Dean is freaking out. Like, really freaking out. He hasn't felt this panicky since the Apocalypse.

"Cas, Cas!"

The angel is right in front of him, but Dean can't seem to even focus. Voices are muted and the world is blurry. Every time he blinks, the world flashes in bright, painful colours, until Dean squints his eyes shut again. Muscles he didn't have before twitched nervously, and tendons stretched and contracted, painful as if he'd had them his whole life, but never used them. This was the new definition of hell as far as Dean was concerned.

He could see, he could feel Castiel's lips moving, but he couldn't hear them, couldn't focus on them. The world was tipping sideways now, and Castiel's hand on his scar was the only thing grounding him to reality, however even that was slipping. He didn't know where Sam was, and he hoped that his baby brother wasn't seeing any of this. Poor kid had enough on his plate without dealing with his pansy big brother having a panic attack.

That's what this is, right? He'd seen people having panic attacks before. It's like a dark little moment to yourself, and it looks and feels like the whole world is shut out. Nothing gets in. Your body shuts down. And right now, Dean's body was shutting off, saying a big fuck you to the world for hurting him. He was defending himself, really, even if it was just mentally. The stress of Kevin's death and Sam's leaving had finally broken Dean.

He was broken.

"Dean," a voice reached out somewhere from darkness that was inside of him.

He blinked a few times, and reality hit him like a sledgehammer to the face.

"Dean, are you okay? Can you hear me?" The voice was poking at him again, and he wasn't quite sure it was something he wanted or not.

He nods quietly, trying to get his bearings. Cas must have taken him back to his room. Bed, walls, photos. His life and memories, his safe place in their new home. "Cas…"

"...Shhhh, just breathe. I know what you need, and I know it's all new."

New? What was new? Having a panic attack? That had to be what he meant. The pain in his shoulders started again, and he flexed his muscles. Something soft brushed against his face, and he froze, panicked. "Cas. What is on me? Cas."

He remained deathly still, like his father had taught him, completely immobile. Castiel's hand on his scar again, soothing and relaxing waves washing over him…

"Dude, stop that!" Dean stood, and saw what had happened.

He had wings. Big ones. The feathers rippled in acknowledgement, almost as if in greeting. 'Hello, we're your new attachments.'

"No. No way. I'm not dead. I'm not in Heaven. I am in my room. In the bunker. Sammy is off reading some ancient text and I am having the world's weirdest dream. I am not sitting here seeing this." At this point, Dean had stood and was pacing, apparently still in a weird panicky dream-state he wasn't aware of yet. This was worse than the Djinn, this was definitely worse.

Castiel stood, wings tucking in behind him with one swift movement that only comes with practice. "Woah dude, your wings!" They were glorious. Like a raven, they were black and silky, but shimmering with silver and gold too. And luminous, like something out of a fantasy novel. They were enormous, and glimmering, and, for lack of a better word - beautiful. Dean looked back, and looked to his own wings. Really looked.

Dean's wings were a creamy blonde colour, similarly shimmering in gold and silver. His wings had streaks of green, bright and glowing, reminding him of a lime. The wings were big too, and fluffy. They reminded Dean of a cherub's wings, almost. He reached out to touch them gingerly, and marvelled at just how sensitive they were. He shivered in pleasure, and removed his hand gently. "Cas, am I dead?"

"No, I merely gave you some of my Grace. You needed it to survive. You appear to have OD'd on whiskey and sleeping pills, and I couldn't get you safe fast enough. So I gave you a little of my grace. Enough to officially title you as angel. However, you and I are both weak, so we aren't leaving the bunker until we've 'juiced-up', so-to-speak."

"You gave me your grace? Dude, are you completely nuts?!"

Castiel looked exasperated, and if not for the circumstance, it would have been comical.

"Y'know what, whatever. Any excuse for a holiday, I suppose."

"Cas it's been a week, can we please go now?"

The angel just sighed exasperatedly, and, had it been anyone else, they would have been burying their head in their hands. "Dean, remember when I didn't see you for a month?"

Dean's mouth went dry as he nodded. He remembered it all too well.

"Well, I spent that time recharging. And you, as a fledgling, need even longer. In fact, I think nesting season is soon, so we'll wait until after that. Besides, there's a lot of training too and…"

Dean chose to tune Cas out at this point. Too many words.

This week had felt like forever, and he had cleaned for most of it. Dean had cleaned the entire bunker from top to bottom, found hidden rooms, as well as countless treasures and discoveries. He'd also pleasured himself more times than he could count, in places he didn't think were legal, and definitely not where Sam would allow. He'd read books with more substance that Busty Asian Beauties and cooked a variety of experimental pasta dishes and watched movies he had on his Netflix queue, even going so far as to play some Xbox (which Sam had picked up for him), and slept and eaten an assload of burgers and done just about everything he could to prevent being bored, anything he could do to prevent himself from getting cold feet and leave the bunker. He wasn't even sure how it was possible for him to be an angel right now.

"…and once we've accomplished all that, then we can hunt again." Castiel finished, not noticing that Dean had tuned out.

Dean stared blankly at Cas, realizing there was probably a whole bunch of important stuff in there. Cas stared back, waiting for some confirmation from Dean. But it wasn't forthcoming. It was obvious Castiel expected some kind of response, as the angel… No he supposed they were both angels now...Dean was going to have to think up another way to refer to Castiel if this was going to be the reality now.

Dean blinked slowly at Cas, set his mouth into a hard line, and said, simply, "I want to fly."

And, just like that, Dean found Castiel and himself in a completely deserted clearing, experiencing the thin air and crisp feeling of a mountain top, someplace that was decidedly NOT the bunker.

"Dean, slow down." Cas was now trying to talk him down from a tree, without too much luck. Dean had managed to work up but not down.

Turns out, wings have a lot of power in them, and Dean figured that out the hard way. At the present moment, his wings were tucked into his sides, and his heart was going a million miles a minute. Sure, it wasn't like flying in that giant metal box of death a few years ago, but it was equally as scary. And not even humming Metallica would help him. He was high up, and far higher than he had intended to go. Dean was trying to take deep breaths, but if he breathed too deep then the branch would wobble dangerously.

"Dean, listen, you need to come down!"

"Shut up, Cas, I'm thinking up here!" He watched as Castiel began to pace, clearly aggravated. Dean had never seen him act like that before. It was the weirdest and coolest sensation, all at the same time. He really was thinking here, trying to work out how to get down without dying again but nothing immediately came to mind.

"Dean, if you do not hurry, then I'll have to get you down. And if I have to do that, I swear I'll carry you bridal style."

Dean blanched. It was seemingly the only way, but by god he didn't wanna go down that way. He'd rather fall and break every bone in his body on the way down, to be honest. "We don't talk about this, ever."