Fic: Wings (Part 3)
Title: Wings
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: R for language, violence and sex, more romantic than graphic
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Characters: Dean, Cas, Sam, Michael, Anna, Bobby, various hunters, one OC
Genre: Romance, angst, wing!kink, wing!fic, humor, action/adventure
Warnings: Death, violence, dom/sub
Word Count: 23,300
Summary: Dean and Sam closed the gates to heaven and hell to prevent the apocalypse, stranding Castiel in the world. The best thing to come out of that was the epic love that blossomed between Dean and Castiel. Now the gate to heaven is open again, the apocalypse is back on, and Dean is willing to do anything--anything--to save Cas from destruction at the hand of his brother Michael.
"He knew if he had it all to do over again, he’d just do the same thing, because he was Dean Winchester, and he couldn’t make another choice, for the same old reasons: love, and loyalty, and family."
Continued from here.
Dean went back through history, trying to find events intense enough to hold his attention so he wouldn’t dwell on all his failings. Some of the most spectacular historical events could be riveting like an action movie, but since it was real, it felt more like some of his bloodiest hunts, and there wasn’t anything fun about that. He went all the way back and watched the Earth being formed, imagining Cas there, seeing the same thing, trying to imagine how he would have felt, what he would have thought, what he would have asked his older brothers about. There was nothing else to do, really. Jimmy enjoyed this enough to want to fuse with Cas permanently, but it wasn’t Dean’s thing.
Dean became aware of a commotion as he felt his awareness being drawn to the surface again.
“I don’t want you to have to see this,” Michael told him, “but I need to access your memories and knowledge of your brother to accomplish this.”
Oh, shit.
Then there was Sam, and all the other hunters at heaven’s gate ... and Virginia--who’d stayed behind at home--flanked by two angels. No. No, no, no.
Dean gathered from Michael’s thoughts that the hunters had been tricked into believing the gate had been left unattended, and they’d hurried down here into a trap. Dean saw Sam’s eyes move from Virginia to come to rest on Dean’s face, saw the agony in his expression, the disbelief, the betrayal, the horror.
“Your brother fears you will crumble,” Michael told Sam cruelly. “And we are sure you will.”
“It’s okay,” Sam said softly. “It’s okay, Dean. I know why you said yes.”
“To attempt to save his angel lover Castiel, but Castiel was doomed. However, your wife will be spared if you say yes now, Sam Winchester,” said Michael. “We will take you to hell’s gate, we will open it, and then you will say yes.”
Dean was trying to shout to Sam--how she’d die in the apocalypse, anyway, not to make the same mistakes Dean did, trading in the whole world for himself--but Sam couldn’t hear him, and Dean knew his words wouldn’t make any difference. Just like he always had, Sam was going to do whatever Sam was going to do.
“Oh, come on!” Virginia scoffed, “like I’m not willing to die to save the WHOLE WORLD?”
Sam’s face creased, looking from Dean to the angels holding Virginia to the other hunters, held at bay by two more angels. Finally, he looked at Michael. “Can I talk to my brother?” he asked quietly.
Michael hardly even hesitated. “I will relay his words for you.”
Sam nodded seriously, peering into Dean’s eyes, as if trying to see him in there and failing, seeing only Michael’s cold ones. “Did you think you’d be able to overpower him?”
Michael told him it was so.
“And ... anything?”
“No, nothing!” Dean said, trying to tell him how it was like standing at the foot of a mountain, pushing on it, trying to get it to budge. Michael did a pretty good job translating, even though it was mostly his thoughts he relayed, not his words.
“Dean, do ... do you think I should just say yes? I mean, I know you’ve thought about it before. Is that ... is that how you want it, man? Should we finally just ... end all this?”
Dean was screaming “NO!” at the top of his lungs, knowing all the while that Michael had the power to lie and tell Sam what he wanted him to believe. He could feel Michael considering it. Michael wasn’t a scumbag liar like Zachariah, but on the other hand, he was willing to do whatever it took to bring on the apocalypse, so he might make an exception. It would be a hideous betrayal, but he would be able to justify it logically, like he did everything. On the other hand, it wasn’t like Sam didn’t know Michael would probably lie. He might be able to tell Michael was lying, especially if what he said didn’t sound like Dean. Michael had to tread carefully, and he knew it.
At last, Michael said, “He says no, but in the absence of my father, I command the host single-handedly. Every angel in heaven is under my command, and we won’t stop. Your brother despises and suffers from being a vessel, but I will not release him until the final battle is over. We will kill those who would help you, but we will never let you die, Sam Winchester. Our power surpasses yours in every way. Give up, spare yourself and your brother your suffering, and allow what must be at last to transpire.”
Dean could see Sam was caught, wavering. “Tell ’im not to worry about me!” Dean told Michael desperately. “Tell ’im to say no!,” but though Michael wouldn’t lie, he also wouldn’t volunteer to say something that would work against him.
Sam looked over at Virginia again, then back at Dean. “And ... and you’d also let my friends live?” Sam said with a gulp.
Michael smiled approvingly. “Yes, of course.”
Dean was screaming, fighting with all his might to take back control from Michael, whatever it took to stop Sam saying yes, fighting so hard Michael was disturbed, afraid he might somehow damage his soul, but it still had no effect. Sam ... he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Dean had watched his own hands kill Cas; he couldn’t watch them kill Sam, too. This was what his life had come to? Devastation, and failure, and death? Everything they’d fought so hard for, that so many hunters had died for, all for nothing? He bitterly regretted saying yes to Michael, but he knew if he had it all to do over again, he’d just do the same thing, because he was Dean Winchester, and he couldn’t make another choice. He’d do the same dumb thing again, over and over, for the same old reasons: love, and loyalty, and family. He’d have thought those qualities would amount to something in the end, but they didn’t; heaven used them against him, and he was so easy to use, because those were the only things he cared about in the whole world.
He watched Sam’s mouth open, knew what he was going to say ....
And then there was Cas, standing in front of Sam, about to whisk him to safety, calling instructions to the other hunters for how to take on the angels in front of them.
CAS! He was alive! Love exploded from Dean’s soul, expanded to fill his whole body, then--he would swear--the whole universe. A happiness so vast and pure it couldn’t be entirely his own--the kind of serenity he associated with angels, not humans--shot out of him in a blast wave as immense as that created when an angel died, only in reverse: something coming back together instead of tearing apart. Dean took one step toward Cas, then another, and heard his own voice croak, “Cas,” reaching for him.
Cas, about to disappear with Sam, whirled around to look at Dean--no, at Michael. No, at Dean.
“Dean?” Cas asked incredulously.
Dean finally managed to stagger to Cas’s side and embrace him, this thing he’d longed for most for all the eternities he’d lived through without him.
Cas held him back away from him to look in his eyes, and Dean moaned at the break of contact. “You have control?” Cas asked, unable to believe it. Dean guessed it must be so. He could feel Michael fighting and flailing inside him, but it was having no effect; it was like Michael couldn’t touch him. “Hold him still!” Cas cried to Sam, who hurried to obey. Cas stroked Dean’s face tenderly. “This will hurt,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
They lowered him to the floor. Cas took out an angel blade and, with its tip, began cutting into Dean’s--no, Michael’s--wings. Indeed, Michael writhed in agony inside him, and Dean sure wasn’t enjoying it, either, except that being able to gaze at Cas’s focused, frantic face felt like paradise after the agony of being without him for so long.
“What are you doing?” Sam demanded as Dean twisted involuntarily in his arms, gasping.
“These are Enochian sigils that will greatly weaken Michael, so that Dean can retain control.”
At these words, the other angels, looking on in confusion, took action, but the hunters all had angel blades out now, and the angels didn’t seem to know what to do, with their commanding officer suddenly silenced. Finishing with one wing, Cas started on the other. “Anna!” he called. “Here! Make the sigils to close the gate!” He produced a vial of his own blood from out of thin air. Anna nodded and started desperately drawing on one side of the gate. The other angels started fighting in earnest now, and Cas cried to Sam that he must focus on the task at hand and help him subdue Michael at any cost, that it was their only chance for success. Sam just nodded.
When he was done carving the sigils into Dean’s wings, he ordered Sam to help Dean up. It had been hard to walk to Cas before, but only because he hadn’t had control of his own body in so long he’d practically forgotten how it was done. Now he felt as heavy as a neutron star, so heavy he couldn’t believe Sam could lift him. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas whispered, “but I have to hurt you again.”
