#Castiel's Wings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seraphic-elysian · 3 months

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@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died. He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen.

It cannot.

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him.

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now.

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears.

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe.

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels.

“D-”

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees.

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!”

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!”

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through.

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means.

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?”

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-”

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well.

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?”

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.”

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.”

“Then what were you talking about?”

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft.

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?”

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?”

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?”

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #fanfic #spn #ficlet #sam winchester #jack kline #angst #major character death #major character injury #tw blood #Castiel's Wings #shitty writing #I really need more than three hours of sleep #I wrote this after having an urge to go fist fight god #though I'm ready to fist fight tumblr too since it keeps messing with my posts

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eepy-pleepy · 2 years

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“Look up at me?”

Dean lifted his face but kept his eyes on his phone, still tapping. Charlie leaned in and dotted over another one of his freckles in blue. The kitchen table beside them was covered in brushes, wipes, Q-tips, and little pots of brightly colored face paint, in rainbow colors.

“I can tell you’re nervous,” Charlie said offhandedly, laser-focused and very close to Dean’s face, her pinky braced against his cheek.

“No you can’t. Why would I be nervous?”

“You always play Crossy Road when you’re nervous.”

“I always play Crossy Road when I’m bored. Seriously, how long is this going to take?”

“It’s your fault you have so many freckles.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not bullshitting new ones everywhere.”

Charlie poked him in the middle of the forehead with the butt of her brush. He pinched her side and she yelped, jerking sideways. The lid to the blue paint clattered onto the linoleum floor.

“Pick that up, ungrateful knave!”

“I can’t, I’m paralyzed by nerves,” Dean said, leaning back and setting one ankle on his knee. He turned a sunny grin up at her. Charlie cooed and grabbed one of his cheeks like a doting grandparent and Dean almost tipped his chair over trying to yank back.

“Don't smear the paint!”

Smug, Charlie exchanged the blue paint for purple. “Nope! This is the good stuff. You’re gonna have to work to get it off.”

Dean blinked up at her in horror.

“Jesus. Why did I agree to let you do this.”

“Because you look fucking adorable with rainbow freckles,” she said, and handed him the small mirror on the tabletop. He stared, then brought the mirror in closer and rubbed at his cheek. The rainbow colors didn’t budge.

“Oh no.”

Someone started hammering on the front door of the apartment and Charlie bellowed IT’S OPEN over her shoulder. Dean leaned away from her, protesting the noise with a loud, annoyed yowling. She rolled her eyes and pulled him forward by the chin.

“Shut up. One more color.”

“Shoulda just gone full Pride Braveheart, woulda been faster.”

“I told you, but you wanted ‘subtle’.”

“There’s always next year!” Sam said, poking their head around the kitchen doorway. They stepped in with Eileen and Dorothy in tow and Dean spluttered, pushing Charlie aside so he could sit forward.

“What’s with the heels, Sam, you’re already a tree!”

Sam was indeed wearing boots with three-inch heels. They were also wearing heart-shaped glasses, dangly earrings that almost touched their shoulders, metallic paint on their nails, and a loose, half-sheer top covered in constellations. Their cross-body bag strap had several pins on it, the largest of which said THEY/THEM above a small enamel nonbinary flag.

“You won’t be complaining when I’m an easy landmark in a sea of people, dipshit.”

Dot bent down to lay a smacking kiss on the side of Dean’s head. “Happy first Pride, Dee! I come bearing gifts.”

She swept a spot clear on the kitchen table and upended a small paper bag. A collection of pins clattered onto the wood.

“For Eileen,” Dot said, holding up an enamel pin of the ASL sign “I Love You”. Eileen beamed and pinned it to her jacket, along with her SHE/HER button and pansexual flag. Charlie helped to face and sort the pins, squealing when she discovered the Live Long and Prosper in the colors of the lesbian flag. She squished Dot in a side-hug and kissed her on the cheek.

“For Sam,” Dot said, handing up a little Sasquatch to an answering eye roll, “aaand Deanie Bean.”

Dean held out his hand to accept the last pins. One was a HE/HIM pronoun button, then a small enamel bisexual flag, then a pair of cowboy boots that said “PAGING DR SEXY, STAT”.

“Awesome,” he said, then grunted when Charlie plopped down on his lap. She took the pronoun pin and started fastening it to Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt, which they’d altered into a sleeveless boatneck via some clever ripping.

