Supernatural Fanfic: Time of Angels
Title: Time of Angels
Written for: Heather/sorakachan for the Great Blind Sassy Exchange on Tumblr
Characters: Castiel, Sam, Dean; Cas/Sam
Word Count: 4,866
Warnings: language, but that's about it
Possible Spoilers: Up to 6.18
Summary: For prompt #3: Sam is slowly becoming an angel (likely due to trying to switch demon blood with angel blood in order to redeem himself somehow or simply to detox from demon blood and it goes too far), and while his wings are small and weak (too small to really fly with), Cas is fascinated with them. He likes to groom them, explain to Sam what is happening in their development, and help him through the aches and pains of what seems to be the equivalent of angel puberty.
A/N: I kinda ran away with the prompt a little bit, but I hope you still like it, Heather!
---
“Are you fucking kidding?”
It was apparent, though, by the way both men - well, the man and the angel - stood, their arms crossed and with almost identical stony expressions on their faces (though Sam couldn’t take credit for Castiel’s stubborn child look - he got that from Dean) that Dean’s assumption was wrong. That obviously didn’t make Dean feel any better, though, as he switched glances between the two of them, torn between demanding to find out more and just shutting down the conversation completely. Sam had to say, it was a better reaction than when he found out about his powers and the demon blood. No lamps had been broken or punches thrown thus far.
Sam knew this was different, though - Castiel was an angel and longtime friend of the two brothers, while Ruby was a demon and Dean couldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Dean could trust Castiel completely. And as for drinking his blood (God Sam really thought he’d never think those words ever again, no matter the circumstance) - this time it was about looking for a solution, a clean slate, instead of a power trip and road to vengeance. But at the end of the day, probably the biggest difference between two - admittingly disturbing - activities was that this time Sam was consulting his brother before he drank one drop. Sam wasn’t risking his brother’s trust again, not after he got it back so soon. But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t fight for his idea, either.
“We’ve discussed it, Dean,” Sam started, aiming to keep his voice as calm as possible before Dean could completely blow up, “and Cas said there wouldn’t be any side-effects -“
“Yeah, and I’m sure that’s what you thought before -“ Dean bit his tongue before he could let the hurtful words out of his mouth. Sam had only gotten his soul back a month or so prior, and since then, Dean was consciously trying hard to not be as cruel and malicious as he was…before. Sam knew and appreciated that. He also knew what Dean must’ve thought when confronted with the idea of his brother drinking any kind of blood again, demon or no.
“This isn’t the same, Dean,” Castiel said in his usual gravelly voice. “Angel blood isn’t addictive when applied to humans. It’s actually been known to have healing powers. Though few angels have ever offered their blood to a human before to know for certain.”
Sam couldn’t help giving his angel a small grin at his words. A bubble of warmth rose in this stomach at the knowledge that Castiel, a being so much more powerful and worthier than he, wanted this for Sam. Especially since he was a full-fledged angel now, powers restored and all. Even after being granted full-angel privileges again, it didn’t stop him from lunging forward and pulling the human into a long, heartfelt kiss the instant he saw Sam with his soul restored. Both of their expressions read shock when they pulled away, but neither of them let go of each other, either.
Their relationship had sped at almost an unnatural rate since then. It was made clear very soon afterwards that both of them had wanted this for a long time, but hesitated in the past for different reasons. Sam didn’t think he deserved the angel, and Cas didn’t even know where to begin with his new, overwhelming human emotions. Apparently, Sam going to Hell was more than enough to push the angel over the edge and finally admit his affections to Sam as well as to himself. It just took both of their confessions for them to fold into each other, naturally, as if they’d been together years instead of weeks.
Dean was hesitant about the relationship, but he was also hesitant when it came to all things involving Sam nowadays, thanks to that Wall and the warning Death gave him. Dean conceded - it was the first time Sam ever cared about anyone like that in years, and despite being sufficiently weirded-out by his little brother and best friend dating each other, Dean couldn’t really say no if it made Sammy happy - but he also made it clear in no uncertain terms that if Castiel ever hurt Sam in anyway, emotional or not, he would cut off his wings and sell them as chicken fingers at the closest drive-in diner.
And that overbearing protectiveness was showing now more than ever. “But you don’t know that it won’t have any side effects,” his big brother continued, not backing down an inch.
“It shouldn’t -“
“Are you really willing to risk-“
“Dean,” Sam sighed. “No one’s saying it’s not a risk. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Dean, it’s a risk I want to take.”
“Why?” Dean asked, his voice almost abnormally high-pitched with his curiosity and frustration mingling. “Why would you even - you just got back, Sam.” Dean’s voice cracked a bit, and Sam could read the meaning in it clear as day. The real him, the Sam with a soul, had just gotten back. From Hell. From 180 years of torture with Lucifer, if he calculated right. And every glance and gesture Dean made towards him since then silently screamed the same thing - Like hell I’m letting you leave again.
“That’s the point, Dean,” he said, shoulders sinking as he moved to plop down on the motel bed, mulling over the worlds carefully in his head before speaking. “For some goddamn reason, I got another chance. And - I don’t -“ He ran his hand through his hair, glancing to the floor. “This time, I don’t want to be the boy with the demon blood anymore.”
