Title: Dark Wings

Author/Artist: hanyoalchemist

Character/Pairing: Sam, Dean, and two ‘OCs’

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: PG-13, for Dean’s mouth.

Warnings: AU Wing!Fic, no spoilers though. Oh yeah, and some funny little nods to the Bible. (Just names, really…)

Notes: Feedback is love. : ) In addition, this fic is un-beta’d, so hit me with your concrit stick! And I have second thoughts on the title, so it’s subject to change.

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Dean stared at his little brother incredulously. Sam was on his knees, giant hands clutching at his temples, moaning and screaming in pain. The two black wings that had come about between his shoulder blades were small compared to those of the angel who now held a frustrated Dean back with only a single arm, and weren’t much for feathers either. They looked like they were some sort of leather, not that that mattered much; the wings appeared to be shredded.

“Let go of me, asshole!” Dean yelled to the figure behind him, struggling to free himself from the angel’s grasp.

“I cannot do that,” the angel said simply, “Samuel here must finish what the transformation started, and even if I did let you go, there’s nothing you could do.” Dean huffed at the angel’s addressing his brother as ‘Samuel’, and kept on fighting.

“I don’t give a damn, that’s my brother, you fucker!” Sam was curled up in a ball on the old wooden floor now, sobbing and clutching his head still.

“Dean… Dean…” Tears streamed down his face as he choked out Dean’s name. The angel loosened his grip,

“Go on. Go to him. It’s...” Dean was kneeling at Sam’s side before the angel could finish. “Over.” The angel added, as if it were an afterthought.

“Sammy, hey, Sammy, you’d better be okay…”

“Dean, please, make the pain stop,” Sam’s voice was cracking pitifully, his now blood-red eyes were brimmed with water, “Make it go away, please.” Dean was looking his brother up and down, the two wings were moving slightly, and Dean figured that that was involuntary on Sam’s part.

“It’s okay Sam,” Dean said, hoping he didn’t sound too unsure of anything, “You’ll be okay, I know you will.” Sam gasped,

“It hurts…” Dean bit the inside of his cheek,

“I know it does, but I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise…” The sobs quieted, only whimpers now. However, Sam was clawing and groping for his brother as if he was blind, and suddenly, after a moment, as if on cue, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his body went limp. Dean’s eyes widened before he angrily turned back to the angel, “He’d better not be dead, you son of a bitch; if he is, I’ll kill you.” His eyes narrowed, “Tear you fucking limb from limb, you hear me!?” The angel rolled his gray-blue eyes, fucking rolled his eyes, and scoffed,

“Oh give me a break; Samuel will be fine, he’s just passed out. More than likely from the exhaustion and pain.” He spoke the latter as if Dean were an idiot schoolchild incapable of sitting still and paying attention for five minutes, “No need to make death threats you wouldn’t even be able to back up.” Dean snarled, but said nothing, and turned his attention back to Sam, who lay fainted in front of him, just as the angel had said. Sam was definitely alive; his chest was rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing.

“Sammy…”

The angel ran a hand through his yellow hair, tossing the long locks back, almost mockingly. His steps were graceful and smooth, and the sound of his feet moving along the wood was quieter than Sam’s breathing. The angel leaned over Dean, who only noticed he was still there when the angel unfurled his own wings, casting a huge shadow over the two Winchesters. Dean refused to turn around and pay this so-called ‘angel’ any attention; he had done enough damage already. The blond bent down, pressing his lips to Dean’s ear,

“It had to be done, this transformation. You see those wings, do you not? Had it stayed dormant inside him any longer, it would’ve driven him insane.” He let his eyes drift to the unconscious Sam, narrowing them as he saw the black wings on his back stubbornly flap back and forth, all while delighting, in a sense, at the sudden hitch in Dean’s own breath. ‘He understands.’ The angel continued, “He is one of them; your little brother is, those torn, dark wings, the red in his eyes; you know what he is, Dean: A servant of evil, of darkness, of the devil. Of the one who made you what you are now.” Dean shook his head,

“Sam is not evil, he couldn’t be, he doesn’t have it in him…” He trailed off, not entirely sure of what to do. Should he gather up Sam and run? Should he turn around and ram his fist into the angel’s jaw? Should he just sit with Sam in his arms, act calm and rational and wait for some one to come save the two of them? He thought it over: the latter would most certainly not do, but the first two options were sounding mighty appealing at the moment…

The angel spoke on softly, “There is nothing you can do. This is Samuel’s true form, and it can’t be changed.” The angel stood straight and turned away; face expressionless, steps as smooth and as quiet as ever.

