Random Shit

“My wings were pretty beat up,” he starts, rolling his shoulders, “I’ve got new feathers growing in but I can’t reach some of the casings. They hurt.” Your brows raise, “you’ve got pin feathers?” Dean frowns, “that sounds like a disease.” 

“Not a disease,” you shove him lightly, “birds get them.” Cas nods, “they require… grooming.” 

“Just like birds,” you smile, “Cas, am I finally going to get to see your wings?” He huffs, looking around the room like he wants to take it all back and disappear. “Looks like he’d rather die,” Dean grumbles under his breath. You kick his leg under the table, realizing that Cas needed a gentler approach if the way he was shrinking in on himself was any indication. “How can we help?” You keep your voice soft, trying to encourage him. 

Cas makes a face, something vulnerable and guarded at the same time. “It’s just… it’s usually a rather intimate act.” He shuffles back and forth, bouncing his weight between his feet a few times. You ignore the look Dean shoots you and nod, “I understand, just tell me what to do?” Cas deflates a little, like he’s already feeling relief. 

He sheds his coat, hanging it over a chair, and quietly asks, “is it okay if I lay down?” You nod, moving to stand a little closer to him. He unbuttons his shirt, dropping it over his coat, and glances at you and Dean shyly. Big black wings fade into view, taking your breath away with their sheer size and beauty. “Whoa,” Dean whispers behind you, rising out of his chair and standing next to you. 

You step closer, noticing the areas where feathers are still missing. Cas rolls his shoulders again and turns, letting you see the mass of pin feathers close to his back. You murmur his name, understanding at once what he meant when he said they hurt. The sheaths are brittle and dry, flaking off around his spine. You see how they twist when he shifts, imagine how tight they must feel. “I’ll get some water, just lay down,” you instruct quietly, padding to the bathroom to fill a glass and gather a few towels. 

“Does it hurt if I touch them?” You hear Dean ask, listening intently for the response. “It will at first,” Cas’s voice is muffled against the pillow he’s hugging under him, “but it’ll get better.” You return, throwing a couple of wet washcloths in the microwave for a few seconds. You spread the hot cloths over the red skin on his back, smiling when he sighs and sinks a little further into the bed. 

“You done this before?” Dean looks at you, his brows furrowed. “No,” you laugh, “my grandpa had a rescue bird, he would give it baths to help break up the molts. I just figured the heat would feel nice,” you sit, stroking a soft hand over the towels, trying to ease his discomfort. “You were right,” Cas buries his head in the pillow, his back rising with the heavy breath he pulls in. 

You fold one of the towels back a little, squeezing a feather between your fingers gently. The sheath breaks away in pieces, crumbling in your hand. Dean watches you work, observes the technique you settle on when Cas mumbles something about it already hurting less. He sits on the other side of the bed, peeling back the towel and getting to work on Cas’s other wing. You work in silence, the room feeling peaceful as you free the new feathers from their casings. 

When a small section is done, you can’t help but stroke your hand over the soft feathers, watching how Cas’s back shifts at the sensation. You reheat the washcloths a few times during the process, taking your time on the casings closest to his skin. Dean is just as careful, focusing with a gentle sense of awe. You can’t help but watch his face as he works, smiling to yourself when he pulls a little too hard and apologizes quietly. He’d deny it to high hell, but you see how much he cares, you see the soft glances and sweet eyes, you know what’s stirring just under the surface. 

Dean rubs a tender hand along his skin, pulling the towel back over where he was working to help with the irritation. Sam returns from the library just as you’re working out the last few sections, eyes wide and worried. “Hey, is he okay?” He asks quietly, dropping his stuff on the table and coming to lean over your shoulder. “Yeah,” you smile up at him, “his pin feathers were just built up.” 

Sam nods, seeing the mess of keratin crumbles on the mattress around Cas’s prone form. He takes a second to look over his wings, stroking the feathers where you’re working with gentle fingers. “Beautiful,” he whispers, wonder on his face. “I can’t begin to tell you how exposed I feel,” Cas grumbles, squeezing the pillow and hiding in it. “Sorry,” you murmur, “it’s not every day we get to see wings.” Sam smiles at you, sliding his hand over your back before leaving you to it, glancing at Dean with a secretive look.

Dean finishes his side, brushing his fingers through the feathers, cleaning away the last of the debris. He steps away to heat a new towel, sweeping it over where the wing meets skin delicately. You lean back when the last feather is free, letting Dean swipe it clean too. “Think you’re done, buddy,” he says after perhaps a little too long of a delay. You step away from the bed, sitting with Sam at the table. Cas pushes up, standing where he has enough room to work his shoulders and shift his wings. 

He lets out the most relieved sigh you’ve ever heard, standing straighter and looking ten times lighter. “Thank you,” he looks to you and Dean, “both of you.” And his wings are gone. He tugs his shirt and coat back on, sitting in the chair and leaning back like he’s never felt better. He stays for another hour or so, trading notes and helping Sam with the case he’s stuck on. 

When he’s gone for the night, you turn to Dean with a big smile on your face. “Cas sure is special, don’t you think?” You toe him with your boot, laughing when he shoves your leg away. “Don’t start,” he grumbles, glaring at you over his beer bottle. “I’m just saying, he looks good with his wings out,” you smirk, dodging the paper he crumbles and throws at you. “Knock it off.” 

“I wonder if all angels have black wings,” Sam throws out, trying to save his brother. “I wonder if all angels have big, strong back muscles,” you sigh dreamily, winking at Dean. He jumps out of his chair, wrapping his arm around your neck with a laugh, “I swear to god,” he threathens, “Sam, control your girl.”

Sam looks up with a grin, “we both know she wears the pants in this relationship.” You tap the arm around you and Dean relents, walking away with a light shove to your shoulder. “Damn right I do,” you smile, “and that makes two Winchesters who play the good submissive.” 

“I’m gonna shoot her,” Dean states, shock on his face. “I’m going to shoot her and then I’m going to shoot you if you don’t wipe that smile off your face,” Dean points to Sam, who ducks his head and chokes on his drink. Dean grabs his jacket and storms out with a quick, “I’m getting food.” 

You look at Sam and burst into laughter, he throws his head back with a huge smile. “He was all over him,” you smirk, “I felt like I should have given them space.” Sam leans down against the table, holding his side while he laughs. “If he comes back and shoots you, just know you brought it on yourself.”

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