Whoa, what's this? A full length Destiel fic from HosekiDragon? Unheard of!

Anyway, here's how this is gonna work. AU, demons, angels, shifters, werewolves, etc. are called Unnaturals and live out in broad daylight and have the same rights as everyone else (in some places). Demons aren't really from hell but have the appearance of something from hell and are thus called such. Same goes for angels. I think that covers everything.

Any questions? No. Good. Then let's get started.

Content: DeanxCas, SamxJess, wing!kink, tail!kink, possibly oil gland!kink

The Title of this Sappy Romance Novel

Chapter One

Dean Winchester did not like bookstores.

And bookstores generally felt the same way about Dean Winchester. There was no segregation between humans and Unnaturals on Empyrean but some races stood out a little more than others. Werewolves, skinwalkers, witches, and the like could blend in well enough but demons, like Dean, fae, and angels stood out more. Extra appendages like wings and tails, horns and claws, tended to do that.

Dean's long, thin tail was currently rolled up against his back, the spade on its tip flared in his agitation. The tail position was partly because he didn't want to knock any displays over and partly because he was frustrated with his younger brother.

"Quit looking like you're about to be attacked." Sam Winchester scoffed, his own tail uncurling to prod his brother in the side, "No one's going to take a stab at us, we're in a bookstore."

Dean scratched at the base of one of his horns, small compared to his brother's curling ones, "Why'd you drag me along with you again, Giantopolos?"

Sam bitchfaced at him (Number 23: 'stop being so immature and act your age while we're in public') and turned away with a huff. Even though he was younger than Dean, Sam was at least a head taller than his older brother. If his height wasn't intimidating enough, he had a pair of black and redish-brown bat-like wings folded carefully behind his back and his tail was thicker than Dean's, his shoulders broader. To be fair Dean was, in his own right, a tough looking demon with jagged dark gray horns, piercing green eyes, and a whip-thin tail that could snap out at lightning speed if it needed to. But where Dean paraded himself around proudly, Sam was more conservative.

He was a law student, working towards his degree with a steady stubbornness that Dean would never openly admit to being proud of. And if there wasn't some form of irony in a demon becoming a lawyer, than Dean was straighter than a straightedge (bi, actually, with a flare for the dangerous and dramatic).

"Just help me find some books for class." Sam thrust a paper under Dean's nose, pulling his brother up short, "They should be in the somewhere over by the 'How To' stuff. I'm going to the 'Political Sciences' section. Don't do anything to piss anybody off."

Dean snatched the paper out of Sam's hand, making a face, "I'll do what I want, bitch."

"Jerk." Sam snapped back playfully and walked away before Dean could get another word in. The eldest Winchester snorted and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, trotting off through the shelves to the 'How To' part of the bookstore.

It wasn't hard to find, only a few paces away from the checkout desk that lined the wall in front of a display of new releases and ridiculously fancy bookmarks. Dean's gaze immediately fell on a rather questionable looking book and pulled a hand out of his pocket to reach for it. Unfortunately, this sent the paper Sam had given him drifting to the floor. The demon spun to catch it, missed, and had to bend over to scoop it off the thinly carpeted floor. His tail curled in even tighter in his irritation and the spade on the end flared even wider.

Dean turned back around and found a pair of eyes on him.

It was for the briefest of seconds, barely a breath of a look, but Dean Winchester knew when someone was checking him out and that dark-haired man behind the counter had definitely been checking him out. But, of course, Dean being Dean, he pretended not to notice. He half turned, watching the man out of the corner of his eye, and started searching for the books Sam wanted. He let his tail unfurl slowly, rolling all the way down to the floor and then back up to his waist again like a yo-yo in slow motion. He could feel the other watching him.

Dean grabbed one of the books of the shelf, checked it against the list, and then turned, intending to face the other bookshelf. Except that he made the mistake of glancing at the man behind the counter. And froze.

A pair of wide, impossibly blue eyes stared at him underneath a scruffy mop of black hair. A blink, a pink tinge creeping up pale cheeks, and then the man behind the counter had ducked away in a flurry of blue-black feathers.

Dean blinked several times and looked around but the man—the angel—was nowhere in sight. Shaking his head and frowning a little, he made to turn back to the bookshelf…and found himself face-to-face with his towering younger brother.

"Sam! What the hell!"

Sam was grinning and it was almost a mirror of that shit-eating grin that Dean used to antagonize people he didn't like. Dean didn't like it either. At all.