The older hunter physically deflated at that. He gave Castiel a very pointed look - who did flinch a bit at his words, though he knew that the younger hunter didn’t intend for them to be an accusation for how the angel labeled him long ago - but Castiel just bit his lip, knowing that this was a conversation the brothers had to have without his intervening. He made it clear to both of them that he no longer thought of Sam in that way. This was a matter of Sam and his own self-perception.
“Sammy,” Dean started, going to sit down next to him, “I…I forgave you for that. A long time ago. Okay? You’re not - that anymore.”
“And you have no idea what that means to me,” Sam whispered, giving him small smile. “Really. But I still am - that. Dean, I can…I can still feel it. Inside me. That craving, that incessant need for it, it hasn’t gone away. I’ve just gotten better at controlling it.” Confessing his longstanding addiction felt like reopening an old wound for him, one that would never heal and that he’d never stop being ashamed of. Dean, on the other hand, contrary to his past actions, instead of tiptoeing around his disdain for the subject, nudged his little brother softly on the shoulder, a gesture so casual and non-judgmental, Sam felt a tightly-knit cord unravel inside of him simply knowing that this confession won’t end up being as destructive as last time. Because no matter what the outcome, his big brother would be there. Sam nudged him back, his smile with a glint of more sincerity in it.
After a few seconds of their silent conversation, though, Dean quietly broached the subject again. “Isn’t that the whole point though?” Dean asked, glancing between his brother and the angel, who was still standing by the draped motel window. “You’re managing.”
Sam looked over at his angel, who just gave him an encouraging nod in return. He bit his lip, and breathed out. “But, Dean - I won’t want to just manage it. I don’t want to be a time bomb for you, a risk you have to calculate every time we go up against a demon.”
“No one thinks that, Sammy,” Dean started, a defensive note in his voice showing that he clearly meant it.
“But I do,” Sam interjected, finally lifting his head up to look his brother in the eyes. “And this - this could be a real solution, Dean. A chance to fix this part of me that’s being haunting me and following me my entire life.” His eyes were pleading, speaking that language that only the Winchester brothers could understand. I want this, Dean. More than anything
Dean stared back, their gazes holding for longer than a few seconds, before he stood up again, letting out a small grunt. And in that moment, Sam knew that he’d won.
“Alright,” he said, standing between his brother and the angel, fixing them both with strict parental looks. “But we’re doin’ this in small dosages. So we can pull back without - consequences, if things get out of hand.” No one had to ask to what he was referring to. All three of them remembered the demon blood detoxing too well for comfort. “And you tell me,” he pointed towards Sam, “if anything weird starts happening. Your powers resurface, you start getting the urge to sing Coldplay, I don’t give a fuck. You tell me, no matter what.”
Sam threw his arms up in a surrendering gesture, but he couldn’t manage to keep an enormous smile off his face. Dean mumbled something about fuckin’ little brothers and their fuckin’ puppy eyes as he picked his car keys off the table, and as soon as he was gone, Sam surged forward to push Castiel into the motel chair behind him and pressed their lips together, laughing in the way he only laughed when it was just him and his angel.
---
The first few weeks went off without a hitch. Sam wasn’t lying when he said he was fine every time Dean asked, which was frequently. Besides the fact that he was taking angel blood at small dosages every day - thankfully in a vile, slicing up Castiel’s arm to get his blood would remind him too much of Ruby and what they shared, which had nothing to do with love - life carried on. The brothers kept looking up leads for Eve, but mostly they hunted whatever they could find. Castiel visited frequently, not just to give Sam his blood, but for Sam himself. Dean learned quickly that the best way to preserve his own sanity when the angel came for the night was to leave the room to the two of them.
Sam thought he could feel the effects of the demon blood waning - when they went up against demons now, the smell and the rush underneath his skin that usually came with being in contact with one of them wasn’t nearly as bad. During their last hunt, actually, Sam thought maybe he didn’t smell anything at all. It seemed much too good to be true, however (as most things were in Winchester-land), and chances were he was psyching himself out, anyway. Making his mind and body believe what he wanted them to believe. So he kept taking the angel blood, upping the dosage every few days. He honestly didn’t feel any other side effects from drinking it, and he didn’t hunger for it, like he did for the demon blood. So it couldn’t do any harm - at least, Sam figured.
Until one morning in a mundane motel bathroom in Florida, Sam felt so sick that he could barely get to his feet at first to move from his bed to the bathroom. He groaned into the toilet boil, vomit and bile mixing together to create an even more nauseating smell. He’d been on his knees for the better part of three hours now, and even though Sam couldn’t even lift his head to see his face, Sam knew his brother was worried. He knew because Dean was right there behind him, rubbing his back soothingly, like he was five years old again suffering from his first bout of the flu. “That’s right, get it out,” Dean muttered, but Sam didn’t have anything else left in him to get out. He was just dry heaving now, completely torture on his throat and abdomen, and not slowing down in its intensity for what felt like forever. It took several minutes before he could get his gag reflex under control, and by then, tears were running down his face again.
Dean pulled Sam’s head back a bit, smoothing his hand through his sweaty, limb hair, and flushed the toilet. “Sammy, do we need?-“ he offered softly, though he was obviously more than ready to drive him to the hospital at this point.