“You don’t have to wear them all if you don’t want to,” she said quietly, tugging Dean’s shirt lopsided so the top of Dean’s flaming pentagram tattoo showed.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Charlie shrugged. “You just went a little green when you saw the flag.”

“Blame the freckles,” Dean grumbled, and Charlie kissed his forehead before bouncing to her feet.

“Alright, queers, wheels up, let’s rock ’n’ roll!”

“Who’s got sunscreen?” Dot called out, rifling through her tote bag as the group started migrating towards the front door.

“There’s some in the car. Pocket check!”

Everyone tapped chest, hips and butt and then threw a sassy snap in the air, everyone except Dean, who was busy pinning the bi flag to his shirt. Charlie patiently held the door for him, smiling like a proud mom.

“There,” he said, pulling the shirt lopsided again. Charlie slapped his ass as she pulled the door shut behind them.

“Gonna have to keep an eye on you, lookin like such a snack.”

Dean threw her a cheeky wink. Charlie cackled, looping their arms together as they caught up with the group. She whooped and threw devil horns in the air with her free hand.

“Pride’s not gonna know WHAT hit it this year!”

🌈

A fuckin’ heatwave, as it turns out.

Dean was too hot, and not in the Bruno Mars kind of way. Well, not just that way.

The heat was making him grumpy.

“How was your first Pride, Dean? Oh, fine, I got heatstroke and died. Music was good, though.”

“Oh my god. Go get another beer and stop whining,” Sam said.

“I spent my last buck on this itchy feather boa.”

“Dean.”

Dean made his best puppy-dog eyes up at Sam until they rolled their eyes and pulled a ten from their bag. Dean beamed and scrunched his shoulders.

“Thanks mom!” He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. “OI! Charlie! Dot! Want anything?”

Dancing under some water misters, they raised their cups and shook their heads, tapping Eileen on the shoulder. She turned and Dean signed more drink?? and waved the ten with his eyebrows raised. She tapped her bottle of spiked lemonade and raised the number 1, nodding. He lifted a thumbs up and she blew him a kiss.

“Sure, I’ll take a beer,” Sam said loudly as Dean shouldered past them.

“Not good for trees. It’ll wilt your foliage. I’ll bring you a nice hose water.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean was grinning and tapping the folded ten-dollar bill against his hand, eyes on the nearest drinks tent, when something very large and very rainbow tumbled out of the crowd and knocked into his side, shoving him into a small group of people wearing a lot of leather. He hit the pavement with a surprised oof.

“Sorry!”

A hand reached down to him. Dean squinted up at the stranger’s silhouette haloed by the blinding sun; a man, with… two very large wings.

“Did I fucking die?”

The hand closed around his wrist and pulled.

“I didn’t hit you that h—“

The man’s voice trailed away as Dean stood up and met his eyes.

Dean stared.

🌈

The girls pushed their way back through the sea of people to where Sam was standing, bumping into the arm they had raised over the crowd.

“What’s up? Did you spot someone famous?” Charlie said, pushing up on her tiptoes to try to see over the crowd. Her red hair was beaded with little pearls of water from the misters, sticking to her face.

“No, get this,” Sam said, lowering their phone and tapping the screen. Chewing on a grin, they turned it to show Charlie.

She grabbed the phone.

“Shut up. No way.“

🌈

He was tall, almost as tall as Dean, with messy dark hair and big blue eyes, a strong stubbled jaw and a mouth that made Dean think strawberry marshmallow. The very tanned, very smooth skin of his chest was on full display, showing off a wordy tattoo on his left side, just under his ribs.

The only thing he wore above the waist was a pair of great big, rainbow-feathered wings. Like proper enormous, angel-of-the-lord sized wings.

Dean shut his hanging jaw with a click.

“Are you alright?” The man asked, his voice as low and gritty as the pavement that had caught Dean’s fall. Dean dusted off his hands.

“Uh, depends. Are you real?” He leaned back and tapped one of the leather clique chicks on the shoulder. “Hey, sorry. Can you see him too?”

“What, the gay angel? Yeah.”

Dean held out his arms in a tah-dah sort of gesture. “Hallelujah.”

The man’s eyes caught on one of Dean’s hands.

“You’re bleeding.”

Dean looked down. The stinging skin of his palm was, indeed, starting to bleed.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he said, blotting it on his black shirt. He watched the blood start to well up again. Angel guy came closer, his fingers grazing the back of his hand like he wanted to cradle it but didn’t want to come across as too familiar. The hesitant brush was almost more intimate than if he had just taken his hand. An electric thrill ran up Dean’s spine and he tensed to prevent a visible shiver.

