A/N: Hello everyone! Here's a chapter! Anyway, sorry that I have been taking so long to update, I've been going through a dry spell with this fic. I have plans, but I seem to be having trouble getting them down on paper. *Sigh.* Guest: Hi! Welcome to the fic! Always great to meet a new reader. Glad you like it! the-goblet-of-deduction: I'm so happy you enjoyed. I'm currently working on more chapters, and I will be sure to get you your request soon. Spoilers!

Chapter 12

They had tried to get Cas up off the floor, which had quickly turned into a fiasco. First he had overbalanced as they let go of him, falling back to the floor with enouph force to make Dean wince. Then he managed to get up on his own, leaning forward and spreading his wings a bit for balance. As he did so the right one extended too far and knocked against a freestanding lamp, felling it to the floor with a crash. That wing instantly withdrew inward, almost like a knee-jerk reflex. At the same time, the other extended further to compensate, swiping everything off the table.

Now they sat exhaustedly around the motel table. Sam was absently stirring a cup of instant black coffee he had found in one of the cabinets and staring at his laptop screen. Cas sat across from him, eyeing the wreck of a room like it might attack him, wings pulled in tight to his back, the feathers puffed up with distress. Dean sat on the third side, nursing his beer from earlier. Somehow the wing scraping across the table had just missed it, for which he was extremely grateful. He didn't need the mess. He studied the massive things. That looked like a wingspan of what, twenty, thirty feet? One pinion feather was as long as his arm, many were longer. They had obviously just sprouted there, the trenchcoat and other layers ripping to make room for them. Dean reached out almost unconsciously, running his fingers through the soft downy feathers on the upper back. It felt really nice. Curious, he lifted up a few, revealing the pink skin beneath. Huh. It was completely normal, like human skin rather than the chicken or other poultry skin he had been expecting. He continued his explorations, stroking the feathers smooth again and moving to card his fingers along one pinion.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cut into his consciousness. He looked up innocently. Cas and Sam were both giving him weird looks. Realizing what he was doing, Dean withdrew his hand as though burned, stammering an apology. Cas eyed him like a frightened animal, drawing his wings a little closer around him.

Sam smiled awkwardly, his brow stitching up, "What are you doing?"

Dean looked from one to the other, "Nothing."

"Okay, well," Sam sighed, obviously too tired to successfully come up with a witty retort. "Anyway, I think I might have found something on Gabriel."

Dean leaned forward slightly, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's not much, but I might have a lead on where he is."

Dean stood up, "Great, let's get over there. We can track him down, get him to change you back, and shank him. Sounds good to me."

Sam didn't move, "Dean, he's an archangel, on a level with Raphael, second only to Michael and Lucifer. How exactly do you plan to kill him?"

"Uhh, walk up, take out an angel blade and shove it in him."

"Really? That's it?"

Dean paused, "Yeah. That's it. It's not rocket science, Sam."

Sam looked down, "Right. Okay, well, I'll pack up. Cas, you wanna help?"

Ten minutes later they were speeding down the highway, rock music blaring. Dean eyed the angel in the back seat, wings stuffed around him, barely fitting in the confined space. "You had better not shed. I don't want to see any feathers on that seat."

Sam left off toying with his braid to roll his eyes and glare at him, "Dean…"

"What? It's a legitimate concern. It's up there with him knocking out a window. Speaking of which, don't knock out any windows, Cas."

"Dean!"

"What?"

"That was rude. Now apologize."

"Just laying the ground rules, Sammy."

"Dean, I'm pretty sure birds don't shed. Birds molt."

"Oh, okay. Don't molt on my car, Cas," Dean said sarcastically.

"There's a difference. Your precious car is safe, I promise."

Dean sighed, "Okay, so where are we going?"

"Uh…" Sam consulted his notes, "Wyoming somewhere. Absaroka County. Near Montana. Town called, Uhh, Durant."

"Guess I'd better drive faster then."

They walked into the hotel room, the door closing heavily behind them as Dean shouldered it closed, both brothers' hands too full of duffels to deal with it. Sam set his bags down on one of the beds with a sigh, before going back to studying his braid with annoyance. Dean looked at him, "What's eating you?"

Sam sighed, "I should probably rebraid it."

"Dude, it's out of the way. Why mess with it?"

"Um, because it's been in for well over a month and it looks really bad?"

Dean scoffed, "Who the hell cares. It's not like you're looking to get laid."

The girl turned to him with an annoyed expression, "Is that all you ever think about? Honestly, could you stop? I don't really even think about that stuff anymore except when you bring it up."

Dean stared at him, "You're kidding."

"No."

"You don't ever…" He made a vague gesture.

"No."

"Wow." He shook his head, "Unbelievable."

Sam ignored him, rummaging through his duffle until he found a hairbrush. Sitting on the bed, he removed the fastening and started to work his way up the braid, leaving somewhat tangled waves in the wake of his fingers.

Dean started to unpack the weapons bag, "Hey, Cas! What are you gonna do tonight?"

"I thought I would stay here."

"I meant, how much juice you got? You need to sleep?"

The angel suddenly looked slightly worried, "I… don't know. I suppose I can use the couch if it becomes necessary."

"Okay. Good."

Sam let out a grunt. Dean turned to him, "Now what?"

"I can't seem to get the top. Could you brush it out for me?"

The blond man rolled his eyes and let out an obnoxious sigh, "Fine. Give me the brush. Let's see what I can do." Sam pulled his legs up on the bed, turning so Dean could stand behind him.

"Wow. This is gonna be a bitch. What the hell did you do?"

"Left it up for over a month while hunting, getting tortured, and going to the hospital."

Dean shrugged, "Fair enouph. Hold still, this'll probably hurt. So, uh, what're we looking at with this? What's the lead?"

Sam leaned toward the bag to get his research, then allowed Dean to continue working as he spoke, "Well, uh, it's not much, but there've been some weird deaths in the area." He sucked in a sharp breath as Dean made a particularly painful tug.

"What sort of weird deaths?"

"Uh, you know, the usual. Just deserts, that kind of thing. There've been two so far. Husband on the nearby reservation was a wife beater. Everyone knew, but no one was ever able to prove anything. Turned up, beaten to death."

"Not exactly X-Files…"

"Witness said the attacker was Wonder Woman."

Dean inclined his head, "Okay. What was the other one?"
"Anti-Indian racist jerk, found with a tomahawk buried in his skull, hoof prints all around the body, none anywhere else, and a truckload of candy wrappers."

"I don't know, man. This all just sounds like regular trickster stuff. Thought Gabriel said he was on the wagon."

"Yeah, but for now, this is the best lead we have, so I'm checking it. OW!" He turned to glare at Dean, "Dude! That hurt!"

"Oh, come on, don't be such a wuss, you giant girl. You want this mat out or not?"

Sam rolled his eyes at the pun, but turned back and allowed him to continue working.