Spoilers:Castiel? Yes? Okay.
Summary:Sam pulls wings out of Dean's back, which apparently you're not meant to do. Then Castiel cleans up the mess and teaches Dean how to deal with his new wings.
Notes/Warnings: SMUT. Um, Dean-with-wings. Wing!kink. Aggressive!Dominating!Cas and Submissive!Dean
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own (:
Dean was feeling…strange. Well, that's no new thing, but it was why he was feeling strange, that was strange. Are you following? Good.
There was an itch along his spine, two identical lines on either side and they were annoying the crap out of him. He was practically rubbing against anything and anyone that looked sharp enough to soothe the itch, if just for a little while. Driving in the Impala was accompanied by various shifts and slides as Dean tried to get comfortable in the seat, his entire body thrumming with nervous energy, practically deflating when he found a way to scratch at his back whilst driving, and then Sam would have to watch as his nerves gradually tensed up again, muscles coiled for another dance with whatever-the-hell was making him itch.
At first the brothers thought it was the soap, so they changed it and went with a brand they knew. Dean wore different clothes that hadn't been washed but the effect remained the same. Then they thought he might have gotten bitten by some mosquitoes or something, despite the fact that they hadn't been anywhere in particular abundance. Still, bugs did seem to love Dean's blood and if there was a will, they would certainly find a way.
Occasionally Sam would suggest that if Dean ignored it and stopped scratching, it would go away, and he was only making it worse. If looks could kill Sam would be dead a hundred times over.
Finally Dean could take it no more; he slammed on the breaks of the Impala, pulling her off onto a side track on the highway they were travelling. No one had been coming for miles, and so Dean didn't really see a problem wasting time with something like privacy. Feeling like there are ants crawling under your skin might have something to do with that.
He shoved his door open, stepping out into the Death Valley nightfall chill. He pulled off his leather jacket and that was quickly followed by his shirt, and there was a brief reprieve as the cold air caressed his skin and he leant against the sun-warmed and night-cooled metal of the Impala. The freeze of the metal and the air was a beautiful balm on his skin as he arched back awkwardly, trying to get the full length of his back, from neck to hip, on contact with the relaxing chill.
Sam's door opened and closed and soon he was standing next to Dean, just resting against the Impala door. He was worried about his brother, of course – if Dean was so focused on his itch he could barely drive, what were they going to do about Hunting? About anything, really? And an itchy Dean is an irritable Dean, which means an irritable Sam, and putting the both of them together in confined places for long periods of time – like their whole lives, for instance – would only end in disaster.
But he was silent as he watched his brother practically melt into the Impala. He couldn't help smirking just a little at the amount of bliss on his brother's face, so intense that if he didn't know any better he'd swear Dean had orgasmed from it. He retrieved two beers out of the trunk, opening them silently and handing one to Dean, who took it and drank it down without a pause. Sam sipped at his lightly, staring out into the vast expanse of nothing that was Death Valley, his breath misting lightly in the darkened air.
The reprieve from the itching didn't last long; soon enough Dean was giving annoyed grunts, trying to find new places on the car that hadn't been warmed up with his body heat, but nothing seemed to satisfy him. Sam moved away from the Impala's hood, giving Dean enough room to wriggle to another colder area, like flipping over the pillow on a hot night to the cool side. That would do the trick for another five minutes or so.
Soon enough, however, Dean started moaning pitifully, deprived of comfort from even his Baby – she couldn't satisfy him for long. "For fuck's sake!" he growled, finally turning over onto his front. "Sam, you have to take a look here – what the hell is up with my back?"
Sam couldn't see very well in the dark, so he rummaged around in the Impala's trunk quickly for a flashlight, which he turned on and returned to his brother, shining it on Dean's back. His back was paler than his arms, having not been touched by the sun, and there were two identical red lines on either side of his back. They looked like a two-clawed wolf had taken a round with Dean, running from his shoulder blades and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. The cuts were jagged and ugly – they looked like they could be infected; black clumps surrounded them and the skin was tinged red with blood. Sam wondered how Dean had managed to put up with it for so long.
"Dude, these look infected," Sam muttered, reaching out to touch one of the cuts, hesitating and drawing his hand back again. "Do they hurt? Burn?"
"No," Dean grunted, shifting his weight again, pushing himself upright so he was no longer sprawled along the hood of the Impala. He tried to twist, to see what Sam saw along his back but didn't bend that way. "It's just really, really itchy. Like someone opened up my back and poured cayenne all over my spine."
Sam frowned again, guiding the flashlight up and down Dean's back. As he looked closer, a sick sort of theory began to form in his mind. "Dude…hold still for a sec," he said, and Dean's 'What the -?' was choked off as Sam touched his back, between the two lines on Dean's left-hand side. He dug underneath the black clumps, pulling slightly on them. He didn't know what he expected – perhaps the gross tug of scabs getting pulled off, or the equally nauseating feeling of a blood blister breaking – but the feeling of down in his fingers wasn't it. He pulled gently on the black, the motion awkward with just one hand, and tried to separate them from Dean's skin. It didn't work, but they did spread out a little more; fanning, wet. He recognized them for what they were when more began to appear from the breaks in Dean's skin.
Feathers. Tiny, downy, wetted down feathers. Like a baby bird's, covered in Dean's blood. They were black, a matt color underneath the sheen of blood, and Sam hurriedly shoved the flashlight into his brother's hand, feeling around blindly for the rest of them, trying to pull them away, but they didn't just get pulled out. More followed – bigger ones, longer feathers that were attached to bone and sinew, with blood vessels that Sam could almost feel under his skin, and membrane and a pulse – a pulse that was rapid and shallow. Dean fell to his knees when Sam pulled one wing free and it dropped heavily to Dean's side. The second wing almost made him collapse limp against the Impala. By the time Sam had finished with the fourth wing Dean was shaking, his entire body quivering and Sam didn't know why, what Dean was feeling, but it terrified him. His brother had just sprouted wings. Sam had just ripped wings out of his brother's back.
That takes a while to process.
Sam hesitantly took back the flashlight and moved it over Dean.