Cas cut into his arm and started drawing an identical sigil with Dean’s blood on the opposite side of the gate from Anna’s. “When we’re done,” Cas told Sam as he worked, “you’ll have to hold tightly to your brother. The pull to go back through the gate is very strong; weakened as he is, he may not be able to resist. Hold on as hard as you can. Anna will help.”
Sam nodded eagerly, calling to Bobby and Gordon, who was the strongest hunter near enough to hear him, to help him, too. “And Cas, you’ll be all right?” Sam asked anxiously.
“I did it once,” Cas said resolutely. “I can do it again.”
“So we’re closing the gate again? You think it’ll work this time?”
“I know it will work this time. The blood of two angels, on this side of the gate, will create a seal that is unbreakable.” Cas looked over at Anna. “Is it finished?”
She nodded, eyes wide. Cas, taking in the battle and seeing the tide turn in the angels’ favor, ran to her side of the gate and sent her back to Sam. “Put his hand on the sigil!” Cas shouted over the melee. “Hold it there, and don’t let him go!”
At the same time as Sam and Anna put Dean’s hand on the sigil made with his blood, Cas put his hand on the other sigil. The gate began to close, just like last time, only now Dean could perceive each angel as it flew past him back to heaven, instead of just seeming like a powerful, violent wind. He felt the nearly irresistable pull of heaven on Michael inside him. It wasn’t just Michael; Dean craved to go, too, a desire far beyond the influence of reason or thought. All he knew was that he was glad Sam and everybody was holding onto him, because for some reason he couldn’t remember right now, it was important to resist. He could see Cas over there on the opposite side, could see it pulling on him, too, like a gravity well, and Cas persevering with his characteristic unbendable determination. Cas ... Cas, who was alive. Dean wanted to stay wherever Cas was.
After what seemed like an eternity, the last angel passed through, the gate finally closed, and Dean sagged in his friends’ arms. His friends, who were okay and wouldn’t die in an apocalypse. His brother, who didn’t have to say yes. And then there was Cas, smiling at him ... Cas, who once more existed in this world. Dean felt himself being pulled under. It didn’t feel like sleep; it felt heavier and more serious than that, into an oblivion he wouldn’t be able to climb out of--for how long, he couldn’t say. Maybe forever. He smiled anyway, looking into Cas’s eyes, because all that mattered was that Cas--Cas and Sam and everyone else--was still here, still kicking around to live another day, and Dean hadn’t screwed it all up in the end; he’d helped them make it right.
“Are you sure it was a good idea to trap Michael inside him instead of just letting him go back through the gate?” It was Sam’s voice, Sam blabbing about something-something; Dean couldn’t really bring himself to care what.
“There was no time to consider my actions,” Cas admitted regretfully--Cas! Why did the sound of his voice make joy shoot through Dean like meteors? “But upon further consideration, I think it was the best course ... perhaps the only one we could have taken, if we’re to be certain the gate remains closed. Of course, Dean will be the judge of whether it was worth it, for him--”
“It will be,” Sam said with certainty. “I know Dean. He’s willing to do whatever it takes. Besides, you said we might be able to blast Michael out of him sometime ....”
“Maybe, when Dean is stronger, but then Michael would be out in the world once more and free to attempt to reopen the gate, which would be far easier from this side. He might be able to take your half-brother as a vessel again ....”
“Man,” Sam said. “I still can’t believe we had a brother we didn’t even know about.”
“I will find him and bring him to you, once Dean ... once ....”
“Dean’ll be all right, Cas. Nothing can kill him, I swear. Well, not permanently, anyway.”
“I’ve healed him as much as I can, but the sigils ....”
“I’m fine,” Dean tried to say, but judging from the way the conversation went on without him, maybe nothing came out.
It must be a Sunday, because Dean could smell bacon cooking. All four of them always had breakfast together on Sundays. Dean must be in his and Cas’s bed; he could feel the incredibly comfortable mattress under him, soft covers brushing his face. Mm, a Sunday morning with Cas ... wait, why was Sam in their bedroom with them? Awkward .... “I’ll go check on the bacon,” Sam said just then.
“You do that,” Dean said, because God forbid they should end up with burned bacon, but again, he hadn’t made a sound.
He heard Sam get up, felt him trip over some part of Dean, and aright himself, cursing. Dean chortled, albeit silently.
“You’ll have to be careful of them,” said Cas soberly, “at least while they’re healing.”
“I know,” Sam grumbled. “It’s just that they’re fucking everywhere all the time.”
“He had the largest of us all.”
“Still do,” Dean tried to quip, in stitches, but that made him finally start to wonder what the hell they were talking about. What part of Dean had Sam just tripped over, anyway? It wasn’t his feet; Sam was at his side, not his feet. His hands couldn’t be dangling over the edge of the bed onto the floor, could they? Highly unlikely. It hadn’t felt like it was his hand, regardless. What, then? Oh, well; didn’t matter. He heard Sam leave the room, which meant he was alone with Cas, which meant there was important Sunday-morning business to attend to, if he could just make his eyes open ....
“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Cas whispered. Dean felt Cas’s lips very softly press against his own. Okay, now he was awake.
“Didn’t,” he managed to mumble out loud. “It didn’t hurt. Felt kinda good, actually.”
He felt more than saw Cas’s intense jolt of surprise, which was too bad, because seeing Cas that surprised was a delightfully rare occurrence, another one to add to his memory book, to go over and over for ... when ... wait, what? A pang of sadness and loss hit him hard, loss of Cas ... hard enough that he was able to make himself open his eyes and look into Cas’s precious face. What was there to be sad about? Cas was right here. “Dean! You’re awake?!”
Dean grinned. Cas was still wearing his look of complete shock, so he could put it in his memory book after all. Dean tried to raise a hand, but that was apparently way beyond him right now. Man, what had they done last night?! He felt like a ton of bricks were piled on top of him.
It didn’t matter, though; Cas kissed him passionately. Yeah. Sunday mornings.
Dean heard Sam’s footsteps come running to the door of the room, and he managed to turn his head and grin blearily at Sam. “Dean!” Sam yelled, launched himself across the room, and practically threw himself on Dean, hugging him as hard as he had that time Dean had ... well, died every day for a year or something at the Mystery Spot. In his serious, stilted way, Cas was saying something about Sam being careful, but the Winchester boys were never careful with each other, and Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dean chuckled as much as his fatigue would allow. “What the hell, Sammy?” he croaked, as Sam drew back to look anxiously into his face, as if to convince himself Dean was really awake. “You act like you haven’t seen me in months.”
“Close enough,” Sam said, and renewed the hug. Okay, so maybe the only thing better than being alone with Cas on a Sunday morning was getting to be with his brother, too. Dean was trying to say something important, and Sam finally stopped hugging him long enough to say anxiously, “What, Dean?”
“Bacon,” Dean managed, sounding like a man crossing the desert, asking for water ... which was pretty much how he felt. Jeez, how long had it been since he’d had any bacon? Felt like an eternity. “For the love of God, Sam, don’t let it burn.”
Sam cracked up and reluctantly let him go, shaking his head. “Dean,” he was muttering as he left the room. Even Cas looked amused.
Then Dean had a horrible thought. He could barely move--which, okay, might bear thinking about at some point, as to how he’d ended up in this state, but he’d woken up feeling similar to this so many times in his life, it didn’t exactly seem pressing--but if he could barely move, how could he eat the bacon?! He managed to express this to Cas--mostly by simply saying urgently “Bacon!” over and over--and Cas fondly assured him he would see to it that Dean got as much bacon in him as he could ever want, and Dean could relax again. Mm ... bacon.
Cas was leaning over him, stroking his hair solicitously. “That feels so good,” Dean sighed. “So good.” Seemed like he hadn’t gotten any of this in forever, either. “Do more of that, please.”
“As much as you like,” Cas whispered, kissing him with such soft intensity--longing even--it drew a deep groan out of Dean.
“Lower,” said Dean. Obediently, Cas touched his shoulders, very gently. “Lower,” Dean said unhesitatingly, but Cas hesitated, then stroked his hands carefully down to his abdomen. Dean just arched an eyebrow at him, and Cas got that adorable look of worried disapproval.
