couldn't ask about him. However, it wasn't out of the ordinary for Dean to walk in bruised or bleeding or even, on occasion, shot. Yet he refused to seek medical attention.
Sometimes Cas crept closer to the idea, wondering. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered that Dean was probably involved in illegal dealings. That he was, more than likely, a criminal. Sometimes Cas wondered if, one night, he'd be doing his rounds and suddenly Dean would be there. Dean would be the one he was leaving out for the police.
Or worse.
The idea was nauseating.
"Here," Cas pushed back his seat, standing before going to the bathroom. Pulling out their first aid kit, he was soon back at the table, Dean already rolling up his sleeve. They'd developed a routine when it came to injuries. Neither one wanted to draw attention to such things, whatever their reasons may be, so they'd come to helping each other—if only out of necessity.
Stringing the needle with the correct kind of thread they'd bought long before, Cas surveyed the damage. It was a clean cut, likely done by some kind of blade. A knife maybe. And as he began to clean the wound, he worried again about what Dean was always getting himself into.
He wondered if Dean was similarly concerned about him.
"How was your evening besides this?" Cas asked in his quietly joking manner, slowly and methodically beginning to stitch Dean's skin back together. If he did this well enough, it wouldn't even leave a scar.
"Oh, the usual," Dean laughed, Cas wholly convinced the conversation would end there. As it always did when they spoke of real life. They could chat about television, and the media, and other light topics. But anything bigger and polite questioning was as far as they got. Which was why Cas was surprised when Dean continued. "Actually, I've kind of got this problem."
Cas blinked, trying to think of a response. "O-oh, really?"
"Yeah," Dean sat back in the chair, Cas still bent over some as he put the back of his arm back together. "You're a pretty levelheaded guy, so…" Dean shook his head. "Well, anyway, this is the thing." He took a deep breath, as if he needed to prepare himself to talk about it. "There's this… girl… that I work with. I mean, it's not like we work 'together' together. She does her thing and I do mine, but anyway. So, this girl, she's… well, she's pretty great, to be honest."
"Oh…" Cas's response was quiet, his lips pursing as he ignored the way his chest tightened.
"I've kind of… liked her for a long time." Dean's voice sounded almost dry, as if this were difficult to talk about, and Cas made a pointed attempt to be invested. "She's just… incredible, really. Just how selfless she is, and she cares so much about what she does. And the way she moves." Dean sounded completely infatuated. Cas was pretty sure his whole heart was being ripped from his chest, all in a matter of one conversation. "But I'm pretty sure she hates my guts."
"I doubt that," Cas said almost defensively. Of what, however, he didn't quite know. His own feelings, maybe.
"What do you mean?" Dean looked up at him, Cas only quickly flicking his eyes up before focusing back down on the cut.
"You're a hard person to hate, Dean."
"Ha, thanks." Dean rolled his pretty eyes. "Well, I think she might. I try to, ya know, be smooth with her, but she just keeps rejecting me. I can't figure her out."
"What do you mean by 'smooth?'"
"I just, ya know, flirt, that kind of thing. Or try to."
"And she doesn't flirt back?" How could someone see Dean Winchester and not flirt back? Cas felt practically personally insulted.
"No. She usually just leaves."
"Maybe she doesn't realize what you're doing."
"Maybe…" Dean didn't sound certain.
"Why don't you try being direct?" Cas was tying the string, nearly finished with the stitches. "Just tell her how you feel. The most she can say is 'no.'" Cas told himself the same thing every day, but still he did nothing. It was so much more complicated for him than that however. For one, Dean didn't even appear to like men. And for two, well, he was clearly into someone else. Plus, there was the whole other identity, putting him in danger thing.
"That's what my brother keeps telling me," Dean huffed. "I was hoping you'd have better advice."
"I don't think there is any better advice," Cas reasoned, leaning up once he'd finished. "That's… all there is."
"Maybe…" Dean sounded deflated and Cas wanted to help, but he also wanted to get as far away as possible. He'd never heard Dean talk about interest in other people before. Not romantically. There'd never been any girlfriends, or dates, and that solitary lifestyle had comforted Cas. If only because then he could have his own feelings and not worry about the rejection that would never actually happen.