The wings were beautiful – huge and dark, damp from Dean's blood and whatever other viscous fluid covered them, see-through and pooling on the floor before Sam's eyes. They shook almost as hard as Dean was, his older brother, curled up into an upright version of the fetal position, head buried in his folded arms which rested across his drawn up knees.
Without thinking Sam drew closer. "Dean -." He was cut off when Dean let out a pained sound, a mix between a groan and a hiss, and jerked away from Sam. It took a moment to realize that by moving closer Sam had unconsciously pressed against one of Dean's wings, crushing it.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmured, trying to soothe Dean, but it was like he couldn't be heard; Dean was listening to something, but it wasn't him. "Dean?" Again, no response. "Dean, please look at me."
"Sam!" Immediately the younger Winchester turned around, hearing the sound of Castiel's voice. His relief was short-lived at the look on the Angel's face; furious, awestruck, wondering, scared. He felt the stupid, undeniable urge to put himself between Dean and the Angel, to shield his older brother in his vulnerable state. "What the hell happened?"
"I…" Sam shook his head. "Dean grew wings," he said simply, at a loss of what else to say despite the fact that his statement only served to point out the blaringly obvious. "They were just…aggravating him…like itching and I…thought they were infected so…I pulled them out."
"You pulled them…" Castiel shook his head, and Sam had the thought that if he were more at home with human mannerisms he would scrub a hand over his face and pinch the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. But he only clenched his hands once and shook his head. "You don't just pull wings out, Sam. They're meant to grow out."
"Well thanks for telling me that! Or better yet, telling us that's what was going on!" Sam snapped in reply, shifting just a little closer to Dean as his shaking began to lessen. Now Sam was beginning to think it was pain that made Dean tremble like that, and hated to think he was the one that made his brother feel such agony. "Answer me this; why does my brother have wings?"
"This is…absolutely unheard of," Castiel murmured, like he hadn't heard Sam, and before Sam could blink he was kneeling in front of Dean, pulling the older Winchester up so he was on his hands and knees, wings hanging limply by his sides and covering his entire lower half in damp black feathers. "Dean, listen to me, right now." Castiel's voice was hard, cold, like he had just regressed to the stone soldier the Winchesters had known him as when they first met.
There was a moment when it looked like Dean was just going to collapse, unconscious, right in front of his car with a worried brother and Angel and four wings sprouting out of his back, but then his eyes sharpened, focusing on Castiel and he reached a hand up, gripping for purchase on Castiel's trench coat, gasping heavily as though he'd forgotten how to breathe. "Cas…what…?"
"Listen, Dean, you're alright but you need to listen to me," Castiel said, softening just a little at how honestly terrified Dean looked, and the pain he could see plainly in the Hunter's eyes. "We have to clean your wings immediately so they'll stop hurting."
"Clean them? How?" Sam asked, skeptical as he looked around the desert – there wasn't a good source of water for miles around and the only huge amount would be in the form of chlorinated pools.
"Do you have any holy water in the Impala, Sam?" Castiel asked, his eyes flashing with something when he looked at the younger Winchester that Sam didn't bother trying to decipher – probably one of his 'Foolish human now I shall have to clean up your mess' looks. Sam nodded and went to the trunk, glad that they'd restocked recently and so had almost four gallon-jugs of holy water ready to use. He brought them to Castiel's side and set them down, open, ready to use, then knelt by Dean, careful to avoid his wings and ready to help.
"Alright, Sam, we must move quickly now," Castiel said, voice low and urgent when Dean let out a small pained whimper, the top right wing shifting a little in distress. "The viscous fluid is very alkaline and damages a young Angel's wings badly when exposed to air. That is why you don't pull them out until the fluid is gone." Another flash of that something, and then it was gone when Castiel pushed one of the jugs into Sam's hands. "Pour this over the top wing and comb the feathers as well as you can. It'll only be on the top layers, mostly, so I'll get the lower pair. Come on; we don't have long."
Hastily Sam obeyed, already moving before Castiel stopped talking. He dumped half the water over Dean's far wing, standing so he could reach the whole thing. The water hissed slightly on contact, burning away at the weird alkaline fluid as Sam ran his hands over Dean's wing quickly. The viscous fluid seemed to gather in easy clumps wherever the holy water touched it, making it easy to pick off, like glue when it dries on your hands. The fluid stung his skin and he knew he'd have alkaline burns later – but this was his fault, so he could deal.
Vaguely he was aware of Castiel doing the same thing on Dean's second pair of wings, whispering little chants in Enochian to keep Dean calm while they worked over him. Sam thought he recognized the word for 'Protect' and 'Safe', but that was guesswork. Soon Sam finished on one of Dean's top wings and moved onto the other, finishing off the first jug and starting with the second as he picked the burning clumps off Dean's wings. It was painful to touch; he couldn't image how Dean was feeling, and new guilt washed over him at the knowledge that this was his fault. If he'd just left Dean to deal though, who knows how long it would have taken for the wings to 'grow' out? How could he have honestly seen this coming?
Exactly. Castiel could cut him some slack.
He's just worried. And of course he would be. Sam knew about Dean and Castiel's relationship – you'd have to be blind not to see it – and so could easily explain Castiel's behavior as the same sort of thing one has over a sick lover. Sam remembered feeling the same sort of thing when Jess had gotten a nasty virus from hanging around with one of her sick friends – who hadn't known she was sick before Jess was infected – and he'd wanted to take it out on Jess' friend. It was the same sort of thing.
Except Dean was sprouting wings, and they were burning him.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't the same sort of thing. At all. Not even close.
By the time they'd gotten the worst of it off both Sam and Castiel's hands were red and raw, and it hurt to touch even the soft downy underside of Dean's wings. Still Sam persevered, using the blunt edge of a knife when his fingers refused to touch any more of the substance, and even keeping his grip tight enough to hold the knife hurt. He couldn't imagine how Dean was feeling.
Dean had buried his face in Castiel's neck, the Angel crouched on the balls of his feet as he stretched his arms forward to clean whatever parts Sam wasn't reaching – and that he could reach – until all of it was gone, turned into a giant puddle on the dirt ground that looked like melted wax, still steaming from contact with the holy water.