“Dean,” Cas scolded.
“What?” Dean asked impishly, undaunted.
“You ... you need to recover.”
Yeah, actually ... what was he healing from? Nothing Cas had touched had hurt at all. “Everything I want you to touch seems good as new.” Then, suddenly, it all hit him: Cas, dying by his own hands, exploding in a burst of light bright as the sun; Michael starting the apocalypse; Sam about to say yes; closing the gate. “Holy shit!” Dean gasped. He fought to raise a hand to Cas’s face, to touch and see that he was really there again, in the flesh. Seeing his intent, Cas took the hand he was trying to lift and pressed it to his cheek. “Cas!” Dean cried. “How--? Did you fake it? Did he not really kill you?!”
Cas’s expression turned somber. “No. I was dead. And then ... I was back, alive once more. Rehymenated,” he said, with a grin for Dean.
“Thank God,” Dean whispered, tears suddenly streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, thank God. Cas! I--I tried so hard--”
“I know, Dean. I know everything.”
“Cas, I’m sorry!--”
“I know,” Cas said, interrupting him firmly. “Don’t apologize, Dean. How can you apologize, for sacrificing yourself bravely with only the slimmest chance of saving me? It was--it was the most selfless act--” Now Cas’s eyes were brimming with tears. Not only could Dean not bear to see him cry, but Dean also couldn’t really stand to hear Cas talking like Dean was some kind of hero.
“Yeah, well, I almost got us all killed,” Dean said gruffly.
“... And ended up saving the world,” Cas said, smiling at him sweetly.
“You saved the world.”
“The first time you closed the gate, you used the blood of two humans--yours and Sam’s. But with the blood of two angels ... the only thing that could open it now is if an angel were to destroy the sigils from this side. And since you and I are the only angels in the world ....”
“Oh, crap,” Dean grumbled. Michael. Yep, sure enough, he was still inside Dean, subdued for now, but watching everything closely, biding his time, waiting for his moment. “Wait a minute--you were able to--to take away his mojo for good?”
“No,” Cas said, smiling mysteriously. “His ‘mojo’ is intact. Well ... yours is. But I was able to permanently restrain him within you by ... by scarring your wings.” The regret was plain on his face. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I know you must be in agony. You will heal eventually, but ... it was the only way to accomplish all our goals at once. Perhaps I should have tried to blast him out of you, but then we could not have closed the gate, quickly and definitively. Was ... did I ... make the wrong choice? There was no time to explain and ask your permission.”
“Of course you made the right choice, Cas,” Dean said simply. “You always would.” So Dean had an angel inside him now. Bummer ... but he could’ve done worse than Michael, and it was such a small price to pay for saving the world. “Wait ... ‘my’ wings, what?” That was what Sam had tripped over! Experimentally, Dean tried waving around his wings, even though he was lying on his back.
“Ow!” he heard Sam shout from below them in the kitchen. Dean snickered and flapped them harder, felt them connect, and then came the shout: “Dean!”
“Aw, this is gonna be fun,” Dean said happily. Seeing his grin, Cas’s face relaxed. Cas, Sunday morning, bacon, Sam, wings to flap at Sam, and a world that would keep on turning for a while--hopefully a good, long while ... Dean really couldn’t ask for anything more.
Cas was right; it did take Dean a long time to recover--almost a month. Truth be told, he was still feeling pretty weak, but no way he was gonna let on about that. They’d finally let him get up and start doing stuff around the house. This morning he was cooking them their Sunday breakfast, and they were continually offering to help, which was starting to make him mad.
“I’ve got it, okay?” he growled, serving up some eggs on plates for everybody and setting them down on the table before each customer. Sure was good to see Virginia alive and in one piece and relatively untraumatized, at Sam’s side again. Her first supernatural encounter sure had been a doozy, but after a few weeks’ uncharacteristic timorousness, she was almost back to her old self. They were all pretty shaken by the whole thing still, so it was only natural that she should be, too. She was fitting right into being a Winchester.
They let him serve breakfast, but then Sam got up to get his own orange juice. “Hey!” Dean cried. “I said I’ve got it! What, you think I can’t handle a little orange juice?!” Dean marched to the fridge, and as he grabbed the orange juice container out of Sam’s hand and whirled around to grab a glass out of the cupboard, he forgot about the whole wing thing and knocked Sam right into the refrigerator, off of which he ricocheted with a grunt. “Oops!” Dean said, spinning the other direction to try to help Sam, only to knock Cas out of his chair. Virginia just sat there laughing as Cas serenely climbed to his feet and arighted his chair and Sam scurried around to the far side of the kitchen table from Dean to try to stay out of the line of attack. It would have been funnier to Dean if this hadn’t been the fourth time this morning that happened. “Sorry,” he muttered, serving Sam his orange juice. “But stay away from the wings!” he yelled. Okay, maybe he was only yelling because he was embarrassed; it’s not like it was Sam’s fault that he’d been getting tossed around the kitchen since he got up. “I told you how it is with the wings! I don’t want my brother feeling me up like that.”
“Dean, how can I avoid them?” Sam complained. “They’re huge! Look at ’em; they fill the whole freakin’ kitchen!”
“Can’t see ’em,” Dean said shortly, sitting down and quickly stuffing his mouth with food to avoid another embarrassing topic: his massive, beautiful wings, at which Dean all too often found Cas--and even occasionally Sam--staring, agog. He did twitch his wings, though, and was sure he could feel direct sunlight on one wingtip, which meant it must be going all the way through the wall out into the garden--this with him kind of trying to keep them folded up so they didn’t cause any more problems this morning. Not like he had any idea what he was doing with his wings. Cas was trying to teach him, but it was hard to have much idea what they were doing when you couldn’t see them.
“Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Sam declared irritably. “I can’t work around them if we’re in the same room. Sometimes when we’re not even in the same room,” he went on, getting more annoyed.
“I told you about the wings, Sam! You better be careful if you don’t want me to be enjoying it in a really uncomfortable way.”
Sam shrugged. “Not my problem. You’re the one who went and said yes.”
“Ooh, harsh,” Virginia said, watching the battle, delighted, but this was pretty much all in a day for the Winchester brothers, who were happily tucking into breakfast, both well satisfied with the verbal tussle. Okay, so he and Cas, fully recharged with the power of heaven, wouldn’t technically need to eat or sleep for quite a while, but no way was Dean missing out on breakfast food ... or lunch food, or dinner food, or pie, or cake, or well, actually, now that he was an angel, he could probably really put it away without suffering any ill effects. He planned to test the limits of that as soon as he was better enough to fire up the grill and get to work.
Only when Dean got up for seconds and Sam, AGAIN, wouldn’t ask him to get him seconds, too, even though he was already up, was there another mishap with Dean’s wings. Dean knocked him off-balance, Sam grabbed for something, anything, to keep him upright, and ended up getting two handsfull of feathers. Dean was ready to scramble away and snatch his wings out of Sam’s hands, but he was arrested by the wonderful feeling of it ... but not the wonderful feeling he’d feared. It wasn’t like Cas had always enjoyed Dean’s touch on his wings; there was nothing sexual or romantic about this. It just felt like the same old brotherly love they’d always shared, only magnified and made palpable. Actually ... Dean gently drew a wing between Sam’s fingers to taste the touch more precisely (Sam was trying to get out of their reach, but was pinned between them and the kitchen table), only to find that love was greater and deeper than he’d ever suspected. Dean had long believed he loved Sam more than Sam loved him. Sam had left him and dad to go to college, after all, tried to walk away from hunting and being an outlaw and everything their lives had represented--from his family. Yet here it was, the love that made Sam able to see and touch his wings, and it was as abiding and complete as Dean’s love for Sam. What Dean had always taken for disinterest was actually Sam’s feeling that his love for Dean, from the moment he first started toddling around, following the older brother he hero-worshipped, was a given, an absolute, unchangeable, forever.
Sam was spluttering, trying to shove feathers out of his face, when Dean spun around to grab him in a big hug. “Aww, my little brother loves me!” he cried.
Sam was irked, but surrendered to the hug soon enough, maybe just because he still felt sorry for Dean because he was weak. “Was there any way you could doubt it?” Sam asked coolly, baffled. Dean looked in his eyes and saw the truth there, all these years of Sam’s total, unquestioning devotion. There were good things about being an angel, after all, turned out.