Sam shook his head, the effort of doing it almost causing him to collapse back down onto the toilet bowl, with only Dean’s steady hands keeping him from doing so. “I think - I think ‘s gettin’ better.”
And then the pain started. Searing, agonizing pain. Sam almost jolted out of his brother’s arms the intensity struck him so strongly. It spread through every inch on him in seconds, and suddenly, Sam couldn’t keep from screaming.
“Sammy?!” Dean yelled, trying to pull him closer, but Sam pushed him away.
“Don’t - it hurts - it fucking -“
Dean instantly let go, but the pain only let up by a fraction. He started shaking, and oh Christ no, not another seizure, God please. It wasn’t one, but it might as well have been, the agony was so extreme, and he wasn’t granted the mercy of passing out. His body splayed itself across the bathroom floor with his jagged shaking, and it took every amount of his concentrated energy to try and push himself back up towards the toilet and turn around to try to find Dean in his line of sight. He could hear Dean moving behind him, looking more scared than his big brother should ever look as he picked up his cellphone and started to dial, for Bobby or for an ambulance, Sam didn’t know.
“Dean,” he whispered, and Dean was kneeling by his side in an instant. Sam dug his nails into the tile floor, and let out a small whimper. “I feel like my body’s on fire.”
If Dean could even possibly look more terrified than he already did, he succeeded after hearing Sam speak. Sam vaguely realized the implications of telling Dean that, realized the connection between his pain and the freaking Wall, because Dean wasn’t calling an ambulance anymore. He was calling an angel.
“Cas, if you don’t get your ass down here right the fuck-“
He was there before Dean could finish the sentence, absorbing the scene in what seemed like a millisecond (which felt like fucking hours for Sam suffering under this scorching pain alone) and then placed his hands on either side of Sam’s ribs and hoisted him up to lean him over the toilet lid. Castiel’s touch didn’t burn as badly as Dean’s did, but he couldn’t really care, because just a moment later it seemed like every atom of his pain suddenly transferred to the shoulder blades on his back. The fire intensified to unspeakable levels, and Sam didn’t know how he could survive, if he did survive, if he was screaming or if Castiel or Dean was holding him anymore. He had to die, he must be dead, only Hell could burn like this -
And then he felt relief. It fell over him like a wave, and he was dimly aware of two sets of arms catching him and carrying him to a softer surface and placing him on his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he passed out or not, but if he did, it couldn’t have been for long, because when Sam looked back Castiel’s eyes were wider than he had ever seen them. Dean looked no less relaxed, though he wasn’t looking directly at whatever Cas was transfixed with.
“Cas, what the fuck’s going on?”
There was an audible crack. And then another. In his exhausted state of mind, Sam could barely sense something on him move. A part of him move. A part that wasn’t there before. It extended itself as easily as a muscle, and whatever it was, Castiel reached for it, as tentatively as if he were trying to stroke the air. He didn’t touch it, just - starred at it. And before Sam finally passed out for good, he barely caught the angel’s answer to Dean’s question.
“Wings. Sam…has grown wings.”
---
To say that Dean was upset would be a major understatement. Sam was pretty sure half the motel room was in tatters by the time he had regained consciousness again. Sam, himself, was sufficiently freaked out at being told that he was…an angel. With fucking wings. Both his brother and his boyfriend had to talk him down from a completely panic attack when he felt them move again.
Wings. Sam had wings.
He pushed himself off the bed and ran to the bathroom mirror to see them, and - well, they were real. Dean couldn’t see them - he distantly heard Cas say something about how only angels can constantly see the wings of other angels - and Sam was suddenly grateful about that. Half of him was still overwhelmed by the ‘holyshitIturnedintoanangel’ part of him, while the other half was…strangely disappointed. Castiel had shown Sam his wings, which Sam knew without saying was a stunning gesture of trust and love coming from an angel. They were all-encompassing, wide enough to wrap around Sam twice, and practically sizzling with power. He was struck dumb by the sight of them the first time, and he was overcome by the familiar feeling that he wasn’t worthy of this, of Cas and his grace and his love. Castiel was so big in comparison to him, in every possible way. Cas knew him too well, though, since his instant response was to brush the tips of his feathers gently against his cheek, as light and as intimate as a kiss. Castiel’s wings, black and smoldering and all gentleness for Sam, just didn’t compare at all to what was now on Sam’s back.
They were puny, really. White feathers attached to feeble bones, barely the length of half of himself. Sam can’t imagine himself flying with these things, much less doing anything else. Right now all they could really do was stretch and shiver, easily the strangest sensation Sam had ever experienced. It was like he was endowed with a whole extra set of muscles, and new sets of nerve-endings in his brain to go with them. It was purely animal instinct that Sam knew how to control them. But even the smallest of gestures the wings made confused, and honestly, scared Sam. He had to sit down on the toilet bowl, head in his hands, to keep from giving himself another panic attack at trying to take it all in. Dean’s hands rubbing his shoulder, a sharp contract to the harsh tone in his voice as he continued to yell at Castiel, kept him grounded and breathing steadily.