With the urgency of the situation, Castiel relaxed visibly, washing his hands with the remainder of the holy water before touching Dean's skin. He cradled Dean's face carefully in his hands, wiping away the tear streaks that Sam chose to ignore, for the sake of his brother's pride, and said; "Dean, look at me. Does it still hurt?"
The wings on Dean's back shifted slightly, damp feathers sticking to each other, and Dean hissed as one of them rubbed against his still-sore back. "Stings," he ground out, trying not to show how much pain he was in with his voice, but it didn't fool Castiel or Sam – they'd touched it; they knew.
But they pretended not to, for his sake.
"Can you zap us into a motel room?" Sam asked without much hope, knowing that Castiel's powers were dwindling and he had almost completely fallen, and he was still recovering from the trip to the past the Winchesters had been taken on.
Castiel's eyes flashed to him before they closed, and he kept one hand on Dean's face, the other extending to the Impala. Sam quickly gripped Dean's calf before all of them were moving. The feeling of getting ripped to atomic shreds and then put back together in a different place was never present, and the sensation seemed extra jarring with Castiel's fading powers, but he got them into a room safely enough. A quick glance outside proved that the Impala was parked safely outside, and Dean had been moved to one of the beds, face down and wings splayed out beside him.
The Angel didn't say anything to Sam as he went to Dean's side, but Sam could feel the hostility radiating from him; "Listen, Cas, I didn't know…I mean…"
"I know, Sam," Castiel replied, looking over at him, then back to Dean. "It's never happened before, and I couldn't expect you to have known what to do." A ghost of a smile, soft and fleeting, crossed Castiel's face. "There was no need to be so short with you. It was uncalled for."
Sam nodded, accepting the half-apology for what it was. "Is there anything I can do?"
"I imagine your brother will be hungry, and we will need more holy water in the morning, but…until then…" Castiel hesitated, getting that expression on his face that Sam recognized he took on when he wanted Sam to go away but was too polite to ask him to do so. "Could you maybe…?"
Sam smiled, understanding; it was probably some weird Angel bonding thing anyway. He didn't need to be around that. "It's okay, Cas. I'll make myself scarce. I'll see you in the morning." He spared one more look to his near-unconscious brother, and then headed for the door. "Tell him I'm sorry, okay?"
"I will," Castiel replied, and it was said with such utter seriousness that Sam had a smile on his face as he left the motel room.
Dean shifted on cue, moaning loudly at the stretch and pull of new muscles he never had but now that he had them, they seemed normal – like something was missing and now it was there. Like when people say 'I hurt in places I never even had', Dean legitimately felt like that. His back stung, but that dreadful itch was gone, thankfully, and his chest felt like there was a weight on it that he couldn't get rid of – like a giant bird was sitting on him.
"Cas?" he asked, wondering if Castiel might have passed out on top of him – the Angel tended to do that sometimes. Then again, Dean was pretty sure they hadn't been having sex…He remembered driving with Sam, getting out and begging him to look at his back, and then…pain.
He pushed himself upright, surprised when it seemed to be harder than usual, like he was carrying the weight of four bodies instead of just his own, and froze when his lower wings fell forward into his field of vision. "The hell -?"
What happened next would have been comical if it weren't such weird circumstances. Dean kind of…flailed, his wings responding to electric signals he wasn't aware his brain was sending and trying to right himself while getting wings under himself and…basically, he ended up on his ass on the floor, wings spread out behind him and his left lower pulled forward forcefully by his own hand. Dean was staring at it like it was a rabid hellhound out for his blood.
"Dean." The Hunter's head snapped up at the sound of Castiel's voice, only to find the Angel crouched in front of him, uncomfortably close. The Angel's eyes were burning with blue flame, a mix of awe, worry and lust swirling around in the iris. "Dean, are you alright?"
"Does it look like I'm alright?" he snapped in reflex – runner up being 'I'm fine, Cas, go away'. The three wings he wasn't holding onto flailed and thrashed angrily behind him. "I have wings! What the hell happened?" And there, amidst that anger and sarcasm was fear. Rightly so – Dean should be afraid.
"Sam pulled them out," Castiel sighed, reaching forward and brushing his fingers through the outer reaches of Dean's flight feathers. "He wasn't supposed to – you had another week or so before they were ready, but they were bothering you so I guess he tried to help."
"Back up; Sam pulled wings out of my back?" Dean's eyes widened, the memory of it coming back; Sam telling him to wait a second, fingers digging into shallow dips in his back, grabbing, pulling, and then the horrible burn. "Why do I have wings, Cas?"
"I…don't know," Castiel replied honestly, biting his lower lip, expression torn like he desperately wished he had the answer, but couldn't supply it. "You just…" His eyes raked over Dean, from wingtip to wingtip, and the Hunter founds himself shivering involuntarily under the penetrating gaze. "Do."
Dean's wings twitched behind him, curving without conscious thought towards Castiel. They were huge, easily twice his height, length-wise, with the smaller lower pair almost two thirds of that length. The feathers rustled and shivered like grass in a breeze, from top to bottom, and it was like Dean could feel every shift of the air against them, his brain overwhelmed somewhat from the whole new host of sensation that he wasn't accustomed to. Castiel's hand twitched where it was, supporting himself on the floor where he was still crouching in front of Dean, his eyes on Dean's wings with that predatory gaze the Angel sometimes got when Dean was in the good kind of trouble.
Trying to actually control his wings, Dean closed his eyes, telling the lower ones to fold against his back and feeling a small tickling sensation when the feathers met the bare skin of his back and sides. The larger ones he let rest, just shy of brushing Castiel's shoulders. His eyes flew open when Castiel reached out and touched one of them.
Very, very sensitive. Castiel had to know what he was doing, having wings himself, and his fingers dug slightly into the underside of Dean's giant right wing, pulling the feathers just slightly on he stroked upwards against the grain. Dean shuddered as a whole body movement, his wings trembling visibly as he tried to get a grip on the sensation; the burn of it mixed with a feeling so intense that, honest to God, was so good. He didn't know whether it was pleasure or pain or both but it felt fantastic and he wanted to fucking solidify this feeling and wrap himself in it. And that didn't even make sense – that's how messed up his brain was right then.
Just from one touch.