Yes, some very good things indeed.
“I remember you once told me there was only one reason why you would ever want wings,” Cas announced later that day when they were alone in their room, sounding a bit dastardly.
“And I remember you telling me you’ve been rehymenated!” Dean said, right there with him. “For--for real? Are you a virgin again?” he asked, scarcely daring to hope.
“Jimmy was not a virgin when I took him, being married with a child, although of course I had never done ... anything like ....”
“So you’re more virgin than ever!” Dean crowed. “YES!” He was eagerly trying to get undressed, which was made much harder by his general fatigue and trying not to knock Cas around with his wings. “How’s Jimmy doing, anyway? I got even way more sympathy for the guy now, having been a vessel myself.”
He was arrested by the flash of sadness that passed across Cas’s face. “He’s ... Jimmy is in heaven, where he said he wished to remain. I came back into existence with this visage, but I’m the only one here, now.”
Dean was also kind of sad, though kind of happy for Jimmy, but why’d Michael have to go and kill him, too? Dean could tell he’d thought nothing of it, like vessels were just there for whatever angels wanted them for. Well, fuck that. Dean never had any intention of being that kind of vessel, and hey look, he wasn’t. “So it’s back to the threesome again, then, I guess,” he said cheerfully.
Cas seemed reminded of Michael then, and turned quickly to Dean, also working on undressing--never one of Cas’s talents. “Are you aware of him? Does he give you trouble?”
“Nah, he’s just pouting in the corner. Waitin’, though. He seems sure his time’ll come again. What’d you do, anyway, to leash him up so good? I mean, I know about the sigils, but why does he think they’ll wear off or whatever? Will it heal up completely eventually?” Dean shuddered at the thought of having to go through that again, but, you know, whatever it took to keep the world safe.
“No,” Cas said distantly, although he, too, seemed to have some concern that Michael might regain control of Dean someday. “He is counting on the sigils becoming marred in some way. One sigil would have been sufficient, but I wanted two just to be sure. Only an angel blade or angelic power could scar the sigils into ineffectiveness, but it is possible; anything’s possible.”
“Well, come on, can’t we have a backup?”
“I could add more sigils, but it would weaken you terribly again.”
Dean sighed. Still, better safe than sorry, and he could feel Michael’s unhappiness about the idea, so it had to be the way to go. “Sometime. Later. Much later.”
“When you’re better.” Cas crept up to Dean, touched his cheek, and looked into his eyes with that beautiful, agonized expression. “I worried ... I worried you might never wake up, but Sam assured me you would. How did you regain control? It was impossible--truly; it never occurred to me that any vessel could overpower Michael ... though I suppose I should no longer be surprised when you’re able to achieve the impossible.” A beautiful smile lit his face, and Dean saw there something he’d never seen before: profound admiration.
“Aww, don’t look at me like that,” Dean said, turning away and shucking off his jeans. “It wasn’t me; it was you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just seeing you,” Dean said, and couldn’t help smiling at Cas in a way that went rather beyond merely flirty. “You were right, man. I couldn’t fight him, but love ... I dunno, it did something to him. When I saw you, I filled with this huge, massive love, and he couldn’t touch me anymore. But dude, you came back to life! How’d you swing that?!”
Cas smiled serenely and set his folded pants on the bed. He’d managed to get everything off but his button-down shirt ... which looked kind of funny, but purely, wonderfully Cas. “I think it was the same for me. I think it was you. The other angels believed it was God, and they may well be right, but ... I wonder if it may be that you inadvertently used Michael’s tremendous power, and, in your love and longing, called back the parts of me into one whole.”
Dean grunted and kissed Cas deeply. “That’s so hot,” he declared. Cas smiled awkwardly, not seeming able to agree, but not displeased. They crawled onto the bed. Dean would deal with Cas’s shirt later. “Know what else is hot?”
“What?”
“Seeing you all badass, appearing there at the gate and taking charge, telling the hunters what to do, taking on Michael ... wow.” Dean shook his head and whistled. “Ever since I met you, you’ve been so ... I dunno, submissive and obedient. I’ve never seen you like that. I liked it,” he admitted with a wink.
“Well, I am a warrior,” Cas said, “a soldier.”
“Yeah, but you’re so into obeying ....”
“That’s what a good soldier does. And, among other things, we serve humans. It was only natural to be obedient with you, as well.”
“Still, you’ve always been so unsure of yourself, and suddenly you seemed so confident. It was sexy.”
“Well ....” Cas appeared to consider whether he should say this, like he thought it would be wrong to, but then he cast aside his doubt. “Angels are powerful, but humans are ... strong. I’ve become much stronger, it seems, since becoming human.”
“Wow,” Dean breathed, putting his mouth against Cas’s. “Used to be, you’d have been scared lightning would strike you or something if you said stuff like that out loud. I thought angels weren’t allowed to brag.”
“It isn’t bragging,” Cas said, lifting his chin slightly, and Dean was reminded of when he defied Michael. “It’s only the truth. I’m sure Michael is disagreeing right now, but I don’t care anymore.”
“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, pulling the covers off the bed so they didn’t get them dirty. “Guess after single-handedly calling off the apocalypse, you pretty much can’t get in any more trouble, since they executed you just for getting married.”
“Scarring Michael’s wings is my greatest crime yet,” Cas announced, without apology. “But I feel no shame for any of it. I don’t believe God wanted the apocalypse. They say he walks the Earth. If he does, does that not imply he likes it here?”
Dean grinned, himself impressed. “I like the way you think,” he said flirtatiously, stroking up Cas’s hip. “Guess I was wrong when I thought you would never get more human. I mean, if you did, I thought it’d be stuff like, you know, figuring out how to get undressed, or maybe being a little less awkward socially, but instead, it’s this ... strength. You’re wrong, though; Michael isn’t disagreeing. Actually, he kinda admires you, even though he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t. He can’t believe you’re able to think for yourself like this, and ... I think he’s jealous.” Gazing at Cas with admiration, he reached for one of his wings, but Cas pushed his hand away, smiling just a bit wickedly. “What?” said Dean, crawling across the bed toward Cas--he had to get some wing-action. It had been far too long--this whole last month, Cas insisted on keeping the sex quiet and limited to just their bodies so it didn’t get too wild while Dean was under the weather. “Hey, you said you’d let me do that again now!”
Instead, still smiling, Cas touched Dean’s wing. Dean instantly crumpled with a loud groan. All the love he’d felt out of Sam when he touched Dean’s wings that morning ... this was different--way different--because this time, it WAS sexual, WAS romantic and intimate and exotic and strange and intensely beautiful and all the things that made him and Cas as a couple so unique. He could feel Cas’s angelicness, so sublime and fascinating and incomprehensible, and he could feel his humanity, impossible and magical and lovable. Most of all, he just felt his love--Cas, who embodied love and compassion more deeply than anyone Dean had ever known--radiating through Dean like he was a live wire. With each new feather Cas’s hand passed over, Dean experienced a new facet of this love and wonder. He finally understood how Cas could let Dean stimulate him like this for hours on end; Dean felt like he could never get enough.
“Now, you always liked to add this,” Cas whispered, and touched his body at the same time. That divine feeling collided with the earthly pleasures of sex and exploded through Dean with sensations he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain if he weren’t half angel now. All those days when he’d envied the pleasure Cas could take and then take still more--Dean could never have imagined it was this awesome. He was a quivering puddle beside Cas. The power of speech and movement were beyond him. He couldn’t do anything but submit to Cas’s merciless ministrations ... not that he wanted to do anything else.
The best part was that Cas knew exactly how he was making him feel, and exactly how to make it still better, his hands gentle against his feathers, which made it somehow even more intense.
“You are very loud,” Cas murmured. “Let’s go to my shack.” He put his fingers on Dean’s forehead, and they appeared on the bed in Cas’s shack. Dean barely had his wits about him sufficient to realize the angel travel hadn’t bothered him at all--it seemed really normal and easy, actually--before grabbing Cas’s wing and beginning to return the favor. Okay, so maybe it would be worth it to forego the bodily functions--now that he could--just for one day so he could focus on this. Maybe two days. Okay, maybe a few days. He’d better text Sam and tell him not to expect them back for a while ....
~ The End ~
I wrote a post with more thoughts and notes on this fic and the series, if you're interested. It can be found here.
