"Ugh, Crowley, you are such an asshole."

Crowley laughed, turning down Metallica from the ear splitting volume that he'd just shot it up to. "Whatever. Come on, Sleeping Beauty, we're here."

Sam gave him a final lash of his bitch face before he opened his door, getting out. He slammed it shut after himself.

"Hey now," Crowley warned, getting out himself, "Don't take this out on Baby." He patted the hood fondly as Sam opened the trunk to pull out a few of their bags.

They were in the middle of nowhere having been on the road for hours coming back from a hunt. There were no motels nearby so Crowley decided to do a bit of squatting. It wouldn't be the first time or the last.

The small cabin that he'd spotted through the trees looked aged in the setting sun. The grass was overgrown and tangled, weeds crawling around each other. The windows boarded up with mildewing slabs of wood. There was no chance that the owner would come barging in.

"I call the bed," Sam called after they'd picked the lock and looked around. There was only one bedroom.

"Bitch," Crowley muttered.

"Jerk." His brother smirked and headed down the hall, presumably to bed down.

"I hope your feet hang off the edge!" Crowley called at his retreating back.

Sam gave him the finger without looking back and shut the door behind him.

Sighing, Crowley dropped his own bag on the dirty carpet. The couch was worn with age and he probably wouldn't fit well, but it was better than sleeping on the floor.

He wasn't tired. Hours of driving had him restless. He didn't want to go out, though, so he decided to explore a bit.

There wasn't much. The refrigerator had a bunch of molding something in the back of it that probably would have brought the Housewife out in Samantha. An old empty bottle of Wild Turkey sat in a top cabinet. Crowley looked at the last few drops, considering, before deciding that it wasn't worth it and shutting the flaking door.

It was when he was searching the bottom cabinets that he found it.

The glass was black and crusty with dust , so much that you could barely see the light peeking out of it. It was round and small, about the size of a baby's fist. He reached out to pick it up, get a better look at it.

"Crowley--"

The hunter jerked, knocking the glass to the floor. It shattered with a small, tinny sound that seemed also silent compared to the rush of noise and light that bellowed after it.

He was dimly aware that he yelled at Sam to shut his eyes before the cold, bluish-white Grace roared toward him.

-

"Cas, it's Sam." The human's voice was high and worried, something that sent cold dread down Castiel's spine. "There's something wrong with Crowley--"

"Where are you?" Cas demanded, gripping the flimsy phone so tight he could hear the frame crack.

"Littleton, Wyoming, Mercy Hospital, Room 41--"

In the next moment, Castiel was standing right in front of him. The room was white and Sam looked like he needed sleep, but the angel was focused on none of that.

No, he was staring at the hunter in the bed with huge wings sprouting from his back. They stretched clear across the room on either side of him, dark brown with lighter gold tips at the edges. They were obviously new: that gleam was usually worn away by years of battle and age, worn on angels with pride.

And most importantly, they were clearly dominant.

Castiel wanted to step forward and run his fingers through them. He wanted to lay his own wings back and bare himself to Crowley, let the hunter pin his wings down with his own. He'd never felt such a thing before, and it frightened him.

Sam was babbling about old cabins and spheres of Grace and bad luck. "What's wrong with him?" he demanded, blunt in his anxiety.

He slowly dragged his eyes from the wings to the floor. Cas couldn't quite look Sam in the eye: he was almost afraid that the intuitive hunter would be able to read his mind. It was an illogical thought, but he couldn't control it any more than he could the slow, wet feeling that was starting between his legs and the shame that made his cheeks hot.

Had he not been falling, he would have controlled the confusing, burgeoning instincts. But he could not.

"Cas," Sam repeated, more impatiently.

Castiel looked up at the hunter. "Your brother has taken an angel's Grace into himself."

"That's impossible," Sam said, shaking his head in denial. "Don't you need consent--"

"An angel needs consent," Castiel replied patiently, trying very hard not to stare at the wings in his periphery. They seemed to taunt him, large manifestations that teased his senses. He struggled to focus on the human in front of him. "Grace had no thought--it is power...a battery if you will. Crowley, as a vessel, was probably the closest viable receptacle."

"Well how do we get it out of him?" Sam's hands were fisted at his sides. Clearly he wasn't happy with this new development.