“I’m very sorry. I knew the wings were a bad idea,” the man said.

“You kidding? It’s the most badass shit I’ve seen all day. Did you build them yourself?”

“My brother did. His are pink, yellow, and blue.”

“There’s more of you?”

“Just us,” he said. “Here, at least.”

Dean tipped his chin up a fraction. He clapped the man’s shoulder amicably.

“Us black sheep are cuter anyway,” he said, and reveled in the small smile he got in return. “I’m Dean.”

“Hello, Dean,” the man said, taking Dean’s proffered hand and shaking it. “Castiel.”

“Wow. Props, man. Never heard that one before.”

“You’re not religious?”

“What?”

“It’s the name of an angel.”

“Oh. Is that why…?” Dean asked, gesturing to the wings. Castiel nodded.

“My siblings and I are all named for angels. Gabriel thought these would be fitting. And adequately blasphemous."

Dean grinned.

🌈

“Who do you work for?”

Sam jumped and Charlie yelped at the sudden accusatory voice behind them. The group turned to find a man glaring daggers, hands on his hips.

Above his head stretched a pair of pink, yellow, and blue wings.

“What’s with the sneaky pictures of my friend over there, huh? What are you, P.I.s?”

“Nothing like that!” Charlie said, holding out a placating hand. “That man in the black shirt over there is their brother!”

The winged man looked up at Sam, who was nodding vigorously, and immediately adopted a less intimidating stance.

“Ah. Sibling blackmail, I respect it. Whatcha got?” He said, and moved in with eagerly wiggling fingers.

🌈

“The freckles are a nice touch.”

Dean snorted. “Sure. Looks like I contracted a bad case of the gay.”

Castiel laughed, throwing his head back. His dark hair shone like a rich red wine where it caught the sunlight.

“Condolences,” he said. "Did you know, some people believe they're angel kisses?"

"What?"

"Freckles."

A sly smile grew on Dean's face. "You tryina take credit for something, angel?"

His smile only got bigger the pinker Cas' cheeks got.

"Of course not, Dean. Just making small talk."

They stood in line together at the drinks tent, caught between the baking pavement and the punishing sun. Dean grimaced and pulled his bi pride feather boa away from his neck, arranging it like a sash so it didn’t touch as much skin.

“God. Don’t those things itch?”

“No. They’re very hot, though,” Castiel said, pulling the wings away from his back to let the breeze through. Dean eyed the curve of his spine in the little alcove he’d created – the way his skin shone with sweat, the outlines of his phone and his wallet against the swell of his, uh. Castiel started to turn and Dean quickly averted his gaze.

“How’s your hand?”

Dean lifted it between them. It was still trying, sluggishly, to bleed.

“I’ll see if I can get some ice and napkins,” Castiel said.

“It’s fine, man, really.”

“To you.”

“Cas.”

“What can I get you two?”

They looked up to find that they were next in line to order. Dean started to open his mouth to correct the person but stopped when Cas touched his hand.

“I got it. What do you want?”

“You don’t—“

“Dean.”

“Fine.” He’d just sneak the ten into Castiel’s pocket later.

He gave his order and stood off to the side, holding his drinks while he watched Cas pay for them, asking for extra ice and napkins. Dean rolled one cold, wet beer bottle against the side of his neck, eyes on Cas’ slender fingers as he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. The motion pulled the waistband of his jeans lower over his hipbones and Dean had to look away or risk accidentally boiling the beer he held against his skin.

“Here, over here.”

Cas led them past the drinks tent and up onto the grass, finding a relatively uncrowded shady spot under a large tree. He set his drinks on the ground and gestured for Dean to give him his hand.

Dean hissed when the ice hit his palm.

“Sorry.”

“Dude, quit apologizing.”

There was a flash of blue when Cas’ eyes flicked to look up at him. He patted one of the napkins gently against Dean’s raw skin.

“Thank you,” Cas said.

“…Weird track switch, but sure?"

“For letting me help,” Cas clarified. He gave a wry smile. “Despite protest.”

Something akin to panic fluttered like a single trapped moth behind Dean’s ribs. Shit, was this goodbye? Why did this sound like goodbye? This couldn’t be all there was.

“It, uh… it ain’t all better yet,” he said. Cas’ brow furrowed.

“What?”

Dean’s heart was hammering. Risk it? Risk it?

God, yeah.

“You didn’t kiss it.”

Cas searched his eyes. Dean wondered if his own pulse was visible slamming against his neck.