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: R for language, violence and sex, more romantic than graphic
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Characters: Dean, Cas, Sam, Michael, Anna, Bobby, various hunters, one OC
Genre: Romance, angst, wing!kink, wing!fic, humor, action/adventure
Warnings: Death, violence, dom/sub
Word Count: 23,300
Summary: Dean and Sam closed the gates to heaven and hell to prevent the apocalypse, stranding Castiel in the world. The best thing to come out of that was the epic love that blossomed between Dean and Castiel. Now the gate to heaven is open again, the apocalypse is back on, and Dean is willing to do anything--anything--to save Cas from destruction at the hand of his brother Michael.
"He knew if he had it all to do over again, he’d just do the same thing, because he was Dean Winchester, and he couldn’t make another choice, for the same old reasons: love, and loyalty, and family."
Continued from here.
Dean went back through history, trying to find events intense enough to hold his attention so he wouldn’t dwell on all his failings. Some of the most spectacular historical events could be riveting like an action movie, but since it was real, it felt more like some of his bloodiest hunts, and there wasn’t anything fun about that. He went all the way back and watched the Earth being formed, imagining Cas there, seeing the same thing, trying to imagine how he would have felt, what he would have thought, what he would have asked his older brothers about. There was nothing else to do, really. Jimmy enjoyed this enough to want to fuse with Cas permanently, but it wasn’t Dean’s thing.
Dean became aware of a commotion as he felt his awareness being drawn to the surface again.
“I don’t want you to have to see this,” Michael told him, “but I need to access your memories and knowledge of your brother to accomplish this.”
Oh, shit.
Then there was Sam, and all the other hunters at heaven’s gate ... and Virginia--who’d stayed behind at home--flanked by two angels. No. No, no, no.
Dean gathered from Michael’s thoughts that the hunters had been tricked into believing the gate had been left unattended, and they’d hurried down here into a trap. Dean saw Sam’s eyes move from Virginia to come to rest on Dean’s face, saw the agony in his expression, the disbelief, the betrayal, the horror.
“Your brother fears you will crumble,” Michael told Sam cruelly. “And we are sure you will.”
“It’s okay,” Sam said softly. “It’s okay, Dean. I know why you said yes.”
“To attempt to save his angel lover Castiel, but Castiel was doomed. However, your wife will be spared if you say yes now, Sam Winchester,” said Michael. “We will take you to hell’s gate, we will open it, and then you will say yes.”
Dean was trying to shout to Sam--how she’d die in the apocalypse, anyway, not to make the same mistakes Dean did, trading in the whole world for himself--but Sam couldn’t hear him, and Dean knew his words wouldn’t make any difference. Just like he always had, Sam was going to do whatever Sam was going to do.
“Oh, come on!” Virginia scoffed, “like I’m not willing to die to save the WHOLE WORLD?”
Sam’s face creased, looking from Dean to the angels holding Virginia to the other hunters, held at bay by two more angels. Finally, he looked at Michael. “Can I talk to my brother?” he asked quietly.
Michael hardly even hesitated. “I will relay his words for you.”
Sam nodded seriously, peering into Dean’s eyes, as if trying to see him in there and failing, seeing only Michael’s cold ones. “Did you think you’d be able to overpower him?”
Michael told him it was so.
“And ... anything?”
“No, nothing!” Dean said, trying to tell him how it was like standing at the foot of a mountain, pushing on it, trying to get it to budge. Michael did a pretty good job translating, even though it was mostly his thoughts he relayed, not his words.
“Dean, do ... do you think I should just say yes? I mean, I know you’ve thought about it before. Is that ... is that how you want it, man? Should we finally just ... end all this?”
Dean was screaming “NO!” at the top of his lungs, knowing all the while that Michael had the power to lie and tell Sam what he wanted him to believe. He could feel Michael considering it. Michael wasn’t a scumbag liar like Zachariah, but on the other hand, he was willing to do whatever it took to bring on the apocalypse, so he might make an exception. It would be a hideous betrayal, but he would be able to justify it logically, like he did everything. On the other hand, it wasn’t like Sam didn’t know Michael would probably lie. He might be able to tell Michael was lying, especially if what he said didn’t sound like Dean. Michael had to tread carefully, and he knew it.
At last, Michael said, “He says no, but in the absence of my father, I command the host single-handedly. Every angel in heaven is under my command, and we won’t stop. Your brother despises and suffers from being a vessel, but I will not release him until the final battle is over. We will kill those who would help you, but we will never let you die, Sam Winchester. Our power surpasses yours in every way. Give up, spare yourself and your brother your suffering, and allow what must be at last to transpire.”
Dean could see Sam was caught, wavering. “Tell ’im not to worry about me!” Dean told Michael desperately. “Tell ’im to say no!,” but though Michael wouldn’t lie, he also wouldn’t volunteer to say something that would work against him.
Sam looked over at Virginia again, then back at Dean. “And ... and you’d also let my friends live?” Sam said with a gulp.
Michael smiled approvingly. “Yes, of course.”
Dean was screaming, fighting with all his might to take back control from Michael, whatever it took to stop Sam saying yes, fighting so hard Michael was disturbed, afraid he might somehow damage his soul, but it still had no effect. Sam ... he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Dean had watched his own hands kill Cas; he couldn’t watch them kill Sam, too. This was what his life had come to? Devastation, and failure, and death? Everything they’d fought so hard for, that so many hunters had died for, all for nothing? He bitterly regretted saying yes to Michael, but he knew if he had it all to do over again, he’d just do the same thing, because he was Dean Winchester, and he couldn’t make another choice. He’d do the same dumb thing again, over and over, for the same old reasons: love, and loyalty, and family. He’d have thought those qualities would amount to something in the end, but they didn’t; heaven used them against him, and he was so easy to use, because those were the only things he cared about in the whole world.
He watched Sam’s mouth open, knew what he was going to say ....
And then there was Cas, standing in front of Sam, about to whisk him to safety, calling instructions to the other hunters for how to take on the angels in front of them.
CAS! He was alive! Love exploded from Dean’s soul, expanded to fill his whole body, then--he would swear--the whole universe. A happiness so vast and pure it couldn’t be entirely his own--the kind of serenity he associated with angels, not humans--shot out of him in a blast wave as immense as that created when an angel died, only in reverse: something coming back together instead of tearing apart. Dean took one step toward Cas, then another, and heard his own voice croak, “Cas,” reaching for him.
Cas, about to disappear with Sam, whirled around to look at Dean--no, at Michael. No, at Dean.
“Dean?” Cas asked incredulously.
Dean finally managed to stagger to Cas’s side and embrace him, this thing he’d longed for most for all the eternities he’d lived through without him.
Cas held him back away from him to look in his eyes, and Dean moaned at the break of contact. “You have control?” Cas asked, unable to believe it. Dean guessed it must be so. He could feel Michael fighting and flailing inside him, but it was having no effect; it was like Michael couldn’t touch him. “Hold him still!” Cas cried to Sam, who hurried to obey. Cas stroked Dean’s face tenderly. “This will hurt,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
They lowered him to the floor. Cas took out an angel blade and, with its tip, began cutting into Dean’s--no, Michael’s--wings. Indeed, Michael writhed in agony inside him, and Dean sure wasn’t enjoying it, either, except that being able to gaze at Cas’s focused, frantic face felt like paradise after the agony of being without him for so long.
“What are you doing?” Sam demanded as Dean twisted involuntarily in his arms, gasping.
“These are Enochian sigils that will greatly weaken Michael, so that Dean can retain control.”
At these words, the other angels, looking on in confusion, took action, but the hunters all had angel blades out now, and the angels didn’t seem to know what to do, with their commanding officer suddenly silenced. Finishing with one wing, Cas started on the other. “Anna!” he called. “Here! Make the sigils to close the gate!” He produced a vial of his own blood from out of thin air. Anna nodded and started desperately drawing on one side of the gate. The other angels started fighting in earnest now, and Cas cried to Sam that he must focus on the task at hand and help him subdue Michael at any cost, that it was their only chance for success. Sam just nodded.
When he was done carving the sigils into Dean’s wings, he ordered Sam to help Dean up. It had been hard to walk to Cas before, but only because he hadn’t had control of his own body in so long he’d practically forgotten how it was done. Now he felt as heavy as a neutron star, so heavy he couldn’t believe Sam could lift him. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas whispered, “but I have to hurt you again.”
