Supernatural: Destiel One-shot. Based a bit on this wonderful thing h t t p : / / h o m o e r o t i c s . t u m b l r . c o m / p o s t / 3 5 8 8 4 1 0 4 9 0 / c a l l - o f - t h e - m a t i n g - c a s (remove spaces). Just took a slightly different approach.
Song of the Soul
The first time he'd met Castiel, there hadn't been anything.
Well, there had been something but it had been lost under the thunder and the shock and the disbelief. If he really, really thought about, Dean could scrounge up that memory and maybe, just a little, remember, very faintly, a light tinkling of silver bells.
But as the days, weeks, months had gone by he'd begun to notice it more. Whenever Castiel appeared, whenever he was around, the bells where there, faint, distance, almost too far away to hear. Then it wasn't just bells, there was humming too. Wordless, tuneless, yet somehow still beautiful humming that mixed with the bells and even though it was still too far away to clearly make out, there was something about it that sent tingles down Dean's spine. That's how he always knew that Cas was around.
And then they got louder.
Castiel would appear and the wordless, tuneless singing tangled with the silver bells would burst in his ears for what was an eternity of a second. And then it would be pushed back again, distant, too far away to clearly hear. In his head, Dean starts referring to it as "Cas' Song".
And he gets addicted to it.
He listens for it, finds himself thinking about it, feels a brief and unintentional burst of joy when when he hears it again. Sam can't hear it; he'd dropped half-hints about it and his brother would only make that befuddled expression of his and shake his head. It's a song that only Dean can hear.
And then Dean comes back from a hunt, all bloody, bruised, battered, limping and it's all Sam can do to help him get patched up. And of course they run out of bandages and Sam has to go run out for more. He doesn't want to but it's either that or makeshift ones from the motel bedsheets which probably wouldn't win them any smiles.
Dean lays sprawled across his bed, eyes closed, breathing slowly in and out, trying to make the pain in his butchered leg go away by thinking about something, anything else.
He thinks of Cas.
In an instant, the bells and singing are there and they are so loud. They bang against his eardrums and there's thunder now, passionate thunder, fervent wing beats, anxious drumming, all of it twisted together with the silver chimes and the wordless singing into a cacophony of noise that verges on the unpleasant. But it makes Dean's stomach hot and his mouth dry and his palms sweat and his spine tingle.
He lifts his head slightly and there's Castiel, standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at the bloody mess that's Dean's leg. Angry, worried blue eyes travel up from the leg to Dean's face.
"Turn your song down, Cas." Dean grunts and lets his head flop back.
"Song?" He can almost hear the head tilt.
"The bells," Dean mutters, staring through slitted eyes at the ceiling, "And the singing that doesn't have any words."
A heavy, heavy silence, Then there are warm hands-burning hands-on his ruined leg and he lets out a sharp gasp of pain. Heat and a blaze of light and suddenly the room's crowded by something too big to put a finger on.
"You can hear it."
Cas is sitting on the bed and Dean's leg doesn't hurt as much anymore. He sits up and looks down at it; there are still several cuts and bruises but he definitely won't have to amputate it anymore. He turns to Cas instead,
"What is it that I'm supposed to be hearing?"
"You called it my song." Castiel says, keeping his gaze locked tight with Dean's, "I had my suspicions that you could hear it for a while; the way you acted when I appeared was...but I didn't actually think it was you."
"Dean, that song you're hearing is a mating call." Castiel replies and suddenly he's leaning in very, very close, "Angels only have one mate, one specific mate created for them, their soulmate. The soulmate is the only one who can hear the...the..." A slight frown, a pause as the word was sought, "The sound. I think it is unique to every angel but if you can hear it..."
"Wait, you're telling me that the bells, the singing, the thunder, and the drums...that's all because you're my one and only?"
Cas stares hard at Dean for a long moment and then nods, slowly, "Dean, I need you to tell me something."
"If you want me to profess my undying love for you, you can forget it. I don't do chick flick moments."
"No." Castiel stands and steps back from the bed, "I need you to tell me if you can see my wings."
And before Dean can protest there's a rumbling sound, large church bells ringing in the distance. There is a rush of wind and suddenly the motel room is flooded in light. And not gold-white light, it's a flurry of rainbows, dancing across the walls, reflecting off the metal bedposts, lighting up the room in every single color imaginable and every one beyond imagination.
And the wings.
Castiel's wings are the rainbows. The feathers burn in every color, a dazzling display, more light than actual feathers. They shift from fire-burnt orange to velvet burgundy to snake-eye emerald to sunrise lilac to the deepest ocean blue to wedding ring silver to so many colors that Dean couldn't comprehend them.
He simply remains frozen on the bed, staring with wide eyes, shocked, awed, dazzled, and completely and utterly speechless.
The tiniest of smiles creeps across Cas' face and he steps forward, towards the bed. A lamp is knocked to the floor by the his spread wings, light-feathers brush the ceiling and seem to leave behind trails of gorgeous, sparkling streams of silver and gold, the glow could light up the world. Castiel crawls onto the bed beside Dean, lying on his stomach, and his hand gently presses against Dean's shoulder, pulling him back down to the bed. Dean is still speechless but he reaches up a hand an lets his fingers trail through Castiel's impossibly gorgeous wings.
There's an electric tingle across his skin, like a static shock, the heat of a hot shower, of someone pressing close against your back, the liquid feeling of perfect white beach sand. And then Cas makes the most un-Castiel like sound Dean has ever heard. It's like a humming purr from the back of the angels throat and when Dean looks, Cas' eyes are closed and his face is pressed against the blankets. The eldest Winchester can't help the smile flitting across his features and he keeps running his fingers through and through and through the gorgeous feathers, enjoying the pleasurable feel of them across his skin.
Cas gets lazy and lets his wings droop. One of them dangles casually over the edge of the bed, spilling lights and gold dust and impossible rainbows across the floor and walls. The other stretches protectively across Dean. The feel of it across his bare chest is enough to make him sigh in pleasure. He can feel his injuries stitching together, healing Grace and light and, hell, love pouring over his wounds and pulling him back together again. He ignores this, that's not important, he just knows that he wants Castiel. He brushes lights and feathers, fingers dancing through rainbows, and Cas' hands are doing some very un-angelic things across him and the silver bells and the singing and the drums are building around them like a cocoon of sound until Dean rolls over and plants a kiss firmly on Castiel's lips.
And when Sam comes back, that's how he finds them. Tangled on the bed, Dean's injuries completely healed, his fingers playing through the air and Castiel curled beside him, humming and making little pleasurable noises while his own hands explore Dean's chest in every why possible. Not to mention the kissing.
Sam can't see the wings but he knows they're there and, with a weary sigh, he backs out the door again because, really, he'd seen this coming from a mile away. All he could do now was prepare himself for the months of awkwardness to follow.