Dean paid him no attention (although Option Two was looking pretty damn good right about now…), and brought a hand up to Sam’s face, brushing the messy strands of his brown hair away from his closed eyes. Multiple veins had risen in Sam’s face, creating a myriad of reds, violets, and pale blues. His cheeks were wet with tears, and his nose was had turned slightly pink as it always did when he cried heavily. Dean let out a soft laugh at the memory; a tiny, four year old Sam, crying enough to fill buckets to their rims because he thought that the boogeyman was going to get him if he fell asleep. His tiny, running nose had been as red as a fire truck that night…

He snapped out of his thoughts, and looked at the wings, “Oh god, Sammy…”

The angel had not left. He had not disappeared in a cold Chicago gust, leaving a gross amount of his white feathers behind. He stood quietly, half mindedly examining his hands. “My advice,” he said over his shoulder, “Take Samuel back to the motel you two have been staying in, make sure no one sees his wings, and keep him there until you know that he won’t go into some sort of blood-rage immediately after you take you eyes off him. I really don’t want to work overtime at the ’Pearly Gates’ as you mortals have named it; believe me, it’s a demanding enough job as it is. Oh yes, and another thing; when Samuel wakes up, there’s a good chance he won’t really…remember much, so be prepared to have to explain everything to him, (“Barely understand any of this myself, damn it…”). He may remember you to a point, but I wouldn’t count on it.” Dean turned slightly,

“He…he won’t remember me?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“I never said that,” said the angel, turning around, “but it is likely.” The blond looked over to a nearby window; the moon was hidden behind groups of gray, smoky, clouds. “You should go.” He said calmly, “Preferably before the sun rises, it’ll be easier to his Samuel’s wings in the night.” The angel blinked as Dean stared at him, mouth only a bit agape. “Well, what are you waiting for? Gather him up and leave!” he yelled, gesturing to both Sam and the old wooden door that stood at the far right of the back wall.

Dean, speechless and angry and confused and fucking scared as he was, followed the angel’s instructions, and pulled Sam’s limp form up, slung and arm over his own shoulders, and carried him out the door. The Impala would be waiting outside, and as if Dean didn’t have enough going through his mind, he now had to hope and pray that there would be enough gas left in the tank to get him and Sam back to the motel.

The angel stood still, not making a sound, even as he sensed a being behind him. “Gabe…please tell me you weren’t too harsh with those boys. Heaven knows they’ve been though enough.” A feminine voice questioned. Gabriel sighed, “Had I not, the elder would’ve been in total denial. Ruth, you’ve seen their devotion to one another, hell, your sister has the younger one as her charge! Surely you’d know how those two are together!” The female angel sighed all her own,

“And your brother has the older one.” She spoke in a tone that indicated that this was not the first time she had spoken to the blond, “I understand full well how difficult this is for everybody; do not insinuate that I don’t, Gabriel.” She added warningly, tightening the band that held her dark hair together at the nape of her neck, “Where are they going now?”

“Some seedy motel, I didn’t catch the name.” he answered, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear; he could hear the old muscle car’s radio on; some symphonic, power metal song all too louder than the sound of the engine revving,

‘Why was I one of the chosen ones?

Until the fight I could not see.

The magic and the strength of my power

It was beyond my wildest dreams.

Dark wings they are descending,

See shadows gathering around

One by one they are falling,

Every time they try to strike us down.

Don't you die on me,

You haven't made your peace.

Live life, breathe, breathe.

Don't you die on me,

You haven't made your peace,

Live life, breathe, breathe.’

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Well, I hope that that was decent. If you're stumped on where the lyrics are from, they're from the song Dark Wings by Within Temptation. I figured the song would be appropriate for what was going on. :) And I apologize for how the lyrics have all those spaces inbetween them; sucks total ass that way.

Thanks you to all of you who took your time to read. Remember, concrit is love, so please don't be afraid to point out any glaring errors that Word or I did not catch. -Wolfkiller