Cas cut into his arm and started drawing an identical sigil with Dean’s blood on the opposite side of the gate from Anna’s. “When we’re done,” Cas told Sam as he worked, “you’ll have to hold tightly to your brother. The pull to go back through the gate is very strong; weakened as he is, he may not be able to resist. Hold on as hard as you can. Anna will help.”
Sam nodded eagerly, calling to Bobby and Gordon, who was the strongest hunter near enough to hear him, to help him, too. “And Cas, you’ll be all right?” Sam asked anxiously.
“I did it once,” Cas said resolutely. “I can do it again.”
“So we’re closing the gate again? You think it’ll work this time?”
“I know it will work this time. The blood of two angels, on this side of the gate, will create a seal that is unbreakable.” Cas looked over at Anna. “Is it finished?”
She nodded, eyes wide. Cas, taking in the battle and seeing the tide turn in the angels’ favor, ran to her side of the gate and sent her back to Sam. “Put his hand on the sigil!” Cas shouted over the melee. “Hold it there, and don’t let him go!”
At the same time as Sam and Anna put Dean’s hand on the sigil made with his blood, Cas put his hand on the other sigil. The gate began to close, just like last time, only now Dean could perceive each angel as it flew past him back to heaven, instead of just seeming like a powerful, violent wind. He felt the nearly irresistable pull of heaven on Michael inside him. It wasn’t just Michael; Dean craved to go, too, a desire far beyond the influence of reason or thought. All he knew was that he was glad Sam and everybody was holding onto him, because for some reason he couldn’t remember right now, it was important to resist. He could see Cas over there on the opposite side, could see it pulling on him, too, like a gravity well, and Cas persevering with his characteristic unbendable determination. Cas ... Cas, who was alive. Dean wanted to stay wherever Cas was.
After what seemed like an eternity, the last angel passed through, the gate finally closed, and Dean sagged in his friends’ arms. His friends, who were okay and wouldn’t die in an apocalypse. His brother, who didn’t have to say yes. And then there was Cas, smiling at him ... Cas, who once more existed in this world. Dean felt himself being pulled under. It didn’t feel like sleep; it felt heavier and more serious than that, into an oblivion he wouldn’t be able to climb out of--for how long, he couldn’t say. Maybe forever. He smiled anyway, looking into Cas’s eyes, because all that mattered was that Cas--Cas and Sam and everyone else--was still here, still kicking around to live another day, and Dean hadn’t screwed it all up in the end; he’d helped them make it right.
“Are you sure it was a good idea to trap Michael inside him instead of just letting him go back through the gate?” It was Sam’s voice, Sam blabbing about something-something; Dean couldn’t really bring himself to care what.
“There was no time to consider my actions,” Cas admitted regretfully--Cas! Why did the sound of his voice make joy shoot through Dean like meteors? “But upon further consideration, I think it was the best course ... perhaps the only one we could have taken, if we’re to be certain the gate remains closed. Of course, Dean will be the judge of whether it was worth it, for him--”
“It will be,” Sam said with certainty. “I know Dean. He’s willing to do whatever it takes. Besides, you said we might be able to blast Michael out of him sometime ....”
“Maybe, when Dean is stronger, but then Michael would be out in the world once more and free to attempt to reopen the gate, which would be far easier from this side. He might be able to take your half-brother as a vessel again ....”
“Man,” Sam said. “I still can’t believe we had a brother we didn’t even know about.”
“I will find him and bring him to you, once Dean ... once ....”
“Dean’ll be all right, Cas. Nothing can kill him, I swear. Well, not permanently, anyway.”
“I’ve healed him as much as I can, but the sigils ....”
“I’m fine,” Dean tried to say, but judging from the way the conversation went on without him, maybe nothing came out.
It must be a Sunday, because Dean could smell bacon cooking. All four of them always had breakfast together on Sundays. Dean must be in his and Cas’s bed; he could feel the incredibly comfortable mattress under him, soft covers brushing his face. Mm, a Sunday morning with Cas ... wait, why was Sam in their bedroom with them? Awkward .... “I’ll go check on the bacon,” Sam said just then.
“You do that,” Dean said, because God forbid they should end up with burned bacon, but again, he hadn’t made a sound.
He heard Sam get up, felt him trip over some part of Dean, and aright himself, cursing. Dean chortled, albeit silently.
“You’ll have to be careful of them,” said Cas soberly, “at least while they’re healing.”
“I know,” Sam grumbled. “It’s just that they’re fucking everywhere all the time.”
“He had the largest of us all.”
“Still do,” Dean tried to quip, in stitches, but that made him finally start to wonder what the hell they were talking about. What part of Dean had Sam just tripped over, anyway? It wasn’t his feet; Sam was at his side, not his feet. His hands couldn’t be dangling over the edge of the bed onto the floor, could they? Highly unlikely. It hadn’t felt like it was his hand, regardless. What, then? Oh, well; didn’t matter. He heard Sam leave the room, which meant he was alone with Cas, which meant there was important Sunday-morning business to attend to, if he could just make his eyes open ....
“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Cas whispered. Dean felt Cas’s lips very softly press against his own. Okay, now he was awake.
“Didn’t,” he managed to mumble out loud. “It didn’t hurt. Felt kinda good, actually.”
He felt more than saw Cas’s intense jolt of surprise, which was too bad, because seeing Cas that surprised was a delightfully rare occurrence, another one to add to his memory book, to go over and over for ... when ... wait, what? A pang of sadness and loss hit him hard, loss of Cas ... hard enough that he was able to make himself open his eyes and look into Cas’s precious face. What was there to be sad about? Cas was right here. “Dean! You’re awake?!”
Dean grinned. Cas was still wearing his look of complete shock, so he could put it in his memory book after all. Dean tried to raise a hand, but that was apparently way beyond him right now. Man, what had they done last night?! He felt like a ton of bricks were piled on top of him.
It didn’t matter, though; Cas kissed him passionately. Yeah. Sunday mornings.
Dean heard Sam’s footsteps come running to the door of the room, and he managed to turn his head and grin blearily at Sam. “Dean!” Sam yelled, launched himself across the room, and practically threw himself on Dean, hugging him as hard as he had that time Dean had ... well, died every day for a year or something at the Mystery Spot. In his serious, stilted way, Cas was saying something about Sam being careful, but the Winchester boys were never careful with each other, and Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dean chuckled as much as his fatigue would allow. “What the hell, Sammy?” he croaked, as Sam drew back to look anxiously into his face, as if to convince himself Dean was really awake. “You act like you haven’t seen me in months.”
“Close enough,” Sam said, and renewed the hug. Okay, so maybe the only thing better than being alone with Cas on a Sunday morning was getting to be with his brother, too. Dean was trying to say something important, and Sam finally stopped hugging him long enough to say anxiously, “What, Dean?”
“Bacon,” Dean managed, sounding like a man crossing the desert, asking for water ... which was pretty much how he felt. Jeez, how long had it been since he’d had any bacon? Felt like an eternity. “For the love of God, Sam, don’t let it burn.”
Sam cracked up and reluctantly let him go, shaking his head. “Dean,” he was muttering as he left the room. Even Cas looked amused.
Then Dean had a horrible thought. He could barely move--which, okay, might bear thinking about at some point, as to how he’d ended up in this state, but he’d woken up feeling similar to this so many times in his life, it didn’t exactly seem pressing--but if he could barely move, how could he eat the bacon?! He managed to express this to Cas--mostly by simply saying urgently “Bacon!” over and over--and Cas fondly assured him he would see to it that Dean got as much bacon in him as he could ever want, and Dean could relax again. Mm ... bacon.
Cas was leaning over him, stroking his hair solicitously. “That feels so good,” Dean sighed. “So good.” Seemed like he hadn’t gotten any of this in forever, either. “Do more of that, please.”
“As much as you like,” Cas whispered, kissing him with such soft intensity--longing even--it drew a deep groan out of Dean.
“Lower,” said Dean. Obediently, Cas touched his shoulders, very gently. “Lower,” Dean said unhesitatingly, but Cas hesitated, then stroked his hands carefully down to his abdomen. Dean just arched an eyebrow at him, and Cas got that adorable look of worried disapproval.