But now Dean was talking about some girl, and Cas's stomach was churning with things he'd never felt before. At least in relation to Dean. Uncertainty, panic. Jealousy. But mostly just hurt. He knew it wasn't justified, but he couldn't help it.
He blinked his eyes some in order to hold everything back, heading around to the kitchen sink to wash the needle.
Dean was standing in the same moment, making his way over to one of their sofas before plopping down again. The television was speaking a moment later, Cas knowing without a doubt that Dean was watching the morning news. Because Dean liked to know what was going on in the world, and that was one of the most amazing things about him.
Cas gritted his teeth as he wiped the needle far more than he actually needed to.
"I feel like every time I turn this thing on, that Morganite guy is on the news," Dean said once Cas was back at the kitchen table, replacing their supplies in the first aid kit.
"He does seem to be a bit of a showoff."
"Ah, that's not what I meant." Dean chuckled, Cas looking up only quickly, but Dean was still watching the news. Where, the cameras panning upward, Morganite's glowing outline was clearly visible up above the street. It looked like coverage from only a few hours before, or so Cas deduced based on the location and the state of the city streets.
"I guess I don't know what you mean then," Cas replied, trying not to sound too short. It wasn't Dean's fault his whole body wanted to run to his bedroom, curl up, and die. It was his own fault. He knew what he was, what he did. That should have been reason enough not to fall in the first place.
"I guess I just mean he's really visible. Can't hide out in the darkness like Shadow Wing."
"He seems to enjoy the attention."
Dean scoffed, finally turning to look at Cas. "What makes you say that?" Cas shrugged, glancing back down to the first aid kit as Dean's eyes narrowed. "I'm serious," Dean continued. "You're clearly not his biggest fan. What don't you like about him?"
"It's not that I don't like him," Cas admitted. "He's just… arrogant. Nothing about him seems real. I mean, he's obviously a selfless person, and he does a lot of good things, but… I don't know." Cas shrugged, finally returning the kit to the bathroom before coming back to see Dean still watching him.
"You really think he's arrogant?"
"I don't know." Cas paused, since Dean clearly wanted to continue the conversation and Cas would do anything for Dean no matter how much it hurt. "It's not like I actually know the guy."
"Ha, yeah, right…" Dean's gaze flicked down to the couch cushions.
"I don't really think anything of him, to be honest," Cas shrugged. "He's just a superhero." He didn't have the care to consider Morganite much. Or Emerald. They did their jobs and sometimes it was lucrative to work together. They were colleagues.
"'Just' a Superhero?" Dean cocked an eyebrow. "That's kind of an understatement." Cas smiled softly, deciding to simply admire the beauty of Dean's good humor than comment. "You're really not interested in them? I mean, I get if Morganite isn't your cup of tea, but there's still Emerald. And Shadow Wing. You have to like Shadow Wing."
"Why?" Cas forced a chuckle.
"Uh, because he's amazing." Dean was leaning against the back of the couch then. "He's got fuckin' wings, and super strength, and a badass sword. How can you not like that?"
While the flattery was nice, Cas was quickly deciding it only made the whole situation worse. He wished he could go back and say, "no, he didn't want to hear about Dean's day." And his "girl."
"Shadow Wing is my favorite." Dean sounded almost offended that Cas, seemingly, didn't share in his sentiments.
"Well, I'm sure he'd be glad to know. I'm just not interested in superheroes."
"I don't even understand how I can be friends with you now," Dean said flatly, Cas smiling softly again. "You're dead to me."
"And you're a nerd."
"Wait, wait, wait, I know you like superheroes. I've seen all those Superman comics in your room. Are you telling me you like that, but you don't like the actual, real life superheroes that we have here? That actually exist?"
"I never said I didn't like them. Just that I wasn't interested."
Dean was clearly still disapproving, and Cas almost laughed. Almost. But then Dean was "gahing" at him, like he was beyond help, and waving him toward the door.