Castiel was not either, but he was biased. The Grace was old and powerful. He couldn't recognize which brother or sister it had come from, as Crowley had taken it within himself and made it entirely his own. It glowed just as brightly as Crowley's soul, drawing him to it.

"The process would be..." Castiel searched for words that Sam would understand. There was one for it in Enochian, but to try and explain it to the hunter was difficult at best. "Agonizing," he finally settled on the inadequate word. "And that is at best."

Just then, Crowley groaned.

"Crowley?" Sam hurried toward the bed. Castiel followed more slowly, shoving instinct aside in favor of focusing on the problem at hand.

Crowley's wings arched and twitched as he slowly regained consciousness. Cas tucked his wings tightly to him, but he couldn't stop the occasional brush or feathers and concentrated Grace from occurring. The wet feeling between his legs grew stronger.

Crowley groaned and finally opened his eyes, blinking fitfully. His gaze landed on Sam first, naturally, before they flitted to Castiel and widened.

His wings snapped out and arched forward, huge shadows of golden brown streaking through the earthly plane. In the next moment he was directly in front of Castiel, fingers digging into his shoulders to slam him hard into the nearest wall. The plaster splintered and cracked like a cheap plate.

Sam's shocked exclamation was drowned out by the storm of instinct that swamped Castiel. He was immediately spreading his legs apart, tilting his neck back in supplication and making a soft, pleading noise deep in his throat. Crowley's hand came up to fist Cas's hair, bending his head back further even as his wings swallowed Cas's smaller ones, the dark brown feathers stark against light blue. Their hips pressed tightly together and Castiel could feel it long, hot length of Crowley against his front, ready to conquer and plunder and take. The angel's mind floundered at the notion but his body clenched around nothing, an ache like a black hole building in him.

Crowley's mouth lowered against the pale exposed flesh to snarl the Enochian word, scald it into Castiel's throat. "Submit."

Cas squirmed, wings attempting to flap but caught in Crowley's iron cased grip. He could not have flown away if his life depended on it, and he knowledge only made those unfamiliar sensation burn even hotter. "Oh--Crowley--"

Suddenly, he was drenched by ice cold water.

Castiel snapped back into awareness as one might snap into a willing vessel. Crowley stared at him, equally shocked, and shoved himself away from the wall and off of Cas. The angel hadn't realized how much heat had been in the cradle of Crowley's wings before it was suddenly snatched away. He folded his arms across his chest, feeling oddly vulnerable.

"What," Sam stated, standing with a bucket in his hand, "the hell."

-

Cas was gazing out the window, probably trying not to look any of them in the eye.

Personally, Crowley couldn't blame him. Sam had seen him in some pretty weird positions over the years but this? This was fucked up.

Crowley couldn't remember everything about what had happened, but he remembered seeing Cas in front of him and wanting. It overrode every bare inch of common sense that he had and in the next minute he'd been pinning the angel to the wall like one of those creepy butterflies in the picture frames.

He was pissed. Only he could accidentally swallow angelic Grace--not Sammy, who had been about five feet away. Him. It buzzed in Crowley like he'd had a bunch of live wires installed in him, itching to be doing something.

Not to mention the voices. They were kind of dim, since Cas had apparently done something to him to turn down angel radio, but they were there. Anxious, happy, at peace, angry, praising God, resting--

On either side of him, his wings--because he had fucking wings now--twitched with his agitation. They felt kind of like phantom limbs: there but not there at the same time. They were kind of badass honestly (if you got over the whole these-do-not-fucking-belong-on-my-body thing), but if he had to deal with whatever had happened between him and Cas as a side effect, they could go right back where they came from.

Sam was driving. Cas had warned that with Crowley's uncontrolled strength he would probably unintentionally injure the car. The point was driven home when Crowley gripped the door handle to Baby too hard and ripped it clean off.

So yeah, he was pretty pissed. The sight of his wings disappearing through the car floor didn't help matters much.

Cas's own wings were much smaller than his. They were tucked tightly around him like he was trying to hide himself, different shades of blue and black drawing Crowley's eye like a magnet. It was probably a good thing that he wasn't driving, because he most likely would've crashed the car by now from staring so hard.

"Look," Sam said in that 'no nonsense' tone that he got when he wanted to talk about feelings.

Crowley practically felt his balls shrivel up. He snapped his eyes away "Oh hell."