"What?" The older brother grunted, shifting his weight back and forth.

"I saw you checking that angel out." Sam teased, a stack of books under one arm, the end of his tail flicking up and down against the floor.

Dean growled in the back of his throat, shoved the book he was holding at his younger brother, and turned away, making sure his own tail smacked across Sam's ankles as he went. Sam only chuckled and grabbed another couple of books of the shelf. He only teased his brother because (aside from it being the brotherly thing to do) Dean had teased him so much when Sam had hooked up with Jess. Well, that and Dean's relationships never usually lasted past the bedroom. The current record was a week.

It wasn't that Dean was mean or horrible to his partners, he just couldn't commit. He said he didn't want to be tied down but Sam figured it was because he was scared. Dean just wanted to make everybody happy and he was very close to his family. Picking a mate seemed like a responsibility to him and, if Sam had his theories right, Dean just didn't know how to make a commitment on that level.

But these were Sam Theories and for all Sam knew, maybe Dean actually didn't want to be tied down.

"Are you going to come up to the checkout with me or are you going to keep skulking behind the shelves like a teenaged girl?" Sam asked as he hefted up his armful of books. It was something of an amusing sight, an extremely tall demon with thick, red-black horns curved almost like those of a ram standing there with a stack of books to help him study law. Dean would have laughed if he'd been in the mood for it.

Instead, he plucked a book off the shelf and flipped it open with a bored look on his face, "Nope. I'll just wait here for you. And I'm not skulking."

"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes, rustled his wings and headed over to the checkout. Dean watched him over the top of the book in his hands, careful to stay at the corner of the bookshelf so he could duck quickly behind it if necessary. There were only two clerks on duty and the other was busy which meant Sam was left with the angel.

He wasn't really an angel like from Heaven, just like Dean and Sam weren't really demons from Hell. But appearances make an impact on humans and the names stuck. It wasn't a burden, really, because people had generally learned by now that just because something was named a demon didn't make it evil and just because something was named an angel, it didn't make it good.

Dean watched as the angel let the barest hint of a smile cross his features, really it was more a twitch of the lips, a courtesy towards a customer that definitely didn't reach those ice chip blue eyes. Sam said something, his tail twisting into a spiral behind one leg, and the angel said something in return, nodding as he did so. He heard Sam laugh and for some reason felt like it was at his expense. The angel clerk scanned the books in, nodding at Sam's laugh, typed something up on the computer, and then said something else. Sam shook his head and scratched one of his horns. The angel's gaze flickered briefly up to those horns and then he said something else, pausing in his work for the briefest of seconds. Dean's green eyes lingered on the way the angel's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Sam rubbed a hand over one horn and said something in reply, his tail untwisting and swaying down to his ankles. The angel's head canted to the side, his eyebrows drawing in just a hair, and spark flickering in those blue eyes just enough to make him look curious and slightly confused. Dean's own tail rippled and wound itself around and around his leg, tightening into the fabric of his jeans.

Okay, this really had to stop.

He deliberately stepped behind the shelf, shoved the book back into its place, and stared very hard at a display with a bunch of books depicting boring politicians with smiles promising better times that never came. He stared at them hard, looking at every ugly wrinkle and strand of grey hair until his tail unwound itself from his leg and resumed its default position of hanging down in a slight S-curve, the spade slightly flared and pointing up towards the ceiling.

"Hey Dean—."

"God fucking damn it, Sammy!" Dean leapt a good half a foot in the air, arms flailing as he spun around in agitation to face his brother.

Sam cocked an eyebrow and glanced at the display of political biographies before looking back at Dean, "Thinking about dating politicians now, Dean?"

"Just trying to decide which one's ugliest." The snort that came from Sam was one of disbelief so of course Dean was required to tack on an insult, "So far, none of them are quite as ugly as you."

Bitchface Number 40 appeared ('that was lame and totally uncalled for') and Dean smirked, figuring he'd just won a round. Without looking back at the checkout counter and firmly telling himself that there was totally not a pair of blue eyes watching him saunter away, Dean started for the exit, sticking a hand in the pocket of his jeans and fondling the keys to his car. Sam hurried after him, plastic bag full of books thumping against his leg, and together the two brothers stepped out into the overcast afternoon.