Castiel managed to placate them both - Dean especially - when he explained to them that the Wall in Sam’s head was a permanent fixture now. An angel’s mind can’t be touched by Hell, so Sam was safe from the memories that could’ve potentially killed him if he’d remained human. Even with that in mind, though, both brothers didn’t really know what to do with the fact that Sam had turned into an angel. Something they mostly outright hated nowadays (discounting Cas of course), something Sam had been in love with for the past two years. Something that Sam had been praying who his entire life. He didn’t even know where to begin to get his thoughts in order about his transformation. So instead, once Dean made sure Sam was alright and left to get a much-needed drink, Sam let Castiel pull him onto the bed and wrap his arms, and wings, around him. They simply stayed like that until the sun set, not thinking, not saying a word.
After a few first rough days, however, Sam managed to get himself into a more stable sense of mind, and they moved forward. The brothers went back to hunting (only small ones, at Dean’s insistence), and Castiel came every single time Sam called. He taught him how to retract and unfold his wings, gently plucked and straightened out the askew feathers (Sam finally understood now why Castiel shivered almost sensually every time Sam ran his hands through his black wings), and answered as many of Sam’s questions as he could. The angel oversaw and explained every development Sam and his wings went through, from the jumble of Enochian that sometimes flooded Sam’s head (the other angels in Heaven - the former boy with the demon blood could now hear angels in Heaven) to his body adjusting to having to deal with the aches and pains that came with having dozens of new and constantly growing limbs sprouting out of his back.
And goddamn, were there a lot of them. Nothing as bad as when the wings first sprouted, but every once in a while, out of nowhere he’d be overcome by waves of pain that made him kneel over every time. The episodes only lasted for a couple hours, tops, and only once every two weeks or so. But when they came, Sam, who could drive the Impala with three bullets in his chest at 75 miles per hour, couldn’t lift himself out of bed, much less stake out to hunt.
It was a bright afternoon when Sam was hit with another one of these episodes, his face planted in a pillow as he laid down on his stomach on a queen, rose-colored bed. He was vaguely aware when Castiel appeared in the room - he could feel that sort of thing now, could tell when a grace of an angel was in his presence - but as the cramps seized she muscles of his back, all he could do was groan out as a greeting.
“He’s PMSing again,” he heard Dean say to Cas.
“Fuck you,” Sam managed to get out with a weak grunt.
After the first few episodes, Dean was more used to dealing with Sam when he was in this condition. Sam knew he didn’t like seeing his little brother in so much pain, but he also knew there was only so much he could do. Painkillers were useless in this new angel body. The only thing that made Sam feel marginally better when he got like this were the occasional reassurances and quips from his brother and having Cas there. Usually, alone. And Dean knew his cue to leave was when Sam could vocally respond and Castiel entered the room.
“Want me to get you some Midol while I’m out?” But Sam could hear the jibe for the concerned question it was: Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving for a while?
“Get the fuck out, o-or Im’ma throw the lamp at your head, you dick.” Shuttup, I’ll be fine.
“I’d love to see you try, Samantha.” Sam heard him snort, along with the jingle of the motel keys getting picked up off the table. He left Castiel with the usual threat of roasting him if something happened to Sam on his watch, and Sam heard the door slam shut behind him.
Very soon after, Sam felt a familiar pressure on his thighs and the crook of his back. Straddling him, Castiel worked carefully to remove Sam’s red plaid shirt, and the new angel sighed out in a bit of relief at the touch alone. Then Castiel’s hands started working his back, massaging his shoulder blades and all the surrounding muscles. Sam instantly moaned as he felt them loosen up, the wings that Dean couldn’t see stretching out like they were their own sort of animal. He pressed his face further into the pillow, allowing Castiel’s fingers to dig into his skin and slowly release the tension, bit by bit.
They stayed like that in comfortable silence for a while, relishing in the contact. It was one of the reasons Sam knew that he was in love with the angel - it never felt awkward between them when they decided that were was nothing to say. But after a little while, though, Sam still brought himself to speak.
“This sucks,” he muttered, not caring at the moment how much like a petulant child he sounded. He was sick of these aches and pains the moment they started. They interfered with their work, kept them off the road longer than either of the hunters would’ve liked. He was starting to feel more like a burden and less like the powerful angel he was supposed to be now.
Castiel leaned over to press a kiss against his neck as he moved his hands downwards. “I know. But once they’re fully grown, the pains will go away. They only hurt because all of their growth is happening at once, rather than gradually like humans.”
Sam had heard this speech before, but he still huffed. “Seem to be growing pretty damn slowly to me.”
He felt the angel trace the outline of a wing’s spine, and Sam could tell without looking that he had a light grin on his face, which he usually wore when he stifled his laughter in Sam’s presence. Sam boosted himself up a bit so that he was resting on his arms, his long hair dangling in front of his face like a curtain. Well, at least he felt like a petulant thirteen-year-old instead of a five-year-old now. Complaining about his size, of all things, felt ridiculously juvenile, but he couldn’t really help it. Angels and their wings were supposed to be magnificent, and Sam’s were measly tuffs of white in comparison.
“You’re a fledgling, Sam,” Cas said, interrupting his thoughts. “All angels go through this process.”
