[SPN - Oneshot] The Wings of an Angel
Title: The Wings of an Angel
Author: Jaelijn jaelijn
Characters / Pairings: Dean, Castiel, (Benny)
Genre: Slight Angst, Missing Scene, Fluff
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1802
Spoilers: season 8: Purgatory
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Supernatural et al © CW, WB and Erik Kripke. No infringement intended, no money made.
Summary: In Purgatory, Dean learned many things. He also learned, once and for all, that Castiel was an angel.
Author’s Notes: Basically an excuse to evoke a little Purgatory atmosphere and to share some of my ideas about wings.
~...oOo...~
Dean had admittedly taken far too long to accept that a real, bona fide angel had pulled him out of Hell. True, Castiel had that frightening intensity about him that caused the air around him to buzz with energy but it was hard to look past the fact that he was wearing a dude with messy hair and a trenchcoat. The wing shadows were impressive, but it wasn’t like Cas showed them often.
Then, of course, Dean had begun to associate ‘angel’ with ‘dick’, and Castiel was just… Cas. Frankly, Dean had stopped consciously thinking of him in any sort of category. Cas did have a way of driving home the fact that he wasn’t human quite out of the blue, though. Not only was he amusingly inept at a whole string of human things, he also appeared out of nowhere, quoted scripture as if he were reading it out and could smite and heal with just a touch. And when he was broken, he was truly broken.
It was Purgatory, however, that made it sink in for Dean once and for all. Just after they’d found Cas in the first place, they retreated to a defendable meadow and Benny took his leave for a reconnaissance. Dean had wanted to go with him, but there was no way he was letting Cas out of his sight again, and the angel insisted he would bring the Leviathans down on them, which would turn a simple reconnaissance round into a suicide mission. He still tried to make Dean see his point, telling him to leave him, to go with Benny, after the decision to separate was already made, but Dean wasn’t giving.
Cas fell silent when Benny disappeared between the trees, not acknowledging Dean’s presence, but standing guard, his entire posture tense. It wasn’t as though Cas had been excellent company even before they’d separated. Compared to his unhinged babbly cheerfulness of before, he was scarily brooding and taciturn. Dean wasn’t usually one to analyze people, but after months of just monsters (and Benny), it was hard not to. Still, he didn’t really have a wealth of things to share, and Purgatory, even though they hadn’t yet met with any Leviathans despite Castiel’s predictions, didn’t exactly lend itself to small talk.
And so Dean chopped away at a bit of greenery. Purgatory wasn’t exactly a wilderness. Even wilderness would have suggested some kind of beauty. Purgatory was bleak. Tall, featureless trees, barely any undergrowth. No life - just things, and not even just monsters. Things that maybe had once been monsters but had lost any resemblance to anything that had ever seen the light of day. Still, there was the occasional shrubbery, and more of it close to the river, and Dean was cutting out a little fortress for the night - not that it ever was exactly night in Purgatory’s perpetual twilight.
When he was done, Castiel abandoned his position and quietly settled down beside Dean. There wasn’t a lot of space, and their shoulders were almost touching, but Cas kept his distance, minimal as it was. Dean would have welcomed a friendly touch or a joke - that was how he and Benny had kept themselves sane - but this was Cas.
“You okay?”
Castiel shuffled his feet, still in hospital slippers. The shoes were woefully inadequate for Purgatory, and Dean was surprised they were even still whole. “Yes, Dean.”
“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Cas’s lips twitched as if he were trying to smile but couldn’t quite remember how. “I would say the same, but I find the absence of your prayer a welcome change under these circumstances.”
“Jeez, Cas. Sorry I bothered you.”
“There is no need to apologize, Dean.” Castiel pulled his knees in, adopting a position that looked comfortable, but from which he could rise in an instant. Dean knew because he had started doing the same thing.
“You should go to sleep. I will watch over you.”
“Oh, no, Cas - you know that just sounds creepy.”
Cas shot him a sidelong glance. “I don’t sleep.”
“You didn’t use to grow a beard or get dirty, either,” Dean shot back, petulancy be damned.
“I needed my energy for more important functions.”
“Yeah? Like?”
“Flight, and listening. Warmth.”
“Warmth?” Dean hadn’t been cold once in all the time he’d been in Purgatory. The air was constantly stifling and humid. “You got cold?”
“Not in terms of physical sensation. I am an angel, Dean - being cut off from Heaven can be… uncomfortable, and this place is full of abominations.”
“You can feel that?”
Cas nodded, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked as though he hadn’t talked this much in a very long time. Which he probably hadn’t. “So can you, on some level. Allow me to demonstrate?” He straightened, rolling back his shoulders.
Dean heard a slight crackling like static electricity, then a flutter of feathers - and then the stench was gone. There was a soft breeze, smelling vaguely of ocean and sun, the air as fresh as on a mountain top. For the first time in a long time, Dean breathed deeply. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped doing that, but he’d missed it. Oh, how he’d missed it!