"Just go plant your flowers or whatever it is you do, you silly man." Dean turned back to the television, where they were still covering Morganite and Emerald's escapade. Watching him for a second longer, Cas ignored how his heart pulled toward Dean, instead forcing it to tear as he grabbed his wallet from the counter and headed toward the door. Offering a light farewell, Dean responded halfheartedly and with a good deal of sarcasm as Cas walked out.
It wasn't until he was down the five flights of stairs and beside his locked bike in the hallway that Cas took the time he needed to really breathe. Leaning on the handlebars, he closed his eyes and willed his pounding heart to slow. There was no reason for him to be upset. He'd never intended to pursue Dean and it was only logical that his roommate show romantic interest in others. Women, as it were. He didn't belong to Cas, a certainty that he'd always told himself.
He'd just been on the precipice for so long. Ignorant of Dean's actions beyond himself. Seeing the reality of it all was just a beating he'd have to get over. Like all the others.
His lifestyle wasn't conducive to relationships anyway. It wasn't safe.
Forcing that thought into his head over and over again, Cas unlocked his bike before easily picking it up and hauling it out the door. Within moments he was pedaling down the street, weaving in and out of traffic as he pushed himself to work—hoping all the while that it'd be a busy day.
Thankfully, with it being so close to Valentine's Day, there were huge numbers of orders to be dealt with and arrangements to be made. Cas spent most of the workday cutting stems in his dirty green apron, which was more of a relief than anything. It distracted, and that was really, above all else, what he needed. It wasn't until they were nearing closing time—at around quarter after five—that things finally slowed. Or seemed to.
Cas was standing behind the counter, arranging flower labels, when it happened. A man, dressed in the comically stereotypical black with a ski mask, walked in. He wasted no time in pulling a gun from his jacket and threatening the three clerks working inside.
Blinking in surprise, Cas slowly raised his hands, Hannah and Meg, the two girls on duty with him, doing much the same.
"Money, all of it. Out. Now." Three more similarly dressed accomplices filed in after that, each armed and spreading out around the small shop. Cas pursed his lips, internally cursing. He didn't wear his costume when he was doing civilian work for a reason. One, so no one would accidentally see it, and two, because if he did happen to hear about something going down, he needed a reason why he couldn't rush out and do something. He had to make a living somehow, and that meant being disciplined and acknowledging that it wasn't always his responsibility to do something.
However, getting robbed by a bunch of joker thieves was practically insulting. Yet he couldn't just bust out his wings or throw the counter at them either. He had to uphold his identity at all costs. Unless lives were truly threatened, then he really had no choice but to hand over the money. It was the wiser decision all the way around.
"Let's go, four-eyes," one of the men waved his gun in Cas's direction. "Empty that register!" Still quite annoyed about the whole ordeal, Cas slowly lowered his hands to the drawer before popping it open. With a click and a ping, the cash was exposed, Hannah doing much the same with the register on the other side of the counter. The two girls were clearly pale and scared, even Meg, who was the a-typical tough-girl. They did as they were told with little hesitation.
"Put it in there." the man previously threatening him approached Cas's side of the counter, tossing a small duffel beside the register. Pulling open the bag, Cas began to put what little cash was in the register inside, the man watching him the whole time. "Is that really all that's in there?" The gun was pointing dangerously close to Cas's face. "You guys have been busy all day! There's more! Where is it?!"
The robber was right. Cas had only cleared the registers an hour before, taking the funds to the back as he did every day. All that was remaining was what he'd left for change and what they'd made since.
Cas tried to decide what to say. The two girls both had guns aimed in their directions as well, their worried, wide eyes swaying Cas's decision.
"It's in the back," he admitted. "I took it back just a little while ago." Though their faces weren't completely visible, Cas could see the intruders deliberating. He chose to add, "I'm the only one who knows the combination for the lock." It wasn't true—both girls had access to the cash safe as well—but he hoped they wouldn't give away what he was trying to do.