Dean remembered going through puberty, and that awkward stage where just a breeze will give you a hard-on, and you have a recovery time to match your lasting time, which is practically nothing. One touch from Castiel's hand had him from zero to holyfuckmustcomeNOW in two seconds flat.
He reached out blindly, fingernails digging into forearm and pulling so Castiel was suddenly in his lap, and he held onto the Angel as though Castiel were the only thing holding him together. If there was a feeling for spontaneous combustion, Dean was pretty sure this was it. Castiel didn't fucking stop stroking him, and he could vaguely feel the bastard smile against him, and his other hand joined the first on the other huge wing, digging and stroking and carding his fingers through the feathers, and it felt so good.
Dean whimpered; overwhelmed by all the sensation, at a loss of how to cope with it. He held Castiel more tightly to him; sure that he'd be suffocating a regular person. He was pretty sure he was begging too, muttering nonsensical things into Castiel's neck that made no sense, but provided an outlet for what he was feeling. Whether he was pleading for it to stop, or to continue, for more pressure or less, Dean couldn't be able to tell you.
Castiel smiled, bringing one hand away to stroke through Dean's sweaty hair, placing a kiss to his Hunter's temple. "Shh, Dean," he coaxed, causing Dean to whimper again as his hand kept up the pressure, moving further in so he got closer to Dean's body, where the wings grew more sensitive. Dean was actually remarkably accurate in his comparison to the 'puberty' stage. Wings grew less sensitive as they aged, and since Dean's were so new, it was like being a teenager again. Which was kind of pedophilic for Castiel, and he was essentially taking advantage of Dean's vulnerability, but he couldn't help himself.
His wings were beautiful.
Like hair on humans, Angel wings varied in color, thickness and even shape. Attractiveness varied to the Angel – some preferred redheads, some brunettes and so on – but the perfect, eagle-like curve of Dean's wings would be beautiful to anyone. The color was a personal preference for Castiel, since his own wings were that matt black – though not as flat; shinier, like he'd been sprinkled with silver – and to him Dean was just too pretty to not touch. His young, fledgling wings were so soft and warm and responsive. It was like having a virgin.
And that thought was just a little-lot hot.
Castiel's trench coat and clothes underneath were getting soaked and the Angel became aware that Dean was sobbing into his neck, hands desperately trying to claw at Castiel as some outlet. Castiel withdrew his hand, then, contrite at overwhelming Dean because he lacked the necessary self control to stop himself, and instead moved his hands to Dean's head, pulling him away from Castiel's body to look into the beautiful green eyes of his lover.
"Dean, you're okay, it's okay," he purred, placing a light kiss on Dean's forehead, then cheek, then lips, keeping it chaste as he pet through Dean's hair, soothing him with his fading Grace as his wings trembled around them. "I'm sorry; I couldn't help myself. Forgive me."
"…Cas…" Yeah, Dean was stuttering. You would be too if you'd just gone through that. "It's so…I can't…I…" And yeah, Dean couldn't really form thought at this point. He buried his face into Castiel's neck again when the Angel let him, shuddering heavily. "They burn."
"I know, Dean, I know," Castiel replied, knowing that they would have to wash Dean's wings again, to get rid of another round of buildup; they'd probably have to wash Dean's wings three or four times before the natural oils kicked in and the viscous protective fluid stopped getting produced. "I'll call Sam for more of the holy water."
"No!" Dean's response was immediate and vehement, as he wrapped his hands around Castiel's wrists, fingers digging into the pulse. His eyes were wide and slightly panicked. "I can't have Sam touching them…I…"
Castiel chuckled, kissing Dean again on the forehead because honestly, that was just too cute, before rasping in the Hunter's ear; "Sam will not have the same effect I do, Dean. In fact, it's very important to Angels to establish familial bonds. You should let Sam help me." He bit lightly at Dean's neck before licking over the sore spot. "I promise to behave."
Dean snorted, and smiled, and Castiel knew they were going to get through this. It'd be alright.
Dean was relieved when Castiel's words held true.
Castiel had called Sam back and the younger Winchester had obeyed his request, creating more holy water and bringing it into Dean's motel room. He'd only hesitated briefly at the door, seeing his brother's flushed, wrecked state, but blissfully allowed his brain to make the naïve assumption that Dean was so tense from pain, and not allow himself to dwell on what sort of things his newly-Angelfied brother would get up to with new, sensitive wings.
Dean had been on the defensive when Sam came near, Castiel carrying more of the holy water and setting the jugs down in front of Dean, the Hunter's wide eyes fixed on his approaching brother. Dean's wings shifted uneasily, his feathers ruffling along the outer edge, beginning to stand up to make him look bigger, and Castiel resisted the urge to smooth them down, knowing that wouldn't help Dean's shaken state any more.
Sam knelt down slowly, keeping his movements deliberate and unhurried as though Dean was a wounded or frightened animal that he must gain the trust of, his eyes gentle but caring when they moved away from Dean's, over his shaking wings where Sam could see more of the viscous white fluid gathering along the edges of the feathers. He bit his lip, remembering the burn of them, and braced himself for a few hours more of that painful touch.
When Sam moved one of his hands forward, intending to just brush his fingers over the arch of Dean's closest wing, Dean made a sound in the back of his throat, moving it away just slightly, and Sam hesitated, meeting Castiel's steady gaze before he steeled himself and went the rest of the way, settling his hand on Dean's wing, bracing himself for the reaction.
Dean gasped at the sensation of Sam's hand on his wing, the appendage jerking under the touch before he could help it, and his eyes fluttered closed, sensations, new and frightening coursing through his body. It wasn't like Castiel's touch – not as electric and overwhelming – but it was still pretty damn intense. Dean's hands clenched into fists and he pushed them into the floor, his back straightening, shoulders hunching forward a little, and swallowed.
"Is this okay?" Sam asked, worried by this reaction, and he looked to Castiel for guidance again, out of his depth here. Castiel nodded.