"We need to discuss this!" His brother protested, irritatingly reasonable. "First off, Cas: is this reversible?"

There was a pause where it seemed like the angel would flit off. Then he said, "Yes."

Sam waited expectantly. Castiel, obviously, didn't know what an expectant silence was, so they all sat there for a whole awkward as hell minute before Sam cleared his throat. "Well?"

"Well what?" Cas sounded clueless, but Crowley had a feeling that he was stalling. He looked in the rear view mirror again. A glance at the angel's overly blank expression clinched it. Crowley swallowed a sneaky smirk.

"How do we reverse this?" Sam sounded like he was sick of both of them.

"Crowley would have to fall," Castiel said simply, "Just as any other angel would. It will be...excruciatingly painful."

"No pain, no gain," Crowley grunted. He was ready for the damn things to be gone.

Sam was suspiciously silent.

"Alright," Crowley sighed, "What's going on in that big head of yours, Samantha?"

Sam gave him a sideways glare. "Don't call me that. And--it's just. We've been looking for an advantage all this time, right? And now you've got the juice. Grace that--no offense, Cas--could do stuff for us. He can smite things, right?"

"Yes," Cas said, looking as thrilled at the idea as Crowley was.

"Dude," Crowley said, getting a little worked up. "I'm human. I don't rock the halo--"

"I'm just saying that it would be stupid to--"

"--or that friggin' toga thing, or--or--"

"--waste such a good opportunity when we need it so much. Crowley." Sam ended on a hiss.

"He..." Cas's reluctant voice spoke up from the back. Crowley smelled betrayal before the final nails in the coffin even passed the angel's lips. "He's right, Crowley. This will also be another preventative measure against Michael."

He glared at Cas, his wings bunching up in irritation. Cas's wings shrank even further in response, practically flattened against him. Crowley didn't know what that meant, but it soothed a rolling, dark, something in him.

"And look at it this way," Sam said, obviously trying to lighten the mood now that he'd gotten his way. "Cas can be your angelic tutor. That'll be fun, right Crowley?"

The former hunter scowled at the passing scenery with a dark look. "Goddamnit."

In the ensuing quiet, the angels whispered. Crowley reached forward and popped a tape into the car and turned it up as loud as he could.

-

Castiel was, admittedly, not a good tutor.

He left often on his search for God. When he did come back, he could not bring himself to quite look Crowley in the eye.

The newly formed angel was a lot like a fledgling in ways. He grew easily frustrated, was still learning how to fly, and could only control his wing movements for a handful of minutes before they were influenced by his emotions again.

"Yours are so friggin' controlled," the hunter complained, as if he were talking about children rather than a part of his body. "Mine are fuckin' spazzes. At least Sammy can't see me flapping all over the place."

Crowley had no idea.

He was presenting in a way that was inappropriate at best. To most angels, the way his wings arched proudly whenever Castiel approached was downright vulgar. Accompanying this display was usually a waft of dark pheromones that made Castiel's thoughts grow low and warm in a most perplexing way.

He did not know how to explain it to Crowley. The hunter seemed to balk at the idea of even learning to fly properly: how could Castiel tell him that he was inducting an angelic mating ceremony?

So he searched for other solutions.

First, he thought that exposure would benefit him. Crowley often displayed dominance when he was playfully arguing with his brother or Bobby Singer.

Castiel appeared invisibly in the living room as Crowley and Sam bantered back and forth about 'nerd habits'. He had thought he'd be able to stand there and inhale without being noticed.

To his shock, Crowley turned and looked directly at him. "Hey, Cas," he said nonchalantly, unaware that he'd peered through cloaking that the angel's siblings would not have been able to discern.

The next plan was far simpler: if he could not control Crowley, he could control himself. Part of the problem was that when Crowley displayed, Castiel's Grace responded enthusiastically. Crowley would send out a signal, Cas's wings would reply, and the cycle would play itself out until Crowley was staring at his wings and the angel's underwear was wet.

He decided to meditate while Crowley worked on smiting various cars on Bobby's lot. The hunter was attempting to blacken the hood and only the hood: control was important when wielding Grace.

Crowley was less than pleased about the angelic arrangement, but he took to smiting like a prophet to God's word.

