#aucrossover

Dean groans a little, and manages to get upright just as the figure steps out of the shadows. His groan strangles itself in his throat when Dean realizes the thing has wings - and big ones. More than two, actually, which throws Dean off for more than a second and he has to count them several times before he can get it through his thick skull that there's six wings - six - which means that the angel standing in front of them isn't just an angel - he's an archangel, and if that doesn't make Dean a little weak at the knees he doesn't know what will.

Well, Cas' kisses can do that sometimes, but that's besides the point.

"Hey, kids." The archangel's voice is soft and all too sharp at the same time. Cas flinches at the sound.

"Lucifer," he hisses, and his wings jerk harshly on his back, half-unfolding. The movement looks strained, like it's hurting Castiel to even think of moving them, and the sick feeling in Dean's stomach tuns into a puke-now-and-hope-it-distracts-them-while-I-run-away sort feeling.

"L-Lucifer?" The name leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and Dean makes the mistake of swallowing. "He's-"

"My uncle, yes." Cas shifts sideways, blocking Dean from Lucifer's line of sight. "Dean, you need to leave, now."

"Like hell I do," Dean shoots back, even as his instincts wail at him to run, run and hide and hope he never finds you!

Cas almost growls at the answer, and throws an unhappy glare over his shoulder at him.

"Now, now, boys, let's not be hasty." Lucifer's voice rings out, and Dean almost shrieks before he catches himself. Cas' stance drops an inch or two lower, wings rustling. The sight makes Dean's heart ache a little, because he's seen it before - back when he'd first met Gabe, the psycopathic archangel who played dirty tricks and nearly cost Dean his life. Cas had been like this then, too, caught between submission to a higher ranking angel and the urge to fight for Dean. It's a bittersweet revelation, and it doesn't help his anxiety, at all.

Movement makes him jerk his head back towards Lucifer again; the archangel is taking quick, precise steps forwards, all six dark wings slung back almost loosely. The wings are frighteningly black, darker than even Castiel's, an inky sheen on them that shines almost pink when the fluorescent lights pass over them. There's a roughness to them, though - a wrongness that doesn't sit right in Dean's eyes, and if he squints a little he swears he can see glints of bone straining through the skin.

Cas' own wings are shifting restlessly against his back, stilling only when Lucifer reaches his side.

"Now, now, Castiel, do calm down. I only wanted to see what all the fuss was about." Lucifer's dark eyes cast a dubious look at Dean, who doesn't quite know what to do with his hands, and he ends up shoving them in his jacket pockets. He can feel them sweating through the fabric.

Cas shifts again, ever so slightly, moving him between his uncle and his lover. "This is Dean," he says quietly. "Now that you've seen him, you should go."

Lucifer laughs at this, a grating, low laugh that makes the hair in the back of Dean's neck stand on end. "Please, Castiel, you should know better than that. I won't just go - at least, not until I've had a proper look at this human you've grown so fond of." He eyes Dean up and down then, expression cold, like Dean wasn't more than a cut of meat on a rack. "It isn't often that an angel comes back with the stink of human on his wings."

Dean flinches at the sharp tone, and wonders if this is all some sort of psychotic parental-protectiveness - and it could be, except that Lucifer is one crazy s-o-b and not even Gabriel wanted Dean to meet him, which, coming from the craziest archangel himself should be ringing alarm bells the size of Big Ben in his head. 

He opens his mouth to defend himself, and Castiel, with some sort of heroic phrase that will scare off Lucifer for good and let them maul each other in peace - but what comes out is a strangled, "I don't stink."

And then even Cas is giving him a withering look, as if telling him that if he was going to get himself killed he should have at least done it in a more graceful manner. Dean ignores him, face burning.

Lucifer's smile is needle-sharp. "All humans stink, child. It comes with being a mud-monkey."

Dean's next words slip out before he even realizes it. "Yeah, well, you don't smell too good yourself." And it's true, actually - Lucifer is sending off waves of rot and sulfur and death, and it turns Dean's stomach to even think about it, and, oh great, there was the puking feeling again-

"Insolent brat!" Lucifer hisses, and his wings draw up behind him, rising like vengeance, and Dean is suddenly grateful for pushing the kissing thing with Cas tonight, because it looks like that is going to be the last time, and a damn good time it was, so maybe he can die happy-

But before anything happens there's a flash of movement, and then Cas is crouched over him, blue-black wings flared out and raised, and the angel really is snarling that time, poised to leap. Lucifer freezes, and so does Dean, because Castiel is actually threatening an archangel - an archangel! - and it doesn't look like he cares that he's doing it. In fact, Dean thinks numbly, all Cas looks like he cares about is ripping out Lucifer's throat.

Lucifer hunches a little, the lowest of growls rising from his chest, all six wings shuffling dangerously, and Castiel hisses right back. The feathers on his wings raise, poofing out, and Dean stares, because he can see each one almost perfectly in the crappy fluorescent lights. It catches on the edges of his wings, highlighting the burned and ragged edges that Dean knows come from escaping the house fire all those years ago. For a moment sorrow rises up in chest, and all he can think of is how other people see only the scars and not the story of love behind them - and then he tries to shove the feeling down, because sentiment is only going to distract him right now.

Breathe in, breathe out. Dean chants it in his head for a good two minutes, trying to cage up the panic in his chest, all while wondering how long angel staring-matches last until they dissolve into kicking and clawing, and how he's supposed to help Cas against a freaking archangel, and oh man, they're going to die, and Bobby is going to be pissed when he doesn't show up for work tomorrow-

And then Dean is practically choking on his shock, because Lucifer is stepping back, wings folding gracefully down, posture straightening. Cas doesn't move the whole time, feathers still ruffled. The archangel casts a cold glare over the both of them, before he spins on his heel and marches back into the darkness.

"We'll have words later, Castiel," Dean hears him say, and then he's gone. Words, Dean thinks, staggering backwards until he hits the concrete pillar and slides down onto his butt, words - more like stabbing-with-sharp-pointy-things. 

Castiel, meanwhile, takes his time pulling out of his protective crouch, and even longer to pull his wings in. He stands awkwardly, hands hovering over Dean's shoulder.

"Dean?" He asks softly, and his voice pulls Dean from his daze.

"Hey, Cas." He tries to grin and doesn't quite make it. He gives up on looking nonchalant; his shaking hands would have given him away anyways. Dean tips his head back against the pillar, grateful to take the weight off his shoulders.

"Damn," he says, and Cas slumps to the ground next to him, face grim.