Cas was never one to be a night owl angel. He would be awake, watching over Dean creepily as he slept, or surveying the house and triple-checking the demonic and angelic wards under the rugs and in the walls. The usual antics of a postmortem-fallen-angel revival.

Usually.

At about three in the morning, Dean had awoken from a very…pleasant, dream; regarding a hot bartender he and Sam had run into on their way back to Sioux Falls. He very much wanted to return to that dream, but the sound of Cas' aggravated huffs downstairs echoed upstairs, reaching the spare bedroom.

So, Dean did the only rational thing: got up, closed the cracked door, hobbled back to bed, curled up, flipped the pillow to the cold side, and hoped the sounds would stop.

But they didn't. They were growing louder by the minute.

Why isn't Sam up yet? He pondered to himself with a pillow-filled groan. Usually, Sam was the one who woke up to the sound of a pin drop, and Dean slept like a rock…

Rolling over, the hunter found his brother out like a light on the old, dusty loveseat Bobby surprisingly still had around. Sleeping on his back, his laptop leaning off his lap, snoring.

"Sam," Dean whispered, his volume low and grave. When he got no response, he tried again. "Sam!" He prodded louder, but all his brother gave him was a hitch in the snoring and a small sneeze.

Great. Just great.

Leaning forward from his end of the bed, he nudged Sam in one last attempt to wake the sleeping moose. "Sammy!"

Nothing.

With a defeated huff, Dean begrudgingly slinked his feet from out under the thin sheets. Pooling to the ground in one clump of pillows and blankets, he slipped on his jacket and went to investigate.

The door hinges squealed as he slowly peeked from outside his room, and was immediately met with the bright, glimmering overhead hallway lights. All of them were turned on, down to the stairs, and the bathroom door was closed— but not closed enough.

Subtle much? He mused silently, his mouth slightly agape.

See, Cas wasn't keen sensed when it came to knowing how to mask your presence and tracks quickly and quietly, unlike the brothers; Dean was able to immediately locate the origin of the sound, and proceed to prowl down the hallway, avoiding any creaking floorboards under his bare feet to give way to his closing position.

Inching closer to the ajar bathroom door, in between the flush frame and weathered threshold, something caught his eye.

Wedged in between the crevice was the sight of a large, black, tattered feather. Its point crooked to the side, and looked just…unkempt. Messy. Dirty.

From inside, Castiel's moans and growls in frustration became clear, they were curses. Angered, frustrated, belligerent tones and words he'd never heard before (most likely because half of them were in Enochian), but the others he could make out.

"Dammit," The angel grumbled, throwing his fist to the ground, clutching a clump of black in his grasp. "Why now, of all—" he paused mid whine, and Dean's eyes immediately fixed to where his foot inched. As just underneath, the board grumbled beneath his weight.

He froze, shoulders back and tensed at Castiel's sudden silence, and from the inch-thick gap, he watched the angel's head slowly swivel.

If he couldn't hear me until now, he sure as hell can sense me. He scolded mentally, his eyes slowly closing half-lidded.

Castiel's blue eyes finally traced the framing of the old wooden door that divided him from his privacy and tilted his head, before returning to whatever the hell he was doing. "I know you're there, Dean." He acknowledged firmly, a small grunt leaving his lips as yet another feather fell.

Dean swallowed nervously and began to regret just how stupid he realized this little investigation of his was. He was invading the angels' privacy for God's sake! But, Castiel never really obeyed those laws either— so…

Though resentfully, Dean's paw gripped the handle, and slowly nudged the door open. "Sorry, if I—"

"No need. I apologize if I woke you up." Castiel cut him off with a swift hand and eased back into a rhythm of movements. Dean poked his head out from the door, letting it swing open, and his eyes became wide saucers.

"Woah, Cas…" he said breathlessly awestricken, so that's what he was doing. The angel was hunkered down, sitting on the bathroom floor mat, his trench coat neatly folded to the side; hung loosely against the sink with his blue tie, black jacket, and white undershirt off and discarded. Revealing his bare back, tense shoulder muscles, and unfurled wings.

Sometimes he'd forgotten, forgotten that he could physically see his wings. After all, he was the one who 'Gripped him tight, and raised him from Perdition'. It was a small secret, but it didn't stop him from stumbling to find purchase against the nearby sink. Not allowing his eyes to move away and stop staring at the sight.

Beyond the messy, bedhead-looking wings, was a pile— no, piles of feathers. Some were small, tiny, fluffy things, while others were as long as his forearm. But all the discarded ones seemed to have one thing in common: they were damaged, and tattered.

"What are you…" he trailed off, his mouth gone dry, he'd forgotten how to swallow, how to speak.

Castiel finished that thought, "Preening." He replied bluntly, plucking another feather, and his whole right wing twitched. "Usually, Gabriel or another angel in the garrison would aid me, as a mutual bonding between members." During his explanation, he straightened his arched back, and leaned against the wall sluggishly, hesitantly. As if pressing too hard too fast would cause him discomfort for his appendages. "But since all of them are dead, I can't quite do it in the timely manner I was hoping for." He finished, and in those moments Dean's gaze finally broke from his wings, and to his eyes. They were red-rimmed, cheeks red. He was doing a two— maybe three-man job on his own, of course, it was going to tire him a little bit…

The hunter took a small step forward from the sink and scanned Castiel's disheveled form with an analytical eye. "Turn around." He said bluntly, with an edge of a commanding tone hidden underneath. His hand went up, pointed a finger down, and spun it once. His offhand resting on his hip limply.