Purgatory still looked the same in front of him, but Dean felt… home.
“How do you feel?” Cas asked, a smile in his quiet voice.
“Better. God, I’d forgotten how much it stinks! What did you do?” But as Dean turned to look at Cas, he got his answer: wings.
Castiel’s wings were visible, almost tangible, and massive. They barely even fitted under the canopy Dean had cut, and still Cas had folded them to a careful cocoon, the right wing stretched a little awkwardly to accommodate Dean, but careful not to touch him.
They didn’t look like Dean would have expected. True, he’d only ever seen shadows, and who knew whether those were real. Castiel’s wings now weren’t entire there, either - not entirely stable, as if they were somehow shifting between dimensions. The underwing coverts and secondaries pulsed from where they disappeared into the folds of Cas’s coat and the long, sharply cut primaries moved rhythmically with the pulses, like a heartbeat, or perhaps a wavelength. The wings were birdlike nonetheless, powerful and muscular and distinctly patterned. The primaries were tipped deep black, but the rest of the wing was white and pure in a way that Purgatory wasn’t. Most curious were the little downy tuffs of blue and green very close to the second wing joint. They were almost hidden underneath the plumage, but amidst all that white, the color was still visible. The color appeared so entirely random, framed by black specs in the larger surrounding feathers, framed by purity, that Dean let out a childish, delighted chuckle despite himself.
Castiel moved, and his wings shifted with him. They were enormous, but somehow it didn’t look clunky at all. Cas moved with Grace and Power. Still, the wings remained folded around them gently, protectively. Castiel looked both tired and more at ease then Dean had seen him since they’d found him.
“Wow.” Okay, that wasn’t the wittiest retort ever, but Dean really couldn’t care less. He was awestruck.
“You can see them.” It wasn’t a question, but Castiel’s eyes were roaming over Dean’s face as if he were looking for an answer.
“Yeah. They’re amazing, Cas.”
The angel looked away, straight ahead. “Even now, you are only seeing an approximation. You are not able to perceive my true form without injury, but there is something about Purgatory that makes this… easier.”
Dean had noticed that the monsters seemed more obviously, well, monstrous, but there was no way he was ever going to mention Cas and them in the same sentence ever again. No way. “I didn’t expect color.”
Castiel seemed vaguely amused. “A fledgling’s wings are like a rainbow. Over time, with age, they gain… purity. White is not the lack of color, Dean, though this is what your senses would make you believe. It is every color at once.”
“The ocean green and blue, though? And the black?”
Cas straightened his back, and the wings rustled - not quite like feathers. There was something high-pitched underneath it, like a tiny bell ringing. “Sometimes, a color lingers. It… has been theorized that the color reflects an angel’s True Vessel but my kind has been to Earth so seldom that we rarely have occasion to take a True Vessel. I was… extraordinary lucky to find Jimmy.”
“The black?” Dean prompted again, and then regretted it. He was starting to sound like his geek brother, dammit.
Castiel didn’t seemed entirely at ease with the question, either, but he met Dean’s gaze squarely. “I have been to Hell. Several times. It is not something that leaves angels untouched.”
“You’re saying that before you pulled me out…”
“My feathers were tipped green and blue.”
“Oh. I’m sorry?”
Cas shook his head. “It was a small price to pay.”
“Cas, I tortured souls in hell, and I got out without even a scar!”
“Dean.” Castiel waited until Dean met his gaze. “This is not something you ought to blame yourself for, my friend.”
“Still.” Dean shifted uncomfortably, careful not to brush against the wings which weren’t what they had been because of him. “You’re an angel and you’ve got Hell scars.”
“These aren’t blemishes, Dean.” Castiel reached out and ran a finger carefully along one of the feathers between them, separating it slightly from its fellows. “The feathers are healthy, you see.” He took his hand away, and with the next pulse beat, the feather slid back into perfect place. “I always had doubts, but without raising you from Hell… I might be a poor example of an angel, Dean, and there is much which I regret, and for which I need to do penance, but this is not one of these things.”
Dean didn’t feel like he was worthy, at all, but he wasn’t about to start arguing now. “Whatever you say, Cas.”
Cas nodded sagely. “Rest, Dean. I will keep you safe.”
When Dean awoke in the morning, the Purgatory stench was back, sickly sweet and stuffy. Castiel had moved from under the canopy and sat at the foot of a tree, wrapped in his coat. His wings were gone, but he was still watching Dean from under heavy-lidded eyes.
Dean pulled him to his feet, remembering the enormity of what he’d been allowed to see the night before. Even now, he was half-imagining the wings move with Cas as he stood, and maybe that was all it had been - his imagination. Purgatory could play tricks on the mind, after all. Still, the celestial being before him would never look just like Jimmy to him ever again.
“Let’s go find Benny.”
~...oOo...~