“Yeah, well,” Sam grumbled, unconsciously arching into Castiel’s touch despite his moodiness, “I already went through puberty once. I’m not so keen to do it again.”
The older angel, instead of arguing, just started to kiss Sam between his shoulder blades, the spot that made Sam melt, no matter how bad of a mood he was in. He groaned aloud, squeezing his eyes shut, letting Castiel’s hands travel lower and lower, until they reached his hipbones. He’s pretty sure he can feel his wings shudder, a sensation that still both freaked him out and tinged the rest of his body with arousal. Sam really had a hard time believing that Cas had never had sex before Sam, because he can’t remember coming undone so quickly and so easily under anyone else. He continued to kiss Sam’s back, light, quick, tempting pecks until he reached Sam’s collarbone, which he proceeded to suck.
“Cas,” Sam moaned, his previous aches almost all but forgotten under the heat of Castiel’s body. He turned onto his side, flipping Castiel along with him, and finally pressed their lips together, his grace all but blazing in reaction to Castiel’s. It was a sensation he couldn’t even come close to describing, and no sensation of euphoria as a human compared to it. Two angelic graces meeting and bonding, becoming one. It was an angel’s purest form of love.
Sam gasped a bit when they separated, and with a hint of an affectionate smirk, Castiel smoothly pawed his hands through Sam’s long locks. “Better?”
Sam managed a low chuckle. “A bit, yeah.”
Castiel pulled him closer, placing a hand over Sam’s heart as he kissed his brow. “I understand your worry, Sam. But believe me, someday, they will grow to be as magnificent as your soul.”
Sam hid his hint of a blush inside the crook of Castiel’s neck - he was the only one who could say stuff like that and not sound unbearably cheesy while doing so - and just let himself be held, loved, like he hadn’t been in a very long time.
Life had been against him from the start. Fed demon blood and lost his mother on the same day when he was just a child, died quite a few times, and made a lot of shitty mistakes on his own. But here, right now - it was a blessing. What he’d become was a blessing, pain and fear aside, because he’d gotten what he ultimately wanted, to be rid of the demonic part of him forever. It stalked and tried to overpower him every day, until the day he sprouted wings. Now, he was rid of it forever, which was more than he could’ve dreamed for.
But the biggest blessing was lying right here next to him. It was Dean and Bobby being alive, too, but having Castiel right here, alive and loving him? It was something he’ll never believe he truly deserved. But he was here anyway, thumb against his cheek, looking at him as if the whole world was hidden inside him. And Sam smiled, knowing whatever crazy crap life threw his way next, as long as the people he loved the most were right there, than he’d be okay.
He kissed Castiel’s lips tenderly, and he felt his wings give a tiny, happy flutter. “I know.”
Written for: Heather/sorakachan for the Great Blind Sassy Exchange on Tumblr
Characters: Castiel, Sam, Dean; Cas/Sam
Word Count: 4,866
Warnings: language, but that's about it
Possible Spoilers: Up to 6.18
Summary: For prompt #3: Sam is slowly becoming an angel (likely due to trying to switch demon blood with angel blood in order to redeem himself somehow or simply to detox from demon blood and it goes too far), and while his wings are small and weak (too small to really fly with), Cas is fascinated with them. He likes to groom them, explain to Sam what is happening in their development, and help him through the aches and pains of what seems to be the equivalent of angel puberty.
A/N: I kinda ran away with the prompt a little bit, but I hope you still like it, Heather!
---
“Are you fucking kidding?”
It was apparent, though, by the way both men - well, the man and the angel - stood, their arms crossed and with almost identical stony expressions on their faces (though Sam couldn’t take credit for Castiel’s stubborn child look - he got that from Dean) that Dean’s assumption was wrong. That obviously didn’t make Dean feel any better, though, as he switched glances between the two of them, torn between demanding to find out more and just shutting down the conversation completely. Sam had to say, it was a better reaction than when he found out about his powers and the demon blood. No lamps had been broken or punches thrown thus far.
Sam knew this was different, though - Castiel was an angel and longtime friend of the two brothers, while Ruby was a demon and Dean couldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Dean could trust Castiel completely. And as for drinking his blood (God Sam really thought he’d never think those words ever again, no matter the circumstance) - this time it was about looking for a solution, a clean slate, instead of a power trip and road to vengeance. But at the end of the day, probably the biggest difference between two - admittingly disturbing - activities was that this time Sam was consulting his brother before he drank one drop. Sam wasn’t risking his brother’s trust again, not after he got it back so soon. But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t fight for his idea, either.
“We’ve discussed it, Dean,” Sam started, aiming to keep his voice as calm as possible before Dean could completely blow up, “and Cas said there wouldn’t be any side-effects -“
“Yeah, and I’m sure that’s what you thought before -“ Dean bit his tongue before he could let the hurtful words out of his mouth. Sam had only gotten his soul back a month or so prior, and since then, Dean was consciously trying hard to not be as cruel and malicious as he was…before. Sam knew and appreciated that. He also knew what Dean must’ve thought when confronted with the idea of his brother drinking any kind of blood again, demon or no.
“This isn’t the same, Dean,” Castiel said in his usual gravelly voice. “Angel blood isn’t addictive when applied to humans. It’s actually been known to have healing powers. Though few angels have ever offered their blood to a human before to know for certain.”