"You two," the lead robber, or so it would seem, gestured to two others before refocusing on Cas, "take him to the back and get the rest of it." Nodding, the two rounded the counter, one of them taking Cas by the arm and forcefully spinning him to march him through the back door. Cas allowed it, his mind buzzing as the two armed men "escorted" him.
There were two layers to the back room. The first was the greenhouse where the flowers were kept. The second was the office, where the money was stored. Cas motioned to the second door across the greenhouse, one of the robbers sighing as they pushed him between the rows of plants.
Cas was thankful for the distance, however. It'd muddle the noise.
Taking quick stock of the situation, he had a plan ready to set in motion just as they were walking through the second doorway.
He had to get this done as quickly and silently as possible. No time for theatrics. The risks posed to Meg and Hannah if the guns went off were too great.
The doorway was small, and the man holding tight to Cas's arm had to slide slightly in front of him in order to enter first. Which gave Cas the leverage to spin out of his hold.
He caught the wide eyes of the second assailant, the only thing able to give away his surprise as Cas easily reached up for his gun. Or, rather, the man's wrist. Twisting it, he felt the skin stretching as the bones cracked, the man releasing a guttural scream as the gun fell from his hand. Catching it with his open hold, Cas dropped the man's wrist as he went to turn back to the first, who was aiming and ready to shoot as Cas whipped around to face him.
Cas had twisted the gun in his hand so as to utilize the butt, and before the trigger of the other could be pulled on him, Cas was thwacking the first man in the temple, sending him tumbling into the side of the doorway. Clearly dizzy, he slumped to the ground, dropping his own gun, which Cas picked up with his other free hand.
Returning his attention to the second man, he did a swift roundhouse, bashing him in the side of the head. Knocked away, he careened face-first into one of the flower tables, the heavy wooden top catching him before sending him collapsing to the ground.
Flipping the guns around right, Cas aimed them both to either side—to the two men—but was soon satisfied to find they were both out cold.
He didn't have extra strength for nothing, and he hadn't even tried that hard.
"Well, I guess you've got this under control." Startled, Cas turned back toward the shop door, guns raised and ready. "Whoa, let's not do anything rash, alright?"
"Morganite," Cas said dumbly, blinking a few times before finally allowing the guns to fall to his sides. He quickly reminded himself that he wasn't in costume—that this man thought him a mere civilian—and tried to adjust his behavior to such. However, he'd just taken out two armed robbers, alone, so it was hard to totally pretend at the guise of being a frumpy flower shop worker. Perhaps it was better to play at some middle ground.
"Gotta say, didn't expect to come in here and find this." Morganite's pale pink and silver arms crossed over his chest. "You don't exactly look the type."
"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover," Cas replied, wondering if perhaps he should add that he was a martial arts master, but decided it was probably better to remain ambiguous.
"Clearly." Morganite laughed, looking him up and down again. Cas felt his nerves spike. He didn't want to be found out.
"You really come here just for this?" Cas tried to divert the subject, gesturing to the robbers. "Seems a bit below your pay grade."
"I was in the area," Morganite explained, his hand glowing as he reached up and zapped the guns from Cas's hands—quite to Cas's wide-eyed alarm. "I know a buddy who works around here. Wanted to make sure he was alright. Emerald picked up the waves of panic coming from the two chicks." He tapped his head, as if to reference his brother's abilities.
Which was when Cas really did start to panic. "Oh… I see…" If Emerald was nearby, then he was probably spreading his mind out, probing the area. Or had been. And since he couldn't crack into Cas's head, he probably wouldn't even know he was there. If he showed himself to Emerald—if Emerald tried to read his mind and couldn't—his identity would be exposed.
"Funny, he didn't say anything about your reaction." Morganite wasn't stupid, Cas pursing his lips. He was making a somewhat personal implication, which could easily lead to suspicion.
"I stay calm about most things."
"Oh yeah?"
He was saved by the sound of sirens outside the shop.
"Well, that's my cue to go." Morganite mock-saluted him before raising the two guns he'd forcefully taken from Cas's grasp. "I'll leave these just here. Don't need ya shootin' me before I get on out." He set them down on one of the flower tables, Cas understanding his logic. If there was one thing everybody wanted, it was the real identities of the city's superheroes. Cas tended to disarm civilians too, if he had to stay and do something. The last thing any of them needed was a trigger-happy fan to shoot them on their way out and leave them stranded for the police.