The last dregs of summer had finally let go and been blown away by the crisp fall wind and as the cold fingers promising frost sought to bite through their clothes, Sam opened his wings slightly to catch the draft. It made the membranes between the boney fingers stretch and bulge and Dean glanced at him before returning his attention to the black Chevy Impala he was unlocking. He slid into the driver's seat, tail sliding up to curl against the inside of the door, and then waited for Sam to get in after him. His younger brother stuffed the bag of books into the back seat, carefully folded up his wings, and ducked into the car. He shifted slightly, trying to get the ends of his wings to hang of the sides of the seats, and finally leaned back and gave Dean a nod.

Brocas Helm was singing about lovers of the dark stepping into the light as Dean started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Sam propped his elbow at the bottom of the window and put his chin in his hand, staring out as the world flashed by. Dean drummed his fingers against the wheel in time to the music, occasionally bursting out to sing along with his favorite parts of a song. Sam waited until they were well on their way home before he spoke over top of Def Leppard proclaiming that the rock of ages was indeed still rolling.

"His name's Castiel."

Dean immediately knew what he was talking about but decided to play dumb and pretended he was entirely too focused on the road, "Huh?"

"The angel at the checkout, his name is Castiel."

Dean grunted and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Def Leppard proudly announced that they had a fever for which there was no cure. The spade on the end of Sam's tail gently tapped the inside of the passenger door.

"I think he like—."

"Do you want me to drop you off at Jessica's?" Dean asked louder than necessary and glared at the back of the car in front of them when Sam snorted.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the journey home.

Dean dropped the keys of his apartment into the dish on the counter and threw his jacket over the back of a chair with a loud, unashamed yawn. Not that there was anyone around to care, Dean lived by himself since Sam had left to live either on campus or at his fiancé's place. He didn't mind, having space to himself was liberating. It meant things like walking around in nothing but his boxers (or nothing at all, if he wished), it meant things like making waffles at three in the morning with no one to whine about it, it meant things like taking home any partners he wants and having as much noisy sex as he wants and not have a younger brother yelling at him through the walls.

Still, the apartment was built for two and sometimes when he passed that empty bedroom he was reminded of it.

But Dean was definitely, definitely not lonely.

The demon plucked a beer from the fridge, turned around, slammed the door shut with a well placed kicked, and wedged the tip of his tail under the cap to pop it off. This taken care of, he moved from the kitchen into the living room and flopped into his favorite spot on the worn out, gray-brown couch. The television flickered to life, catching the end of the news as it petered down to stories about cute pet tricks and people repainting old houses to rejuvenate their declining neighborhoods, and Dean put his feet up on the coffee table, relaxing back against the cushions with his beer in hand. He let out a long sigh, letting that breath drag out all the aches and pains and frustrations of the day, sucking them from the depths of his belly and spilling them into the open air so they could simply disappear.

A certain pair of blue eyes did not.

Dean frowned and took a swig of his beer, watching with a furrowed brow as the six 'o 'clock news jingle faded out into a commercial about Empryean grown food and the benefits of farming locally. Thinking about someone he hadn't even spoken to was not Dean Winchester norm.

Dean and Sam had been born and raised in Empyrean, a culturally diverse continent where Unnaturals and humans got along with relative ease in something that could be called peace. Across the ocean, on Achreon, Unnaturals were treated as lower class and used as slaves. History classes in high school had taught them that Empyrean and Achreon used to be at war, fighting for or against the rights of millions of Unnaturals. In the end, the fighting grew too intense and a treaty was established between the two continents.

It basically said: You stay out of our business and we'll stay out of yours.

There were still tension there but everyone turned their backs on what was happening on the other side of the ocean and pretended nothing was going on. Dean had met people—humans and Unnaturals alike—who had come from Achreon and it always struck him how strangely different they were from Empyrians. There was something stiff and formal and snobbish about the humans, something quiet and unsettled and submissive about the Unnaturals, a taste in the air around them both that made Dean's tail curl. Sam didn't like them either but he was too much of a nice guy to ever say it out loud.

Another gulp of beer and Dean was trying his hardest to focus on the progressive crime show that had reared its head across the television screen. But he could never get into progress crime shows—Douches who wore sunglasses at night? Come on!—and it was a Sunday night which meant Monday morning when he woke up.

He would pretend to care about the serial killer offing pretty girls who didn't know better than to wander into dark alleys alone at night, finish off his beer, and turn in for the evening. And he would not spend the night thinking about blue-black feathers and cerulean ice chip eyes.

And his tail was totally not curling up around his leg again.