Sam couldn’t help giving his angel a small grin at his words. A bubble of warmth rose in this stomach at the knowledge that Castiel, a being so much more powerful and worthier than he, wanted this for Sam. Especially since he was a full-fledged angel now, powers restored and all. Even after being granted full-angel privileges again, it didn’t stop him from lunging forward and pulling the human into a long, heartfelt kiss the instant he saw Sam with his soul restored. Both of their expressions read shock when they pulled away, but neither of them let go of each other, either.
Their relationship had sped at almost an unnatural rate since then. It was made clear very soon afterwards that both of them had wanted this for a long time, but hesitated in the past for different reasons. Sam didn’t think he deserved the angel, and Cas didn’t even know where to begin with his new, overwhelming human emotions. Apparently, Sam going to Hell was more than enough to push the angel over the edge and finally admit his affections to Sam as well as to himself. It just took both of their confessions for them to fold into each other, naturally, as if they’d been together years instead of weeks.
Dean was hesitant about the relationship, but he was also hesitant when it came to all things involving Sam nowadays, thanks to that Wall and the warning Death gave him. Dean conceded - it was the first time Sam ever cared about anyone like that in years, and despite being sufficiently weirded-out by his little brother and best friend dating each other, Dean couldn’t really say no if it made Sammy happy - but he also made it clear in no uncertain terms that if Castiel ever hurt Sam in anyway, emotional or not, he would cut off his wings and sell them as chicken fingers at the closest drive-in diner.
And that overbearing protectiveness was showing now more than ever. “But you don’t know that it won’t have any side effects,” his big brother continued, not backing down an inch.
“It shouldn’t -“
“Are you really willing to risk-“
“Dean,” Sam sighed. “No one’s saying it’s not a risk. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Dean, it’s a risk I want to take.”
“Why?” Dean asked, his voice almost abnormally high-pitched with his curiosity and frustration mingling. “Why would you even - you just got back, Sam.” Dean’s voice cracked a bit, and Sam could read the meaning in it clear as day. The real him, the Sam with a soul, had just gotten back. From Hell. From 180 years of torture with Lucifer, if he calculated right. And every glance and gesture Dean made towards him since then silently screamed the same thing - Like hell I’m letting you leave again.
“That’s the point, Dean,” he said, shoulders sinking as he moved to plop down on the motel bed, mulling over the worlds carefully in his head before speaking. “For some goddamn reason, I got another chance. And - I don’t -“ He ran his hand through his hair, glancing to the floor. “This time, I don’t want to be the boy with the demon blood anymore.”
The older hunter physically deflated at that. He gave Castiel a very pointed look - who did flinch a bit at his words, though he knew that the younger hunter didn’t intend for them to be an accusation for how the angel labeled him long ago - but Castiel just bit his lip, knowing that this was a conversation the brothers had to have without his intervening. He made it clear to both of them that he no longer thought of Sam in that way. This was a matter of Sam and his own self-perception.
“Sammy,” Dean started, going to sit down next to him, “I…I forgave you for that. A long time ago. Okay? You’re not - that anymore.”
“And you have no idea what that means to me,” Sam whispered, giving him small smile. “Really. But I still am - that. Dean, I can…I can still feel it. Inside me. That craving, that incessant need for it, it hasn’t gone away. I’ve just gotten better at controlling it.” Confessing his longstanding addiction felt like reopening an old wound for him, one that would never heal and that he’d never stop being ashamed of. Dean, on the other hand, contrary to his past actions, instead of tiptoeing around his disdain for the subject, nudged his little brother softly on the shoulder, a gesture so casual and non-judgmental, Sam felt a tightly-knit cord unravel inside of him simply knowing that this confession won’t end up being as destructive as last time. Because no matter what the outcome, his big brother would be there. Sam nudged him back, his smile with a glint of more sincerity in it.
After a few seconds of their silent conversation, though, Dean quietly broached the subject again. “Isn’t that the whole point though?” Dean asked, glancing between his brother and the angel, who was still standing by the draped motel window. “You’re managing.”
Sam looked over at his angel, who just gave him an encouraging nod in return. He bit his lip, and breathed out. “But, Dean - I won’t want to just manage it. I don’t want to be a time bomb for you, a risk you have to calculate every time we go up against a demon.”
“No one thinks that, Sammy,” Dean started, a defensive note in his voice showing that he clearly meant it.
“But I do,” Sam interjected, finally lifting his head up to look his brother in the eyes. “And this - this could be a real solution, Dean. A chance to fix this part of me that’s being haunting me and following me my entire life.” His eyes were pleading, speaking that language that only the Winchester brothers could understand. I want this, Dean. More than anything
Dean stared back, their gazes holding for longer than a few seconds, before he stood up again, letting out a small grunt. And in that moment, Sam knew that he’d won.
“Alright,” he said, standing between his brother and the angel, fixing them both with strict parental looks. “But we’re doin’ this in small dosages. So we can pull back without - consequences, if things get out of hand.” No one had to ask to what he was referring to. All three of them remembered the demon blood detoxing too well for comfort. “And you tell me,” he pointed towards Sam, “if anything weird starts happening. Your powers resurface, you start getting the urge to sing Coldplay, I don’t give a fuck. You tell me, no matter what.”