"Wings are very, very sensitive, especially when they are young," Castiel replied, stroking a hand down the side of Dean's face, balancing Sam's touch with the more corporeal feeling of fingers against Dean's skin. "And Dean does not have Grace. Grace is stronger than a soul – it is built differently and experiences physical sensations connected to a body differently, less acutely, than humans do. Humans are wired into sensation that is physical, and wings are not meant to be physical things. Even the softest touch can be overwhelming," he whispered, remembering Dean in his arms, reduced to tears just by having Castiel's fingers carding through his feathers. "We will have to tread carefully so as not to crush him."
"Dean?" Sam hedged, his hand staying perfectly still on Dean's wing, wanting his brother to get used to the sensation before Sam moved it, and Dean's eyes flared open at his name, looking over at Sam. He was breathing heavily and a light sheen of sweat was starting to form on his skin. "Is this hurting you?"
Dean bit his lip, unsure how to answer that, because the sensations didn't…hurt, per say. It felt, to him, like Sam's hand was liquid heat, pulsing with the beat of Sam's heart. He could feel the echo of Sam's pulse against Sam's skin and against his feathers, and the warmth of Sam's hand was spreading through his wings like he was slowly submerging them in a pool of lava. It was very intense, very hot, but not sexually. Castiel had been right about that much, at least.
He bit his lip, and shook his head. "No," he whispered, voice hoarse, and shifted again, wings falling around him. Inadvertently it caused Sam's hand to start to pet down Dean's wings, the lava spreading, and Dean stiffened for a moment, sucking in a sharp breath, before he released it. "Just feels really, really hot, like a volcano."
Sam and Castiel shared a relieved smile at that, glad that Dean wasn't in pain. "Can we bathe your wings again, Dean?" Castiel asked, gesturing to the jugs of holy water, and Dean stiffened again, remembering the pain of the procedure last time. "The alkaline fluid will only burn worse the more we wait, and it won't hurt as much as it had before."
Green eyes flashed to dark, sincere blue. Dean bit his lip again. "Promise?" he asked, sounding small and scared, his lower, smaller wings curling up against him, and Sam blinked, realizing Dean was afraid. Afraid of these new things that were so sensitive, so utterly debilitating, making him so completely vulnerable. For someone who liked to keep everything locked inside, having something that gave anyone access to his very being was probably the scariest thing Dean had ever experienced. Scarier than Hell, because at least not everyone went there.
Castiel smiled, cupping Dean's cheek with one hand, and leaned forward, resting their foreheads together, and he murmured something softly, under his breath. Sam didn't hear it, and he suspected it was something in Enochian so he wouldn't understand it anyway, but whatever it was, Dean relaxed once the words were said, a soft, serene kind of smile coming to his face.
"Alright," he said, flaring out his wings to give Sam and Castiel room to work with. "Have at it."
Castiel had promised to behave himself, and really, he was trying. He had just forgotten how sensitive a young Angel's wings were, especially before the natural oils started to kick into production. Every touch of Castiel's fingers on Dean's feathers made the Hunter shiver and growl behind clenched teeth, his pheromone production jumping into hyper drive, his wings shaking and curving forward towards Castiel, inviting him to mate. It was possibly the most alluring sight Castiel had ever seen.
Still, he promised that he would behave.
Dean was torn between the two people touching his wings. Sam's touch was liquid heat spreading through his nerves, banking a fire to smoldering embers along his sensitive, ruffled, burning feathers. Only the cold splash of the holy water gave him any relief worth speaking of, and Castiel. Castiel zinged along his nerves, lit his wings on fire. He didn't know how, but he knew that in some Angel way he was totally acting like a slut for Castiel's hands. He wasn't quite sure how wing-language equated to body language, but with the way Castiel's eyes had darkened, and he kept biting his lip, and his breathing was getting heavier with every pull of his fingers through Dean's feathers, Dean figured he had to be doing the equivalent of spreading like a whore for Castiel. Every time his wings flared out, giving Castiel more room, he felt like he was putting on a show that only the Angel could understand, and it was so awkward, with Sam being there and all.
If this was a problem that stayed, then Dean would make Castiel teach him how to work his wings to make sure he never gave away his moods with them. He didn't want to accidently tell Rafael or something that he wanted to fuck the guy. Awkward. And it's hard to keep a poker face when your wings can't lie for shit.
Sam blew out a relieved sigh when all the build-up of white had gone, pooling on the floor underneath Dean's wings. He did a cursory sweep of his hands over Dean's wings, making sure he'd gotten it all, and was just brushing underneath them when –
There was a hard, like…glob there. Had he missed a bit? Sam frowned, feeling around the spot, that felt about the size of a walnut, buried in a mass of thick feathers where the wings jutted out of Dean's spine, and Dean let out a choked, whining kind of sound at the same time a slick fluid started to cover Sam's fingers.
"What the hell?" Sam asked, panicking, because he really wasn't getting a good track record with these wings. Dean's wing pushed at him, sending him backwards, and he fell back, not expecting the violent push. Dean was staring at him like Sam was the weird one, like Sam had just hit him or something. "Dean, what did I do?"
"What did you do?" Dean asked, incredulously. "Fucking hell, Sam, I felt like you were trying to tear my fucking wing off," he growled, his wings curving around him protectively, shutting both Sam and Castiel out and protecting the sensitive, vulnerable underside. "Don't do that again, you hear me?"
"Sam, what happened?" Castiel asked, curious and worried about his mate's sudden outburst. Sam shrugged and held up his hand, rubbing his fingers together. It looked like they'd been coated in a fine oil, like lighter fluid only slightly thicker. Castiel's eyes widened upon seeing it. "Sam…how did that get there?" he asked in a low voice. The one he reserved for when he was threatening people or about to smite them.
Sam swallowed. "Uh…under his wings. I thought I found a bit of the wax stuff that I'd missed and I kind of…pulled, and then all this oil came out," he explained weakly, feeling like curling into a ball under the weight of Castiel's gaze.
"Sam, this is very important," Castiel said in a slow, soft tone that held no room for argument. "You need to take this," he handed Sam the last of the holy water, "and wash every trace of Dean's oil off of your body, do you understand me? And your clothes – get all of it. Do not leave any on you, especially your skin or any place where you might inhale the fumes as it dries."
"What?" Sam frowned, confused but he took the jug, emptying it over his hand and the sleeve of his shirt, just in case, but he knew he hadn't gotten any anywhere else. "Why, Cas? What does it do?"