Skipping easily to the side, Morganite did a little leap and was soon airborne. He flew right through the ceiling, warping it to allow passage. Cas watched for a moment, just until the police came barreling in. At which point he was forced to raise his hands yet again.
It was some hours before he was finally allowed to go home. He'd had to explain what had happened numerous times, and even gone through some investigatory questions down at the police station. But when all was over, he was finally up in his bedroom slipping on his personal uniform. Once his hood and mask were in place, he pushed his wings out from hiding and took off from the balcony into the setting sun. Armed with his angel blade, he headed up toward the Empire State Building. Perching at the top—where he liked most to be—he folded his wings up against his back and pulled his phone from the leather case he had attached to his belt, tuning into the incoming news about recent crime. He also focused his sensitive ears on the frequency that police sirens made, ever ready.
The first hours of the night he spent circling the city, only intervening when the police seemed to be having trouble. Shadow Wing was a creature of the night—only revealing himself when he felt it was absolutely necessary and vanishing just as quickly—unlike Morganite, who tended to flaunt himself before dashing off. Emerald was more subdued, but generally if his brother was around, then he was lurking visibly in the background or atop some building somewhere. Yet very few aside from Cas seemed to notice him. Cas had his suspicions that the psychic tended to play at mental games, making himself invisible to anyone who might see him by somehow erasing himself from their minds. Obviously, this didn't work on Cas, which was why he was always able to spot him.
It was nearly two when he got an interesting report across the emergency line of his phone. A chase downtown, those involved both armed and dangerous, and suspected of being possible gang members. Wondering if perhaps this was part of the same string of gang activities he'd dealt with recently, Cas flew off, easily darting between the buildings until he was directly above the chase.
Two cars, one straight truck, and four flashing cops, all of them screeching down the city streets. Tucking in his wings, Cas soured down into the fray, releasing the appendages again as he landed atop the trailer of the straight truck. Wings tucked once more, he easily toed over the top of the moving vehicle until he was at the cab. Supposing there was little hope for the truck at these speeds with a criminal behind the wheel, Cas slipped his angel blade from its holster before carving easily through the top of the truck. There were no gunshots fired, much to his surprise, and as he finally tore a hole in the top and peered in, he understood why.
The man at the wheel was alone, tape over his mouth and across his hands, leaving him strapped to the steering wheel. He glanced up at Cas in both horror and relief, but was soon focused again on the road.
"Stop the vehicle," Cas demanded, but the driver only shook his head, making a helpless groaning noise and swerving dangerously around a curve. Holding himself steady, Cas easily came to a conclusion on the situation. The only reason this man would participate in a crime like this was if he was threatened somehow, and based on his hands being taped down, it likely wasn't blackmail. Probably something physical, like a gun to is head.
Backing up a crouched step, Cas peered around the truck, eventually finding himself examining the sides. It was then that he saw it, the flashing light emanating from beneath the footboard on the right side. Jumping down to it, Cas took hold of the mirror for leverage, glancing in through the passenger side window before nodding encouragingly to the driver. Wings scrunched up against the side of the moving vehicle, he turned back just in time to see Morganite's pink glow stop one of the other running cars right in its tracks, his power holding the tires before they were forcefully removed from the vehicle. There was a slight flash where the doors were bent in, probably breaking them, before Morganite dropped the car again, likely locking the driver inside and for the police to investigate. All of it happened in a matter of moments, the man behind it soon appearing as well.
Taking his chance, and for once thankful that Morganite was there, Cas reached down, yanked the flashing bomb from where it was strapped up under the truck, and tossed it to the other hero. It was detonating as he did, the bright explosion seeming immanent until a pink barrier flashed around it. Like a containment bubble, the bomb went off harmlessly inside, all orange and fiery, but harmless tucked in Morganite's shield.