Cas narrowed his eyes in confusion, "Why?"

Dean huffed, "Turn around, sit up, and tell me what to pull. Okay?" He concluded, unmoving, he placed himself in the middle of the bathroom. Using his extra foot to kick the wide-open door shut, and reset his attention to him. "C'mon. I don't got all day."

Hesitantly, Castiel obeyed, scooting from his resting spot on the cold wall of the bathroom to sitting on the mat before Dean. His head straight, Cas' ebony wings delicately unfurled. Closing Dean off in between the gaps of his back. Realizing soon that he was in the wrong spot, he shimmied around the wide feathers, hugging himself against the wall.

"Don't punch me alright? The next thing I wanna deal with is a mouthful of feathers." He joked lightly, shaking his head as he took in the inside feathers now that they were fully flared out. The small half bathroom wasn't even enough to contain them, judging by how the bend of the wing still arched inwards slightly.

"I won't," Castiel replied with a heavy sigh.

Someone's grumpy.

Dean clasped his hands together, marveling at the sight of each intricate feather as if they were some sort of ancient artwork. "Now, where do I start?" His eyes skimmed over the wings like a rack of candy, noticing that around each layer, mostly towards the outer, and further ends, were these weird gray things. Poking out where obvious feathers should've been.

The angel shifted uncomfortably on the floor, his hands folding inside of his lap, "The pin's preferably."

He blinked, "The what? Pins?" He asked innocently, scanning for anything inside the wings that could match his description. He didn't know birds. Wasn't a fan of them. So he was in the mud with this one.

Castiel released yet another exasperated sigh, he could feel the eye-roll radiating off him. "The pins. They should be sticking out, a gray, maybe white color."

"Oh," Dean hummed and shimmied himself to one of the gray pointy things. With great caution, he raised his hand and pinched the bottom of the poking-is-probably-a-pin-thingy. As he did, the thin layer of gray and white simply— flaked off. Like a thin piece of dried wax. The texture clung to his fingers, as he pinched the base, and worked his way up. Noticing that as he did so, a fresh black feather was underneath. "Woah…" he whispered, "Am I…doing it right?" He spoke in a quiet, soft tone. Like a child taking their first steps into an unknown situation.

The angel nodded, confirming that he was indeed doing it correctly. Shivering at the touch of Dean's calloused fingers rubbing against the fresh sheaths, there was a sense of relief for him soon after.

Dean shuffled, and moved onto the next one, pressing against the sides gently and softly twisting it as it crumbled in his palm. He continued to do the motions repeatedly until the right wing had no more spots. Plucking some feathers that didn't obey the stream of feathers, watching them glide down to the floor as he began the left wing. Do the pins, fix some feathers, smooth it out…Dean was in the zone. The motions almost soothed his mind with every touch. Every feather gently sparkled in the dim overhead light. He'd completely forgotten about Cas after the first wing was finished.

He'd grown quiet, slowly closing his eyes as he let the washing sensation of cleanliness and itching evaporate from his appendages.

About ten minutes later, the inky wings were finished, no longer messy-looking, and were neat, and sleek. The brother eased away, and peeked over at him, watching his closed eyes and body gently sway. Was he really falling asleep?

"Cas? Falling asleep on me are we?" He teased, flicking the pin feather residue from his fingertips, and spared a warm glance at him. Cas perked up at his sudden words, jolting him upright.

"Um…no. No, thank you." He said kindly, showing as much human (or close to) as he could, "For…helping." He looked away, his mouth forming a sleek, awkward line. Rising from his seated position, and stretching his arms and wings. The sound of fluttering and soft wind brushing against Dean's arm and ruffling his hair.

"No problem." The hunter returned the smile kindly. "Anytime." He of course wasn't going to admit it, but doing this whole preening thing was… therapeutic? In a way? And Cas wasn't' grumpy anymore, so that was another plus to their entire interaction.

As he finished drying off his hands with the hand towel, and rang it dry of leftover water, he stole a few glances towards Castiel as he got himself dressed again.

Mutual bonding.

The angel's words from earlier bounced around his consciousness for a few moments.

Bonding.

"Alright, well, I'm gonna go back to bed." Dean broke the awkward silence, peering at the now quiet angel with a raised eyebrow. "Cas, you okay?" He moved closer, seeing the tired, bleary-eyed angel just sort of watch him. His whole body wasn't moving, leaning against the wall, his shirt looped around his neck like a lazy scarf. "Tired?"

Castiel hummed, his law loosening. He eyed Dean sharply, seeing him lean on the wall beside him casually, hands in his pockets.

He impatiently drummed his fingers inside his pockets and opened his mouth to speak, to invite him to a place he'd never thought of dreaming of. But the feeling of Cas' shoulder clashing against his own jolted him from the small thought. Not too soon after, his head leaned with his body against him, smooshing his cheek inside Dean's flannel.

Dean scoffed quietly and craned his head to see the angel's eyes closed, wings drooped to his sides…asleep. He was asleep. Red flushed his cheeks, seeing him so…peaceful. So…calm.

And his heavy head teetered, eventually easing on Castiel's head. Feeling his soft, messy hair tickle his face. "Okay," He said below a whisper, a murmur, "Just for a little bit."

(Fun Fact: Birds can become more affectionate after preening, especially if they preen each other or you. Preening is a bonding activity among birds, so they might seek more closeness or attention after engaging in this behavior. If a bird preens you, it can be a sign of trust and affection, which might translate to clingy behavior as they view you as part of their flock. The more you know :D)