"Angel oils typically coat the feathers, to protect them from getting dirty and it also helps to cool them down, like sweat does for humans," Castiel began, looking towards Dean and his cocoon of dark feathers, which shifted a little as though in a breeze, and Sam knew he was listening. "These oils are produced by glands that come out where our vessels and our wings combine with each other, and they are very, very sensitive. Even more sensitive than the wings themselves are."
"Okay," Sam said slowly, still not understanding why Castiel was telling him this.
The Seraph fixed him with a look. "Angels also tend to produce more oil when sexually aroused," he stated blandly, not beating around the bush, and Dean's wings flared up in shock so he could flash Castiel a look of his own, but his mate ignored him. "Especially in the first few years of having wings, Angels typically get aroused very easily, and produce a lot of oil as it plays a great role in mating rituals that we have." Dean growled softly – a warning that continuing would be a very bad idea if Castiel ever intended to have rituals with him again – but once more he went ignored. "We tend to mark our mates with the oil, and the oil has a lasting build-up effect. The more we smell it, or feel it, or are marked by it, the more we desire our mate, so you needed to wash it off before it became an aphrodisiac and you started desiring sex with your brother."
There was a long, long silence, and then Sam wrinkled his nose and pulled a face. "I shouldn't have asked," he stated blandly, and Dean snorted at the same time Castiel smiled softly. Sam pushed himself to his feet. "Well, since there's apparently a lot of oil everywhere," he smirked at Dean, who blushed – freaking blushed – and he knew he would never live this down, "I guess I'll go get some food, or research for a case or something and leave you two lovebirds alone."
Dean's wings puffed up in indignation at the nickname, but he didn't say anything until Sam left, where he promptly sagged forward, wings dropping to the ground. "Did you really have to be so, I don't know, explicit?"
Castiel blinked, crawling forward so he was in front of Dean. "I believe I was very subtle, considering." Dean chuckled and Castiel cradled his face in his hands, drawing the Hunter into a soft kiss. Dean's wings curved forward involuntarily, arching up slightly so the underside was exposed. Castiel's breath hitched and his eyes widened, seeing the display.
"What does that mean?" Dean asked, because he didn't know what exactly he was saying with his wings, as they were moving on a subconscious level. "When I do that, what am I telling you?"
"You're…" Castiel bit his lip when Dean's wings moved a little, flaring out slightly more but not losing any of their height, in response to his voice. "You're telling me that you're young, and fertile, and that you're willing to mate with me," he whispered, almost awed by it, and he reached forward, stroking up the inside of Dean's wings, from where they sprouted from his back. "You're showing me your size, and strength, and letting me know just exactly what you have to offer, and you're inviting me to touch, to find your oil glands and use them as I see fit."
"So, basically, I'm propositioning you?" Dean asked, a laugh in his voice.
Castiel nodded, his eyes wide. "And it's a very, very tempting offer you make," he confessed, like it was taking all of his self control not to jump Dean right then and there. "You'd better fold them again, Dean, or I don't know how far my good behaviour will extend."
Dean's eyes fluttered closed when Castiel leaned forward, growling the words into his ear, digging his nails sharply into the patch of skin between Dean's sets of wings. Dean mewled for him, wings flaring out even more, arching up high with the second pair flattening to the floor, and Castiel let out a low, desperate sound.
"I want you to, Cas," Dean whispered, his hands coming forward and wrapping around Castiel's shoulders, shivering at every touch along his back and every exhale against his neck, eyes closing and listening to Castiel's harsh, erratic breathing. "Want you to touch me. Could probably come just from your hands on my wings."
And lord was that something Dean had never thought he'd say, but there you have it.
What tattered remains of self control Castiel had managed to keep were blown away at that point, and with a growl he tugged Dean to him, and between one blink and the next Dean found himself lying on the bed, Castiel bearing down on him like a fucking freight train, his wings spread out either side of him, and both of them already naked because Castiel could be an impatient bastard when he wanted to be.
"I'll touch you," Castiel snarled, leaning down and biting at Dean's lips until the Hunter opened for him, deliciously arching his body up to run along Castiel's, his wings flaring out to give the Angel room to work with, and from the angle and positioning it wasn't hard for Castiel's hands to dig under Dean's back and find the hard glands that lined the edge of back and wing. He pressed down mercilessly and Dean howled, pleasure so intense that it was maddening ripping through his body with the force of a…well, fuck, there was nothing Dean could possibly compare it to. He felt like Castiel was ripping him apart from the inside. His body jerked in Castiel's arms.
And then, suddenly, it was gone. The pressure and the pleasure were gone and Dean gasped, moaning, feeling so…empty without it. He gazed up at Castiel, dazed and slightly out-of-sorts, and Castiel smirked down at him, head cocked to one side, eyes full of the kind of darkness that meant all sorts of good things for Dean in the near future.
"I'll touch you," Castiel repeated, his hands coming back slicked with a fine sheen of oil, and Dean groaned, realizing that was his oils, marking Castiel up, and it was kinda-sort-amazingly hot, now that he knew what it signified. Castiel was his. He felt pressure at his lower lip and opened without thinking, surprised when two fingers slipped in, coated with something that tasted like water and musk. He groaned again, knowing that Castiel was making him lick his own oils off of Cas' fingers, and he whined when he felt another hand between his legs, one slick finger pushing at his hole, and he spread his wings eagerly, feeling his smaller wings fold up to his sides and around him, his larger pair still very much spread. He realized, then, that that was him giving Castiel an all-access-pass to his oil glands and he wasn't sure how he was meant to feel about that, but from the moans echoing from Castiel's reddened, parted lips, Dean figured it could only be good things.
Castiel's finger slid in smoothly, all the way up until the webbing stopped him going further, and Dean mewled around his mouthful when Castiel immediately started twisting it, slicking Dean up with his own oil, and fuck, that was so crazy-hot. Dean arched just thinking about it, and moaned again when one finger became two and Castiel started scissoring them inside of him.
Dean licked at Castiel's fingers, trying to move his head to the same kind of rhythm Castiel was setting up, but he failed, too out of his mind with lust to do more than rock his hips down onto Castiel's fingers, trying to get the Angel to go that little bit deeper, and flare his wings out, inviting Castiel closer.