The truck came to a screeching halt a moment later, be it because the driver knew he was safe or because he'd been shocked by the sight of the explosion outside his window. Propelled by the pressure, Cas shot to the side, his wings unfolding to catch him before casting him up into the darkness. Catching a draft, he allowed it to push him further up as he glanced down at the crime scene.
His attempts at trying to survey the situation didn't last long. Within but a few seconds, he caught site of the pink flash of Morganite streaking between the buildings, clearly in pursuit of something. Likely Emerald had managed to locate something pertinent to figuring out what was going on and so they were going after it. Tucking his wings, Cas spun easily, plummeting down before flapping out again. Straining the muscles protruding from his back, he surged forward, flitting in and out of the glaring lights of the city. Catching up to Morganite, he trailed some to the side, dropping down when Morganite dove onto the roof of an old warehouse.
How typical.
A moment later, Emerald walked out from behind a large chunk of metal chimney, how he got there a complete mystery to Cas. Together, the three of them stood silhouetted against the night sky, Cas waiting for some kind of cue to act.
He didn't have to wait long.
"You boys are so predictable." The voice was familiar, all of their attention snapping to the right as a single figure appeared out of the shadows. He was wearing a dapper suit and an arrogant smirk, a shot of yellow whiskey held lazily in his hands. "All I had to do was set up a simple car chase and here you are."
"Crowley," Morganite growled out, all of them familiar with the name as well as the villain's English accent. He was a notorious mobster, but none of the "heroes" had ever managed to catch him first hand. He'd always taunted them with recordings and letters, and every time he had shown his face, he'd somehow managed a slippery escape.
"How astute of you, Squirrel." He raised his glass in a toast. "Please, why don't you allow more of that aggressive testosterone to leak out." He took a drink, his other hand in his pocket.
Morganite snarled.
"If we're the ones you wanted, why didn't you just make it known," Cas cut in. "You didn't have to involve innocent people."
"Where's the fun in that?" Crowley paced shortly to one side, not at all fazed by their presence.
"What is it that you want then?" Emerald asked.
"Want? What I want is for the three of you to keep your noses out of my business." This piqued Cas's interest. "I've got a job I'm working on and you three keep getting in the way of my dealings. I lose too many more of my men to your metal bars and I'll have to forfeit my contract."
"Contract?" Cas latched onto the information immediately.
"Now don't you worry your wings about that, Sparkles." Crowley nodded toward him. "That's grown-up business. And you three," his voice deepened, putting the three on guard, "have been playing around in my way for a little too long."
It all happened very quickly then.
Crowley's hand was pulled from his pocket, which spurred Emerald to try and take action. Before he could try and get into Crowley's head however, the villain flicked his wrist and Emerald was sent flying backward. Colliding hard with the metal chimney, he left a gracious dent, both Cas and Morganite watching in surprise.
"Em!" Morganite almost looked as though he'd go to his fallen brother.
"You boys don't have any idea what you're dealing with." Gaping, Cas watched in shock as Crowley's eyes took on a red tinge. For a moment, he truly looked the demon her was. But then his finger was snapping and both Cas and Morganite twitched their attention to the rabid snaps and growls that were erupting from behind Crowley. Four pairs of glowing, red eyes soon crept up from the darkness, followed soon by bared, bloodied teeth and shaggy, smoking black coats of fur.
"Consider this a warning," were the final words Crowley uttered before he disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. The dogs—if that was even what they were—came barreling forward immediately after. Morganite bolted back, placing himself between the fangs and his unconscious brother, two of the animals coming after Cas in the same moment.
Lips pursing, Cas flared his wings before surging up off the roof. His assent was so violent that he left behind a cracking dent in the roof. Yet his flight had done little good. As if forming from darkness itself, the hounds were beside him, clouded and malformed, but snapping at him in the air. They rushed up beside him, airborne as Cas blinked in shock.
Quick to act, he pulled his angel blade from his belt, spinning the hilt in his hand as the first dog came at him. Using every bit of his strength, Cas gritted his teeth and swiped forward, expecting the blade to puncture some kind of physical bone and flesh. When the blade wisped easily through the coiling smoke however, he was abruptly at a loss.