Sam threw his arms up in a surrendering gesture, but he couldn’t manage to keep an enormous smile off his face. Dean mumbled something about fuckin’ little brothers and their fuckin’ puppy eyes as he picked his car keys off the table, and as soon as he was gone, Sam surged forward to push Castiel into the motel chair behind him and pressed their lips together, laughing in the way he only laughed when it was just him and his angel.
---
The first few weeks went off without a hitch. Sam wasn’t lying when he said he was fine every time Dean asked, which was frequently. Besides the fact that he was taking angel blood at small dosages every day - thankfully in a vile, slicing up Castiel’s arm to get his blood would remind him too much of Ruby and what they shared, which had nothing to do with love - life carried on. The brothers kept looking up leads for Eve, but mostly they hunted whatever they could find. Castiel visited frequently, not just to give Sam his blood, but for Sam himself. Dean learned quickly that the best way to preserve his own sanity when the angel came for the night was to leave the room to the two of them.
Sam thought he could feel the effects of the demon blood waning - when they went up against demons now, the smell and the rush underneath his skin that usually came with being in contact with one of them wasn’t nearly as bad. During their last hunt, actually, Sam thought maybe he didn’t smell anything at all. It seemed much too good to be true, however (as most things were in Winchester-land), and chances were he was psyching himself out, anyway. Making his mind and body believe what he wanted them to believe. So he kept taking the angel blood, upping the dosage every few days. He honestly didn’t feel any other side effects from drinking it, and he didn’t hunger for it, like he did for the demon blood. So it couldn’t do any harm - at least, Sam figured.
Until one morning in a mundane motel bathroom in Florida, Sam felt so sick that he could barely get to his feet at first to move from his bed to the bathroom. He groaned into the toilet boil, vomit and bile mixing together to create an even more nauseating smell. He’d been on his knees for the better part of three hours now, and even though Sam couldn’t even lift his head to see his face, Sam knew his brother was worried. He knew because Dean was right there behind him, rubbing his back soothingly, like he was five years old again suffering from his first bout of the flu. “That’s right, get it out,” Dean muttered, but Sam didn’t have anything else left in him to get out. He was just dry heaving now, completely torture on his throat and abdomen, and not slowing down in its intensity for what felt like forever. It took several minutes before he could get his gag reflex under control, and by then, tears were running down his face again.
Dean pulled Sam’s head back a bit, smoothing his hand through his sweaty, limb hair, and flushed the toilet. “Sammy, do we need?-“ he offered softly, though he was obviously more than ready to drive him to the hospital at this point.
Sam shook his head, the effort of doing it almost causing him to collapse back down onto the toilet bowl, with only Dean’s steady hands keeping him from doing so. “I think - I think ‘s gettin’ better.”
And then the pain started. Searing, agonizing pain. Sam almost jolted out of his brother’s arms the intensity struck him so strongly. It spread through every inch on him in seconds, and suddenly, Sam couldn’t keep from screaming.
“Sammy?!” Dean yelled, trying to pull him closer, but Sam pushed him away.
“Don’t - it hurts - it fucking -“
Dean instantly let go, but the pain only let up by a fraction. He started shaking, and oh Christ no, not another seizure, God please. It wasn’t one, but it might as well have been, the agony was so extreme, and he wasn’t granted the mercy of passing out. His body splayed itself across the bathroom floor with his jagged shaking, and it took every amount of his concentrated energy to try and push himself back up towards the toilet and turn around to try to find Dean in his line of sight. He could hear Dean moving behind him, looking more scared than his big brother should ever look as he picked up his cellphone and started to dial, for Bobby or for an ambulance, Sam didn’t know.
“Dean,” he whispered, and Dean was kneeling by his side in an instant. Sam dug his nails into the tile floor, and let out a small whimper. “I feel like my body’s on fire.”
If Dean could even possibly look more terrified than he already did, he succeeded after hearing Sam speak. Sam vaguely realized the implications of telling Dean that, realized the connection between his pain and the freaking Wall, because Dean wasn’t calling an ambulance anymore. He was calling an angel.
“Cas, if you don’t get your ass down here right the fuck-“
He was there before Dean could finish the sentence, absorbing the scene in what seemed like a millisecond (which felt like fucking hours for Sam suffering under this scorching pain alone) and then placed his hands on either side of Sam’s ribs and hoisted him up to lean him over the toilet lid. Castiel’s touch didn’t burn as badly as Dean’s did, but he couldn’t really care, because just a moment later it seemed like every atom of his pain suddenly transferred to the shoulder blades on his back. The fire intensified to unspeakable levels, and Sam didn’t know how he could survive, if he did survive, if he was screaming or if Castiel or Dean was holding him anymore. He had to die, he must be dead, only Hell could burn like this -
And then he felt relief. It fell over him like a wave, and he was dimly aware of two sets of arms catching him and carrying him to a softer surface and placing him on his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he passed out or not, but if he did, it couldn’t have been for long, because when Sam looked back Castiel’s eyes were wider than he had ever seen them. Dean looked no less relaxed, though he wasn’t looking directly at whatever Cas was transfixed with.