With a low growl, the fingers in Dean's mouth were ripped away, replaced with Castiel's own mouth and Dean would be damned if he was going to complain about that. He smiled, wrapping his arms around Castiel's shoulders, his legs coming up and easily framing Castiel's hips, keeping the Angel rocking over him, naked skin sliding against naked skin. Dean's second, smaller pair of wings reached around and fell over Castiel's back, forming a little cocoon of warm, wet feathers, and the sensation of Dean's wings ghosting along Castiel's back sent lightning-shards of pleasure up the Hunter's spine, and he growled, his body tensing up a little, trying to make it until Castiel was at least inside of him.
"Please, Cas," he growled out, unsure how much longer he could last with Cas' fingers inside of him, his other hand starting to wander over his exposed primary left wing. "Fuck, Cas, please, just fuck me already!"
Castiel hummed against his jaw, the bastard, and pulled his fingers out, leaving Dean to whine and buck his hips once again, not liking the empty feeling. Then…oh God…He felt deft, knowing fingers pressing against the base of his wings, teasing around the gland and fuck, it was like Castiel's fingers were still inside of him, teasing him, only a thousand times more intense. Dean whined pathetically, flaring his wings and arching his back so that Castiel would just take him already, but the older Angel had far more self control than he had, and chuckled against the sweaty skin of Dean's neck.
"Patience, beloved," he purred, instead angling his hands so that they dug into the outer feathers of the second pair of wing, and not the underside of the first where Dean so desperately wanted them. "Dean." Castiel made a choked-off kind of sound which the Hunter, over their time together, had come to associate with when Castiel wanted to blaspheme but couldn't bring himself to. "You're so wet."
And Dean would laugh at the choice of words if he didn't think he was just about ready to explode. Castiel's fingers were gliding through his feathers, so slick with his oil and Dean was pretty sure they were soaking the bed sheets too, and if what Castiel had said was accurate then it would only take the stuff drying for Castiel to want to jump him again, which could create a vicious cycle and –
He was way too horny to be thinking about this.
"Gonna do something about it, old man?" Dean challenged, the words falling a little weakly as they shook, and Castiel smiled, pressing a light kiss to Dean's racing pulse, and then one hand – one blessed, glorious hand – moved and pressed very deliberately against Dean's right gland. Castiel rubbed it like he was jacking Dean off, with firm but gentle strokes against the walnut-sized gland, coaxing as much oil as he could out of it. Dean cried out at the sensations, they were so intense, he almost found himself wanted to get away from it, wanting to curl up on himself to try and get some protection from the assault of sensation on his mind and soul. Castiel bent down, his lips by Dean's ear, and he started chanting something in Enochian again, something that Dean didn't understand, but – and this will sound crazy – the wings did. Under the influence of Castiel's hypnotic voice and the slow, grounding pressure of a hand stroking down his chest, Dean's mind was dragged back from the terrifying, overwhelming sensation, and by no means did it all go away, but it was manageable. A little.
He blew out a breath, pupils blown wide, cheeks and chest flushed, body shaking. "Cas?" he asked, unable to find words more than that – it was all Cas, Cas, Cas…
"Forgive me," the Angel replied softly, brushing his lips along Dean's open, panting mouth, and by the time the Hunter got with the program and tried to reciprocate he'd pulled away again. "I had…let myself get carried away, touching you. Again. I keep forgetting how sensitive and untried you are."
Dean wasn't sure if that was meant to be a compliment or reassurance, or neither. He frowned up at Castiel.
"Your wings, Dean," Castiel said, seeing the expression. "New wings are thousands of times more sensitive than mine are, for instance, or older Angels' are. And your glands, too, will be sensitive because you have not mated with them yet."
Dean laughed quietly to himself at the role reversal, where Castiel had far more sexual experience than he had. To be fair, Cas had a lot more to work with, here.
"Okay," Dean replied, still feeling a little shaken, though, because fuck, that had been so intense, too intense. Painfully so. He pulled Castiel closer, wrapping his legs and the secondary wings around him. "Will you fuck me now?"
Castiel chuckled, amusement and love sparking in his eyes, and he leaned down to slant their lips together, stealing Dean's breath, and moved so that he could slick his cock up with Dean's oil, knowing that Dean was already stretched and that the Hunter didn't like over preparation because he liked to feel being split open. Castiel lined himself up, bracing himself on the bed and careful that he didn't inadvertently pull on any of Dean's feathers while he pushed in.
Dean moaned, his wings surging up around him, covering Castiel in that heavy cocoon again, legs spreading a little more to give Castiel more room between them, and he rolled his hips, spine giving a delicious little shudder-arch, his hands finding Castiel's hair and petting through it while his Angel bottomed out inside him.
He was practically purring, feeling so full, Castiel sitting all hard and thick and hot inside of him, and when the Angel's hands moved to his wings again he sucked in a breath, and they flared out once more but still curved up, making sure that all of them rested in Castiel's reach so that the Angel could touch any part of Dean's wings if he so chose.
Castiel smiled, knowing Dean wouldn't know what his different signals were saying, but Castiel did, and he would make sure Dean learned them too before they ran in to any of his brothers – because that could and would be awkward.
"Cas," Dean whined, rocking his hips again, tugging on Castiel's hair gently because the Angel seemed to have gotten lost in his own head. "Please. Move."
"Forgive me," Castiel intoned softly, rocking his hips to drive a little more deeply into Dean, who tossed his head back and let out a satisfied little sound that made the Angel smile. One of Castiel's hands took a hold of Dean's flushed, hard cock, jacking him slowly to a counter rhythm of Castiel's thrusts. Dean whined, writhing underneath him, trying to get both of the sensations at once and failing. "I'm going to touch your glands again, Dean," Castiel said, feeling like he needed to warn the Hunter, and Dean stilled for a moment, then nodded. His secondary wings, however, flattened themselves to the underside of the first so Castiel couldn't reach the gland. The Angel chuckled, gently tugging on a feather and making Dean jerk and mewl. "Do you not trust me?"
Dean gave him a look like that was the stupidest question anyone had asked, ever. "Of course I trust you."