The blade had done nothing, those otherworldly jaws still rushing toward him.
Before Cas could react, he felt those large fangs sinking into his arm, a yell of outrage ripping through his whole body as he raised his blade again and brought it down hard on the hound's head. That time he hit something, the dog yipping as the blade sank into some kind of sinewy flesh that Cas couldn't place.
His first failed attempt, however, had given the animals too much leverage. Though he'd taken down one, the other was on him, Cas's yell becoming a high pitched screech as teeth latched onto the base of his right wing. He knew the sound coming from his throat was inhuman, but he didn't care. The dog was ripping his feathers and skin, and crushing his bone. Acting purely on necessary defense, Cas propelled his body around sharply, tossing the hound off him even as he felt his wing tearing against his back. Blade in hand, he caught the thing by the throat as it flew by, dispatching it.
But even as the dogs vanished, Cas felt himself grappling at the air. His heart surged into his throat, his one good wing flapping in an attempt to make up for the injuries to the other. It wasn't enough, however, Cas's breath catching as the air whipped by all around him.
He was falling, and bleeding, and there was no one he could call for help.
He was alone, the night folding in around him.
oOo
"I'm really worried, Sam," Dean was saying as he paced back and forth across his dinky apartment. "I mean, that screech fucking woke you up. And we couldn't find him anywhere. What if those things got him?" Outside, it was raining, Dean rubbing the bandage around his forearm—the one holding his phone—more so out of needing something to do than because it was bothering him. Sure, the bite hurt, but it wasn't proving to have any other adverse side effects.
"I understand that, but we looked all over the city after we killed those things. You know I can't sense him. What else do you want us to do?" Sam was home resting, Jessica taking care of him. Dean was supposed to be indulging in something similar, and even though his roommate didn't know who he was, he'd been hoping he'd be there to help patch him up. Despite it being four in the morning however—when Cas was usually sleeping—he wasn't there.
"Maybe I'll go out and look for him again," Dean muttered, looking to the window and glaring at the way the rain sheeted against the glass. "Where the hell is Cas?" As if he didn't have enough to worry about.
"Just calm down, alright?" Sam said. "Shadow Wing's been on his own a long time now. I'm sure he's fine. If something had happened to him, then someone probably would have… found a body or something."
"Gee, Sam, what a comfort." Dean hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but his brother was doing a piss-poor job easing his concerns.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Sam snapped. "Crowley caught us off-guard and-"
"What the hell was that?" Dean's questioned hissed into the phone, his eyes snapping to the foggy glass that led out onto his balcony. He could have sworn he'd seen something. Some kind of heavy shadow had flashed down from the roof. He took a single step forward, ignoring Sam's questioning on the other line.
A loud bang echoed around the apartment a second later, Dean dropping his phone and raising his hands defensively as the door swung harshly open. Wind and rain whipping in, Dean nearly sent an energy blast at the swelling outline framing the doorway.
But then it was falling forward, Dean making out dirtied, ruffled feathers as unsteady legs shook and collapsed. Despite an attempt to reach out and catch himself, Shadow Wing buckled forward onto the end table near the door, sending the lamp shattering to the floor as he landed on his knees.
Eyes wide, Dean tried to take in what was happening, but before he could consider comprehension, he saw the white sheen of bone surrounded in blood and torn skin sticking up out of Shadow Wing's back. His wing was twitching helplessly, his hands shaking as he scratched at the floor. Like a wounded animal, he fell fully to his side, his wing flapping helplessly as a guttural, animalistic whine echoed up from somewhere inside him.
He was in pain.
Incredible pain.
Sopping wet and dripping in blood, he clawed at the ground, gestures desperate and searching as he tried to move across the apartment. What he was looking to do, Dean had no idea. But his injury was causing his entire body to twitch dangerously, forcing him onto his side despite how he tried to rise.
Dean had to do something. Anything. It didn't matter how Shadow Wing had managed to find him, that wasn't important. In that moment, Dean knew he needed to help him.