Slowly, Cas lifted Dean's hand between them. He touched his lips to Dean’s palm, over the napkin. Dean swallowed.

“Better?”

Dean shook his head. God, he was going to rupture several veins the way his heart was going, but something – maybe everything – about this guy made him want to throw caution to the winds. He took a step closer. He turned his hand in Cas’ lax grip so his fingers brushed the strong line of his jaw.

Cas didn’t stop him. He leaned in.

Dean closed his eyes and kissed him.

“WOO!”

“YEEOW!“

They leapt apart, almost spilling the drinks by their feet.

“Jesus!”

Sam, Charlie, Dot, and Eileen were standing at the curb by the drinks tent, whooping and hollering along with a man wearing a set of pink, yellow, and blue wings. Gabriel leaned back to check Sam’s raised phone screen, then cackled and high-fived them.

“Don’t worry guys, we got it!” Gabriel called, throwing them a thumbs-up while Sam gleefully showed the other three the footage. Dean looked over at Cas like he was afraid Cas might try to deck him. He found Cas watching him in much the same way.

“Do you know those people?” Cas said.

“Unfortunately. The skyscraper? That’s my sibling. The gals were the ones who talked me into attending. I don’t know how they found your brother.”

“Trust me. Gabriel found them.”

“Awesome.”

The group was coming in to join them under the tree, making ridiculous cooing noises.

“You’re all horrible,” Dean said, and swiped the drink he’d ordered for Eileen before she could grab it. She pouted at him. He narrowed his eyes and mouthed traitor, but gave it over anyway. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then discreetly flicked her eyes in Cas’ direction and signed he is smokin’ so only Dean could see it. Dean shrugged in the universal sign can you blame me? and she grinned.

“So when’s the big daaay?” Gabriel sing-songed, looping his arm through Cas’. Cas shoved him off.

“It’s a wonder I make any friends with you around.”

Gabriel just laughed and pinched his sides, making him hunch over defensively, which brought his head low enough for Gabriel to pull him into a noogie.

“Oooo looked like a little bit more than friends, little bro!”

“Gabe!”

“I’m so proud of you!“ Charlie said, swinging a punch at Dean’s arm. “Way to just go for it!”

“Charlie, ow?”

“Our little gaybie, growing up so fast.” She wiped away a false tear. Dean rolled his eyes and pulled his feather boa from his shoulder, winding it in loose coils around Charlie’s neck and lower face. She laughed, spluttering through the feathers.

He jumped when he realized Gabriel was standing right at his shoulder.

“Shit. How do you do that with those on?” Dean said, looking up at the wings. Gabriel just narrowed his eyes at him, singular in his focus, like he was reading the fine print of his soul through the back of his retinas. His gaze shifted to consider the middle of his face.

Dean hissed when Gabe suddenly gave him a cheerful clap on the arm. It was right on the same spot Charlie had punched.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, rubbing his arm.

“Cute freckles, Prince Charming.”

“Thanks.”

Apparently satisfied, Gabe turned away, almost knocking Dean over with one of his wings. “Seriously melting my balls off out here, where’s the nearest ice cream tent?”

“The snowcone van is right over there,” Dot said, pointing. Charlie bounced up and down, grabbing Dot’s arm.

“Ooo! Do you think they have rocket pops?”

“Gangway!” Gabriel declared, leading the charge back towards the thick of the crowd milling on the street. Charlie and Dot followed in his feathery wake.

“Hey, um,” Sam said, still hovering nearby. “I can delete that video. I don’t mean anything by it. Your business is your business.”

“Since when?” Dean said. He felt feathers brush his arm and glanced over.

Cas met his eyes, his gaze a calm, steady blue. Dean’s stomach did a little pirouette.

“Might be nice to remember. Look back on someday,” Cas said. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“You goin’ somewhere?”

In his periphery, Sam and Eileen started to sidle away. Dean hooked Cas’ pinky with his own, loose.

“I wasn’t going to presume anything,” Cas said. Dean’s fingers crept further, capturing Cas’ ring finger along with his pinky.

“Yeah I probably shouldn’t, either.”

Cas looked down, threading their fingers together properly. Their palms settled against each other. When he raised his eyes, it was tentative, almost shy.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this giddy. He swung their joined hands between them.

“Hey. Did it hurt?” He said.

Cas squinted at him. “What?”

“When you fell from heaven.”

Dean cackled when Cas rolled his eyes in a dramatic full-body gesture and shoved him over onto the grass.

Feathers and Freckles on Ao3

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

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