Castiel leaned down, watched how Dean's breath hitched a little, and he licked his lips, preparing for another of Castiel's dominating, thorough kisses that always managed to reduce Dean to a puddle of goo. "Then spread," Castiel growled, eyes flashing, and Dean moaned at the order, at the simple dirtywrongness of those two words.
Shaking, Dean moved his secondary wings slightly down and around Castiel, baring his glands for the Angel and Castiel smiled, kissing Dean lightly in reward, and then he began to pick up his pace, striking Dean's prostate almost brutally at every thrust, and the Hunter whined, locking up around him, shaking through the beginnings of his orgasm as he gasped and moaned and writhed for Castiel.
The Angel's hands came down on Dean's wings, keeping them still and sending more lava-lightning through the nerves, and his thumbs brushed over Dean's oil glands, and Dean was gone. He let out a sound that was only muffled by Castiel's passionate kiss, throwing himself into it as he came, shooting all over his abdomen and Castiel's hand. He felt like he was having a seizure or something, so powerful were his spasms, and the orgasm seemed to last forever before he finally started to come down, finding Castiel rocking lazily into him, softening as he'd been thrown over the edge by Dean's own orgasm. The Hunter winced at the wet feeling between his legs and underneath him, knowing they'd created one hell of a wet patch and he was laying smack dab in the middle of it.
Castiel carefully withdrew himself from Dean's wings, making sure not to ruffle them the wrong way or over stimulate the sensitive feathers. Dean shuddered out a breath at the loss, his wings curving forward yet again towards Castiel.
The Angel pulled out of Dean with a wet sound and Dean winced again, feeling sore all over, and pushed himself to a sitting position. He ran his fingers through the wet oil on the bed sheets, and held them up to the light. Castiel's eyes followed like lasers.
"This isn't permanent, right?" Dean asked warily, looking at Castiel.
The Angel bit his lip. "You will always produce oils to keep your wings clean and to add a protective coating, but producing this much, in excess?" Castiel shook his head. "Only when you're, ah, 'propositioning'." He chuckled.
Dean smiled too. "You said, when it dries…" He trailed off, not quite sure what he was planning on saying to finish that sentence.
"Even now," Castiel responded, knowing where Dean was going with this, "the oil produces a pheromone as it dries that is designed to call to a potential mate." He took a deep breath in, as though to demonstrate. "It's very…alluring."
"So every Angel will be able to smell this? Will want to jump me?" Dean snapped, worried and wary and just a little pissed off.
"No, of course not," Castiel replied, "because I bear your oil on me too. For all intents and purposes, you have marked me as your mate and Angels are typically monogamous. No Angels will give you trouble unless they don't wish to be Angels much longer."
Dean smirked. "Well, if it isn't bad-ass Cas." The Angel blinked at him, and Dean had time to notice, then, that Castiel's state hadn't improved – his eyes were still almost black, his breathing still heavy, his hands still clenched tightly like he was trying desperately to control himself. Dean's smile grew, became a little more sly, and his wings curved forward, this time in a deliberate invitation from him, towards Castiel, tempting him to mate. "Do you want to go again?" he purred, feeling wetness start to trickle down between his wings from the excess oil, and between his legs from Castiel's release, and the idea of Castiel fucking Dean into his own oil and making a great big mess of him was way hotter than it had a right to be.
"You have no idea," Castiel growled in reply, and before Dean could react Castiel was on top of him, his hands in his wings and his body slotting perfectly alongside Dean's, and the Hunter laughed, spreading his legs and his wings out again, because he was definitely ready for another round too.
Six months later.
Sam looked up, too late, to find his brother tackling him from the ground, laughing playfully as he landed a soft almost-punch before taking to the air again. "Timber's for trees, jerk!"
"You're just jealous, bitch!" Dean's retort was whipped away on the wind as he flew upwards again, both sets of wings beating powerfully to get as much altitude as fast as possible. Sam chuckled and cast a sidelong glance to Castiel, who was watching Dean with the mild indulgence of a parent watching their child play. "I blame you for this."
Castiel blinked, innocent. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"How come you just pop in and out of thin air, but we have to see Dean fly?" Sam asked, looking back up for his brother as he pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off.
"Dean is still young for an Angel. He won't be able to cloak his wings for another year or so, and the only reason he is so slow is because, again, he is young. Eventually you won't be able to see him fly."
"I could beat you any day, old man," Dean said, suddenly behind Castiel as though he had always been there, grinning ear to ear as his wings folded behind him. Really, for a guy who was terrified of planes, Dean had taken to flying naturally, like he was born to do it. Sam suspected it was because he was the one in control up there; it's always a control thing with Dean.
Though… "Okay, Dean, please don't call your boyfriend 'old man'. It's weird."
Dean grinned again, shaking out the larger set of wings before Castiel said; "Besides, you will never be as fast as me. You don't have enough wings."
They both raised an eyebrow at him. "How many do you have?"
"Seraphim typically have six. I only showed you my central pair in the barn when we first met," Castiel replied, kicking at a stone beneath his feet in a very human gesture. "To be honest I think any more than two is unnecessary, but they are helpful in fights and for speed. The Archangels have thousands."
"Wow…way to make a guy feel small," Dean said, folding his arms over his chest with a mixture of a smirk and a frown on his face – an expression that would almost be a 'bitch face' if it weren't on Dean.
"If it's any consolation," Castiel said, looking back up at Dean and fixing him with one of those epic I-can-see-into-your-soul stares, "yours are by far the most beautiful I've ever seen." There was a slightly awkward pause, in which Dean blushed and looked away, wings shuffling behind him, and Sam grinned and bit his lip to stop laughing, before Dean turned back to Castiel and kissed him, briefly.
"Okay, enough flying, PDA and wasting my time. We have a rugaru to hunt," Sam announced, clapping his hands together loudly before heading back to the Impala. "I guess I'll be seeing you two later?" he asked, grinning, only to find that Castiel had already disappeared, and Dean had taken to the sky, seemingly chasing something that was only visible to him.
Sam shook his head. "I have freaking Angels for a brother and a friend," he told the Impala, starting her engine. "Jerry Springer would be jizzing in his pants right now."