"Figures," Sam had snorted, watching his brother obliterate a car. "Crowley's more blunt force than fancy flying." He sounded faintly jealous.

Castiel put a hand on his shoulder and said nothing. The hunter's tension slowly eased into something less sharp, more wistful.

While Crowley occupied himself, Castiel set himself onto the porch steps and settled into a meditative state.

When he came out of it, he felt more soothed. At peace.

And then he opened his eyes and Crowley's chest was dripping with sweat as he hauled a car over his head. His muscles rippled, wings spreading golden and glorious, and any progress that Castiel had made slipped away like sand though wide spread fingers.

And so, Castiel had decided on a third plan: teaching Crowley.

They stood in the front yard of Babby Singer's house. Crowley had just come back from a hunt that had, according to Sam, been "child's play" thanks to Crowley's newly fond ability to spot evil.

"Tuck your wings close and back," Castiel ordered, slowly doing the same movement. This was the typical 'at rest' position. "I believe it would be the equivalent of having your arms at your sides," he added, "If that helps."

"Kind of." Crowley grimaced and slowly brought his wings out of the flagrant position that they were currently in. They had been occupied with this for nearly an hour, and Crowley hadn't been able to keep them in place for ten minutes. Castiel could see the hunter getting frustrated.

"You're doing well," he said quietly. "Your emotions are simply a little more...volatile than mine."

"Volatile," Crowley said, lip twitching. "Sure." He paused, his expression considering as his eyes roved over Castiel's wings.

"You do that a lot, you know," Crowley said as Castiel gathered his feathers close to himself in response. "You hide. Size issues much?" he expanded his wings, smirking at how much larger they were than Cas's.

"I am not hiding." The angel replied flatly, insulted. "It's merely a behavioral response to your--your staring."

"You're one to talk about staring," Crowley snorted, looking off to the side. "So, 'behavioral response', huh?"

"Yes," Cas said stiffly.

"You scared of me or something?" Crowley sounded half pleased, half upset at the prospect. He walked a little closer.

"No," the angel disagreed, "I'm merely...cautionary."

The hunter raised an eyebrow. "That's not vague or anything." he rolled his shoulders, wings rolling with him. "So what are mine saying when they act up like this?" he gestured behind his back.

Castiel was saved when front door to the house opened and Sam stuck his head out. "Guys," he called, "Lunch is ready!"

The angel nearly sagged with relief. Crowley wouldn't turn down food: despite his new status he still ate and slept with gusto.

"Sweet," Crowley grunted, letting control over his wings completely slip away. They flapped out with a loud thwack!, proud and unapologetic. The wave of pheromones that followed nearly proved to be Castiel's undoing.

"Fly into the house, don't walk," he managed to order, despite how wrong it felt to give a dominant a command. Then he was gone, flying to another place so he could compose himself.

-

Castiel should have known better to believe that things would not come to a head. Some things in the universe was inevitable.

"Duck!" Sam yelled right before the demon swung a large, sharp-edged machete at the angel. He avoided the swipe smoothly, turning around to exorcise it from the child that it was in. He transported her to the localhospital, as he knew Crowley would have done, and appeared back at the battle in nearly three seconds.

As soon as he appeared he was slammed against the nearest wall.

He gasped, all breath knocked out of him before he recovered and glared. "Ziphael." he ground out, struggling against the dominant angel.

"Traitor," the angel sneered back, eyes glowing with wrath and something else. The something else was made very clear as he deliberately fisted Castiel's feathers in his vessel's hands.

"Get off of me," Castiel barked, feeling his body automatically respond. Days of being around Crowley had taken his toll--the scent wasn't the same, nor the feathers, but he was so ready to be claimed by someone that his vessel was loosening, wet slicking the way.

"You smell good, traitor," he hissed, pressing Castiel harder into the wall. He smelled of darkness and greed, nothing like the woodsgunpowdermetal smell of Crowley. His wings went high and full of intent, obviously intending to claim Castiel then and there.

A growl echoed across the warehouse like rolling thunder, low and dangerous, before Ziphael was ripped off of him.

"That's mine you son of a bitch," Crowley spat, summoning his blade. It glinted before it thrust down, met with Ziphael's with a clanging screech. Panting, Castiel forced his instinct to go smallerlooserwarmer aside and threw himself into the fray again.