“Dean,” Cas scolded.
“What?” Dean asked impishly, undaunted.
“You ... you need to recover.”
Yeah, actually ... what was he healing from? Nothing Cas had touched had hurt at all. “Everything I want you to touch seems good as new.” Then, suddenly, it all hit him: Cas, dying by his own hands, exploding in a burst of light bright as the sun; Michael starting the apocalypse; Sam about to say yes; closing the gate. “Holy shit!” Dean gasped. He fought to raise a hand to Cas’s face, to touch and see that he was really there again, in the flesh. Seeing his intent, Cas took the hand he was trying to lift and pressed it to his cheek. “Cas!” Dean cried. “How--? Did you fake it? Did he not really kill you?!”
Cas’s expression turned somber. “No. I was dead. And then ... I was back, alive once more. Rehymenated,” he said, with a grin for Dean.
“Thank God,” Dean whispered, tears suddenly streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, thank God. Cas! I--I tried so hard--”
“I know, Dean. I know everything.”
“Cas, I’m sorry!--”
“I know,” Cas said, interrupting him firmly. “Don’t apologize, Dean. How can you apologize, for sacrificing yourself bravely with only the slimmest chance of saving me? It was--it was the most selfless act--” Now Cas’s eyes were brimming with tears. Not only could Dean not bear to see him cry, but Dean also couldn’t really stand to hear Cas talking like Dean was some kind of hero.
“Yeah, well, I almost got us all killed,” Dean said gruffly.
“... And ended up saving the world,” Cas said, smiling at him sweetly.
“You saved the world.”
“The first time you closed the gate, you used the blood of two humans--yours and Sam’s. But with the blood of two angels ... the only thing that could open it now is if an angel were to destroy the sigils from this side. And since you and I are the only angels in the world ....”
“Oh, crap,” Dean grumbled. Michael. Yep, sure enough, he was still inside Dean, subdued for now, but watching everything closely, biding his time, waiting for his moment. “Wait a minute--you were able to--to take away his mojo for good?”
“No,” Cas said, smiling mysteriously. “His ‘mojo’ is intact. Well ... yours is. But I was able to permanently restrain him within you by ... by scarring your wings.” The regret was plain on his face. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I know you must be in agony. You will heal eventually, but ... it was the only way to accomplish all our goals at once. Perhaps I should have tried to blast him out of you, but then we could not have closed the gate, quickly and definitively. Was ... did I ... make the wrong choice? There was no time to explain and ask your permission.”
“Of course you made the right choice, Cas,” Dean said simply. “You always would.” So Dean had an angel inside him now. Bummer ... but he could’ve done worse than Michael, and it was such a small price to pay for saving the world. “Wait ... ‘my’ wings, what?” That was what Sam had tripped over! Experimentally, Dean tried waving around his wings, even though he was lying on his back.
“Ow!” he heard Sam shout from below them in the kitchen. Dean snickered and flapped them harder, felt them connect, and then came the shout: “Dean!”
“Aw, this is gonna be fun,” Dean said happily. Seeing his grin, Cas’s face relaxed. Cas, Sunday morning, bacon, Sam, wings to flap at Sam, and a world that would keep on turning for a while--hopefully a good, long while ... Dean really couldn’t ask for anything more.
Cas was right; it did take Dean a long time to recover--almost a month. Truth be told, he was still feeling pretty weak, but no way he was gonna let on about that. They’d finally let him get up and start doing stuff around the house. This morning he was cooking them their Sunday breakfast, and they were continually offering to help, which was starting to make him mad.
“I’ve got it, okay?” he growled, serving up some eggs on plates for everybody and setting them down on the table before each customer. Sure was good to see Virginia alive and in one piece and relatively untraumatized, at Sam’s side again. Her first supernatural encounter sure had been a doozy, but after a few weeks’ uncharacteristic timorousness, she was almost back to her old self. They were all pretty shaken by the whole thing still, so it was only natural that she should be, too. She was fitting right into being a Winchester.
They let him serve breakfast, but then Sam got up to get his own orange juice. “Hey!” Dean cried. “I said I’ve got it! What, you think I can’t handle a little orange juice?!” Dean marched to the fridge, and as he grabbed the orange juice container out of Sam’s hand and whirled around to grab a glass out of the cupboard, he forgot about the whole wing thing and knocked Sam right into the refrigerator, off of which he ricocheted with a grunt. “Oops!” Dean said, spinning the other direction to try to help Sam, only to knock Cas out of his chair. Virginia just sat there laughing as Cas serenely climbed to his feet and arighted his chair and Sam scurried around to the far side of the kitchen table from Dean to try to stay out of the line of attack. It would have been funnier to Dean if this hadn’t been the fourth time this morning that happened. “Sorry,” he muttered, serving Sam his orange juice. “But stay away from the wings!” he yelled. Okay, maybe he was only yelling because he was embarrassed; it’s not like it was Sam’s fault that he’d been getting tossed around the kitchen since he got up. “I told you how it is with the wings! I don’t want my brother feeling me up like that.”
“Dean, how can I avoid them?” Sam complained. “They’re huge! Look at ’em; they fill the whole freakin’ kitchen!”
“Can’t see ’em,” Dean said shortly, sitting down and quickly stuffing his mouth with food to avoid another embarrassing topic: his massive, beautiful wings, at which Dean all too often found Cas--and even occasionally Sam--staring, agog. He did twitch his wings, though, and was sure he could feel direct sunlight on one wingtip, which meant it must be going all the way through the wall out into the garden--this with him kind of trying to keep them folded up so they didn’t cause any more problems this morning. Not like he had any idea what he was doing with his wings. Cas was trying to teach him, but it was hard to have much idea what they were doing when you couldn’t see them.
“Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Sam declared irritably. “I can’t work around them if we’re in the same room. Sometimes when we’re not even in the same room,” he went on, getting more annoyed.
“I told you about the wings, Sam! You better be careful if you don’t want me to be enjoying it in a really uncomfortable way.”
Sam shrugged. “Not my problem. You’re the one who went and said yes.”
“Ooh, harsh,” Virginia said, watching the battle, delighted, but this was pretty much all in a day for the Winchester brothers, who were happily tucking into breakfast, both well satisfied with the verbal tussle. Okay, so he and Cas, fully recharged with the power of heaven, wouldn’t technically need to eat or sleep for quite a while, but no way was Dean missing out on breakfast food ... or lunch food, or dinner food, or pie, or cake, or well, actually, now that he was an angel, he could probably really put it away without suffering any ill effects. He planned to test the limits of that as soon as he was better enough to fire up the grill and get to work.
Only when Dean got up for seconds and Sam, AGAIN, wouldn’t ask him to get him seconds, too, even though he was already up, was there another mishap with Dean’s wings. Dean knocked him off-balance, Sam grabbed for something, anything, to keep him upright, and ended up getting two handsfull of feathers. Dean was ready to scramble away and snatch his wings out of Sam’s hands, but he was arrested by the wonderful feeling of it ... but not the wonderful feeling he’d feared. It wasn’t like Cas had always enjoyed Dean’s touch on his wings; there was nothing sexual or romantic about this. It just felt like the same old brotherly love they’d always shared, only magnified and made palpable. Actually ... Dean gently drew a wing between Sam’s fingers to taste the touch more precisely (Sam was trying to get out of their reach, but was pinned between them and the kitchen table), only to find that love was greater and deeper than he’d ever suspected. Dean had long believed he loved Sam more than Sam loved him. Sam had left him and dad to go to college, after all, tried to walk away from hunting and being an outlaw and everything their lives had represented--from his family. Yet here it was, the love that made Sam able to see and touch his wings, and it was as abiding and complete as Dean’s love for Sam. What Dean had always taken for disinterest was actually Sam’s feeling that his love for Dean, from the moment he first started toddling around, following the older brother he hero-worshipped, was a given, an absolute, unchangeable, forever.
Sam was spluttering, trying to shove feathers out of his face, when Dean spun around to grab him in a big hug. “Aww, my little brother loves me!” he cried.
Sam was irked, but surrendered to the hug soon enough, maybe just because he still felt sorry for Dean because he was weak. “Was there any way you could doubt it?” Sam asked coolly, baffled. Dean looked in his eyes and saw the truth there, all these years of Sam’s total, unquestioning devotion. There were good things about being an angel, after all, turned out.