"Hey, hey, hey," Dean started quietly, slowly approaching the other man. "Calm down, alright? I'll help you. You got to let me help you." He tried to get in beside Shadow, but those wings were flapping wildly, hardly allowing him to get close. And as if startled by the sound of his voice, Shadow Wing was suddenly finding his footing again. Stumbling up, he toppled to the side, into the kitchen table. He sent some of the chairs sprawling, his weakened posture seeming to then throw him into the wall.
Dean couldn't stand to watch it anymore, the torture. Raising his hands, he took bodily control of Shadow Wing, holding him down against the wall with the pink glow of his powers. Shadow's back exposed, Dean could feel him struggling, but even with his added strength, he wasn't strong enough. At least, not in that moment.
Eyes quickly surveying the situation, Dean realized what the main problem was, aside from the blood and the torn skin. In comparison to his good wing, Shadow's right appendage was sticking out at an odd angle. Like a shoulder or hip popped out of place, the bone was hanging loose from the socket. Sure, Dean didn't know much about the physical makeup of dudes with wings, but he'd seen enough injuries over the years to be able to diagnosis such a thing.
Pulling his fingers together, Dean focused more of his energy around that protruding bone. Feeling out the structure, and how it might fit back into place, he pursed his lips and quickly decided there was no reason to waste time. Taking a quick breath, he grit his teeth before pushing the force of his power harshly forward. With a crack and an earsplitting screech from Shadow, the wing was snapped back into place. Dean immediately released his hold on Shadow Wing, half-expecting to be attacked. But, even as his scream died down, Shadow Wing failed to move away from the wall. Rather, breathing heavy, he still gripped at it, wings twitching as he did.
Until, as if every part of him was finally giving in, he began to slide down. Toppling back, he started to fall, Dean's eyes bugging as he rushed forward. Feathers and all, Dean caught him before he hit the ground. Covered head lolling to the side, Shadow was limp in Dean's arms, only breathing softly beneath his black suit.
For a moment, Dean didn't know what to do. Rather, he simply stood, trying to comprehend what was happening.
When it finally hit him—that Shadow Wing was unconscious inside his apartment—Dean gulped before making his way to the couch. Feathers dragging on the floor, he set Shadow Wing down on the cushions, doing his best to situate him in a way that would take pressure off his right wing.
Turning away, Dean took the moment needed to shut the balcony door to gather his thoughts.
Shadow Wing was there, had known where to find him. Which meant that he must know he was Morganite, right? Why else would he have shown up at Dean's apartment practically screaming for help? It was the only thing that made any logical sense, even if Shadow Wing seemed to hate him most of the time. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Turning back to the superhero stretched out on his couch, Dean was actually thankful Cas wasn't home. He was a little concerned about his roommate's whereabouts, but he wasn't sure how he'd explain this away.
He wasn't even sure how to explain it to himself.
Approaching the couch again, he tentatively sat down on the coffee table before it. He supposed he could try and wake Shadow Wing up, get him out of there, but that seemed awfully cold. Maybe if he dragged him into his own bedroom, he could hide him from Cas. But what would he do when he woke up? Just let him… fly off? If he could fly at all.
The thought didn't sit well with Dean, especially with the new knowledge that Shadow Wing had to know who he was. No, it didn't matter how much he trusted Shadow in battle or even liked the guy, he couldn't allow himself to be on the losing side of this. Shadow Wing had come to him, after all. The least he could give, then, was his identity.
Swallowing hard, Dean reached out, hesitating for only a second before allowing is hand to slide back the black hood hovering above Shadow's covered face. Once that was out of the way, he gently gripped the top of his mask and, with his breath held tightly in his chest, tugged on it.
Coming up, it revealed the face beneath.
A familiar face.
Eyes widening, Dean gaped. "Cas…" he breathed out, watching as his roommate's head fell lightly to the side. That sharp profile and jagged jaw. Dark hair and those bags that always seemed to be lingering under his eyes. It couldn't be anyone else.
Which was when Dean figured it out.
Shadow Wing hadn't been coming to him. He'd been coming home.
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