He heard Crowley's cry of victory like a bolt of lightning down his spine. He is the victor, his senses whispered, slithering through him with little shudders. That is your dominant. Let him take.

Castiel did not. He swiped and stabbed and smote until there was nothing but bodies and the shadows of wings on the ground. He glanced at Sam, making sure that he was not mortally wounded.

And then he flew.

He felt rather than heard Crowley give chase. His heart thundered in his chest, throwing hot blood through his veins. He flew through Paris, landed just above the Arctic Sea, darted through Antartica and managed to land on a field in rural Wisconsin before he was pinned to the earth.

Crowley's wings pinned him down without mercy, enveloping him completely. Their feathers rubbed together with their hips and Castiel keened, going as Crowley lowered them to the ground with a hand on the back of his neck until he was on all fours, hips raised. His glans leaked profusely into his pants before Crowley growled, gripped, and tore the fabric apart.

"You're wet," he gritted out. "Fuck--Cas--"

Scorching hands landed on his cheeks, gripping and spreading them apart before--

"Oh!" Cas cried, shocked at the sensation of warmwetgritty licking directly where he was leaking. His eyes were wide and round, hands fisting the earth. He wasn't sure if he wanted to lean into the sensation or crawl away from it. "Oh--oh, Crowley--please--"

He went silent and still as that tongue slowly breached him. He was dimly aware of the hardness of cock dribbling into the earth with a fluid that steadily leaked, but every one of his senses were zoned in on where Crowley was breaching him with the tip of his tongue.

The hunter slid a finger alongside his tongue, and Castiel discovered his voice again.

It was so rough that he barely recognize it. "Crowley," he chanted over and over again. He didn't understand this. He wasn't someone who frantically rolled their hips back to take in more. He wasn't someone who felt this aching, clawing, breathless need because they felt so empty. Two more fingers and Castiel had his fingers deep in the dirt, cries echoing across the empty field.

Crowley pulled his fingers out, and Castiel was sure something broke him him. "No," he rasped, hitching sobs in this throat. "No, don't go--"

"Gonna take care of you," the dominant sounded like he was making a vow.

Crowley's hand grabbed his chin and turned his face, smothering his mouth with his own at the same time that he went in. His tongue fucked into his mouth with the same desperate movements that he made with his hips, plugging Cas's greedy, weeping hole with his cock until they were pressed nearly flush together. Only Crowley's knot obstructed him from going any further.

Their lips parted with a slick sound. Crowley's eyes were darker than Castiel had ever seen them, the Grace glowing in them a sharp contrast to the possessiveness there.

"Mine," he growled, daring someone to argue with him. His hand slid from Castiel's ass to his chest, bringing the angel to his knees so they were pressed together from back to chest.

Castiel wailed, scrabbling for purchase as the hunter began to punch his hips forward. He sucked the angel's lips until they were red and aching, shuddering and grunting with every snap of his hips. His cock dragged against Castiel's walls with so much sensation that he could only move back against him, yearning for more.

Cas began to feel something in him starting to rise. Unable to support himself he leaned his head back on Crowley's shoulder, staring at the colors or their blended wings.

"I'm--I--" he writhed and whined, unsure of this new sensation. He felt too confined in his skin, as if he were about to explode--

"Come for me Cas," Crowley ordered, refusing to be disobeyed. "Now."

Castiel's back arched and his vision blanked, his breath leaving him with a sharp shout. His hole clenched around the hot, hard ache that was Crowley just as the hunter shoved his knot in him and came.

He could do nothing but hang limply as Crowley crushed him to his chest, teeth puncturing the side of his neck. For long moments they knelt there as Crowley rocked dirtily, sending stream after stream of warm ejaculate deep into Castiel's body.

The angel felt wet and loose and achy, but altogether very satisfied with their coupling. He told Crowley so as the hunter moved them so they could lay down.

The hunter sounded smug and not a little amused. "That so," he asked, rubbing their hips together as he spurted again. He was panting softly, sweat sticky and hot with satisfaction.

"Yes," Castiel slurred his words a bit. "I wish to do it again."

Inside, Crowley's cock twitched. "I don't think that's gonna be a problem," he promised. A moment, later, he spoke again, sounding smug. "Guess I figured out why my wings are so much bigger than yours."

In response, Castiel just sighed.