Yes, some very good things indeed.
“I remember you once told me there was only one reason why you would ever want wings,” Cas announced later that day when they were alone in their room, sounding a bit dastardly.
“And I remember you telling me you’ve been rehymenated!” Dean said, right there with him. “For--for real? Are you a virgin again?” he asked, scarcely daring to hope.
“Jimmy was not a virgin when I took him, being married with a child, although of course I had never done ... anything like ....”
“So you’re more virgin than ever!” Dean crowed. “YES!” He was eagerly trying to get undressed, which was made much harder by his general fatigue and trying not to knock Cas around with his wings. “How’s Jimmy doing, anyway? I got even way more sympathy for the guy now, having been a vessel myself.”
He was arrested by the flash of sadness that passed across Cas’s face. “He’s ... Jimmy is in heaven, where he said he wished to remain. I came back into existence with this visage, but I’m the only one here, now.”
Dean was also kind of sad, though kind of happy for Jimmy, but why’d Michael have to go and kill him, too? Dean could tell he’d thought nothing of it, like vessels were just there for whatever angels wanted them for. Well, fuck that. Dean never had any intention of being that kind of vessel, and hey look, he wasn’t. “So it’s back to the threesome again, then, I guess,” he said cheerfully.
Cas seemed reminded of Michael then, and turned quickly to Dean, also working on undressing--never one of Cas’s talents. “Are you aware of him? Does he give you trouble?”
“Nah, he’s just pouting in the corner. Waitin’, though. He seems sure his time’ll come again. What’d you do, anyway, to leash him up so good? I mean, I know about the sigils, but why does he think they’ll wear off or whatever? Will it heal up completely eventually?” Dean shuddered at the thought of having to go through that again, but, you know, whatever it took to keep the world safe.
“No,” Cas said distantly, although he, too, seemed to have some concern that Michael might regain control of Dean someday. “He is counting on the sigils becoming marred in some way. One sigil would have been sufficient, but I wanted two just to be sure. Only an angel blade or angelic power could scar the sigils into ineffectiveness, but it is possible; anything’s possible.”
“Well, come on, can’t we have a backup?”
“I could add more sigils, but it would weaken you terribly again.”
Dean sighed. Still, better safe than sorry, and he could feel Michael’s unhappiness about the idea, so it had to be the way to go. “Sometime. Later. Much later.”
“When you’re better.” Cas crept up to Dean, touched his cheek, and looked into his eyes with that beautiful, agonized expression. “I worried ... I worried you might never wake up, but Sam assured me you would. How did you regain control? It was impossible--truly; it never occurred to me that any vessel could overpower Michael ... though I suppose I should no longer be surprised when you’re able to achieve the impossible.” A beautiful smile lit his face, and Dean saw there something he’d never seen before: profound admiration.
“Aww, don’t look at me like that,” Dean said, turning away and shucking off his jeans. “It wasn’t me; it was you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just seeing you,” Dean said, and couldn’t help smiling at Cas in a way that went rather beyond merely flirty. “You were right, man. I couldn’t fight him, but love ... I dunno, it did something to him. When I saw you, I filled with this huge, massive love, and he couldn’t touch me anymore. But dude, you came back to life! How’d you swing that?!”
Cas smiled serenely and set his folded pants on the bed. He’d managed to get everything off but his button-down shirt ... which looked kind of funny, but purely, wonderfully Cas. “I think it was the same for me. I think it was you. The other angels believed it was God, and they may well be right, but ... I wonder if it may be that you inadvertently used Michael’s tremendous power, and, in your love and longing, called back the parts of me into one whole.”
Dean grunted and kissed Cas deeply. “That’s so hot,” he declared. Cas smiled awkwardly, not seeming able to agree, but not displeased. They crawled onto the bed. Dean would deal with Cas’s shirt later. “Know what else is hot?”
“What?”
“Seeing you all badass, appearing there at the gate and taking charge, telling the hunters what to do, taking on Michael ... wow.” Dean shook his head and whistled. “Ever since I met you, you’ve been so ... I dunno, submissive and obedient. I’ve never seen you like that. I liked it,” he admitted with a wink.
“Well, I am a warrior,” Cas said, “a soldier.”
“Yeah, but you’re so into obeying ....”
“That’s what a good soldier does. And, among other things, we serve humans. It was only natural to be obedient with you, as well.”
“Still, you’ve always been so unsure of yourself, and suddenly you seemed so confident. It was sexy.”
“Well ....” Cas appeared to consider whether he should say this, like he thought it would be wrong to, but then he cast aside his doubt. “Angels are powerful, but humans are ... strong. I’ve become much stronger, it seems, since becoming human.”
“Wow,” Dean breathed, putting his mouth against Cas’s. “Used to be, you’d have been scared lightning would strike you or something if you said stuff like that out loud. I thought angels weren’t allowed to brag.”
“It isn’t bragging,” Cas said, lifting his chin slightly, and Dean was reminded of when he defied Michael. “It’s only the truth. I’m sure Michael is disagreeing right now, but I don’t care anymore.”
“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, pulling the covers off the bed so they didn’t get them dirty. “Guess after single-handedly calling off the apocalypse, you pretty much can’t get in any more trouble, since they executed you just for getting married.”
“Scarring Michael’s wings is my greatest crime yet,” Cas announced, without apology. “But I feel no shame for any of it. I don’t believe God wanted the apocalypse. They say he walks the Earth. If he does, does that not imply he likes it here?”
Dean grinned, himself impressed. “I like the way you think,” he said flirtatiously, stroking up Cas’s hip. “Guess I was wrong when I thought you would never get more human. I mean, if you did, I thought it’d be stuff like, you know, figuring out how to get undressed, or maybe being a little less awkward socially, but instead, it’s this ... strength. You’re wrong, though; Michael isn’t disagreeing. Actually, he kinda admires you, even though he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t. He can’t believe you’re able to think for yourself like this, and ... I think he’s jealous.” Gazing at Cas with admiration, he reached for one of his wings, but Cas pushed his hand away, smiling just a bit wickedly. “What?” said Dean, crawling across the bed toward Cas--he had to get some wing-action. It had been far too long--this whole last month, Cas insisted on keeping the sex quiet and limited to just their bodies so it didn’t get too wild while Dean was under the weather. “Hey, you said you’d let me do that again now!”
Instead, still smiling, Cas touched Dean’s wing. Dean instantly crumpled with a loud groan. All the love he’d felt out of Sam when he touched Dean’s wings that morning ... this was different--way different--because this time, it WAS sexual, WAS romantic and intimate and exotic and strange and intensely beautiful and all the things that made him and Cas as a couple so unique. He could feel Cas’s angelicness, so sublime and fascinating and incomprehensible, and he could feel his humanity, impossible and magical and lovable. Most of all, he just felt his love--Cas, who embodied love and compassion more deeply than anyone Dean had ever known--radiating through Dean like he was a live wire. With each new feather Cas’s hand passed over, Dean experienced a new facet of this love and wonder. He finally understood how Cas could let Dean stimulate him like this for hours on end; Dean felt like he could never get enough.
“Now, you always liked to add this,” Cas whispered, and touched his body at the same time. That divine feeling collided with the earthly pleasures of sex and exploded through Dean with sensations he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain if he weren’t half angel now. All those days when he’d envied the pleasure Cas could take and then take still more--Dean could never have imagined it was this awesome. He was a quivering puddle beside Cas. The power of speech and movement were beyond him. He couldn’t do anything but submit to Cas’s merciless ministrations ... not that he wanted to do anything else.
The best part was that Cas knew exactly how he was making him feel, and exactly how to make it still better, his hands gentle against his feathers, which made it somehow even more intense.
“You are very loud,” Cas murmured. “Let’s go to my shack.” He put his fingers on Dean’s forehead, and they appeared on the bed in Cas’s shack. Dean barely had his wits about him sufficient to realize the angel travel hadn’t bothered him at all--it seemed really normal and easy, actually--before grabbing Cas’s wing and beginning to return the favor. Okay, so maybe it would be worth it to forego the bodily functions--now that he could--just for one day so he could focus on this. Maybe two days. Okay, maybe a few days. He’d better text Sam and tell him not to expect them back for a while ....
~ The End ~
I wrote a post with more thoughts and notes on this fic and the series, if you're interested. It can be found here.