“Cas, what the fuck’s going on?”
There was an audible crack. And then another. In his exhausted state of mind, Sam could barely sense something on him move. A part of him move. A part that wasn’t there before. It extended itself as easily as a muscle, and whatever it was, Castiel reached for it, as tentatively as if he were trying to stroke the air. He didn’t touch it, just - starred at it. And before Sam finally passed out for good, he barely caught the angel’s answer to Dean’s question.
“Wings. Sam…has grown wings.”
---
To say that Dean was upset would be a major understatement. Sam was pretty sure half the motel room was in tatters by the time he had regained consciousness again. Sam, himself, was sufficiently freaked out at being told that he was…an angel. With fucking wings. Both his brother and his boyfriend had to talk him down from a completely panic attack when he felt them move again.
Wings. Sam had wings.
He pushed himself off the bed and ran to the bathroom mirror to see them, and - well, they were real. Dean couldn’t see them - he distantly heard Cas say something about how only angels can constantly see the wings of other angels - and Sam was suddenly grateful about that. Half of him was still overwhelmed by the ‘holyshitIturnedintoanangel’ part of him, while the other half was…strangely disappointed. Castiel had shown Sam his wings, which Sam knew without saying was a stunning gesture of trust and love coming from an angel. They were all-encompassing, wide enough to wrap around Sam twice, and practically sizzling with power. He was struck dumb by the sight of them the first time, and he was overcome by the familiar feeling that he wasn’t worthy of this, of Cas and his grace and his love. Castiel was so big in comparison to him, in every possible way. Cas knew him too well, though, since his instant response was to brush the tips of his feathers gently against his cheek, as light and as intimate as a kiss. Castiel’s wings, black and smoldering and all gentleness for Sam, just didn’t compare at all to what was now on Sam’s back.
They were puny, really. White feathers attached to feeble bones, barely the length of half of himself. Sam can’t imagine himself flying with these things, much less doing anything else. Right now all they could really do was stretch and shiver, easily the strangest sensation Sam had ever experienced. It was like he was endowed with a whole extra set of muscles, and new sets of nerve-endings in his brain to go with them. It was purely animal instinct that Sam knew how to control them. But even the smallest of gestures the wings made confused, and honestly, scared Sam. He had to sit down on the toilet bowl, head in his hands, to keep from giving himself another panic attack at trying to take it all in. Dean’s hands rubbing his shoulder, a sharp contract to the harsh tone in his voice as he continued to yell at Castiel, kept him grounded and breathing steadily.
Castiel managed to placate them both - Dean especially - when he explained to them that the Wall in Sam’s head was a permanent fixture now. An angel’s mind can’t be touched by Hell, so Sam was safe from the memories that could’ve potentially killed him if he’d remained human. Even with that in mind, though, both brothers didn’t really know what to do with the fact that Sam had turned into an angel. Something they mostly outright hated nowadays (discounting Cas of course), something Sam had been in love with for the past two years. Something that Sam had been praying who his entire life. He didn’t even know where to begin to get his thoughts in order about his transformation. So instead, once Dean made sure Sam was alright and left to get a much-needed drink, Sam let Castiel pull him onto the bed and wrap his arms, and wings, around him. They simply stayed like that until the sun set, not thinking, not saying a word.
After a few first rough days, however, Sam managed to get himself into a more stable sense of mind, and they moved forward. The brothers went back to hunting (only small ones, at Dean’s insistence), and Castiel came every single time Sam called. He taught him how to retract and unfold his wings, gently plucked and straightened out the askew feathers (Sam finally understood now why Castiel shivered almost sensually every time Sam ran his hands through his black wings), and answered as many of Sam’s questions as he could. The angel oversaw and explained every development Sam and his wings went through, from the jumble of Enochian that sometimes flooded Sam’s head (the other angels in Heaven - the former boy with the demon blood could now hear angels in Heaven) to his body adjusting to having to deal with the aches and pains that came with having dozens of new and constantly growing limbs sprouting out of his back.
And goddamn, were there a lot of them. Nothing as bad as when the wings first sprouted, but every once in a while, out of nowhere he’d be overcome by waves of pain that made him kneel over every time. The episodes only lasted for a couple hours, tops, and only once every two weeks or so. But when they came, Sam, who could drive the Impala with three bullets in his chest at 75 miles per hour, couldn’t lift himself out of bed, much less stake out to hunt.
It was a bright afternoon when Sam was hit with another one of these episodes, his face planted in a pillow as he laid down on his stomach on a queen, rose-colored bed. He was vaguely aware when Castiel appeared in the room - he could feel that sort of thing now, could tell when a grace of an angel was in his presence - but as the cramps seized she muscles of his back, all he could do was groan out as a greeting.
“He’s PMSing again,” he heard Dean say to Cas.
“Fuck you,” Sam managed to get out with a weak grunt.
After the first few episodes, Dean was more used to dealing with Sam when he was in this condition. Sam knew he didn’t like seeing his little brother in so much pain, but he also knew there was only so much he could do. Painkillers were useless in this new angel body. The only thing that made Sam feel marginally better when he got like this were the occasional reassurances and quips from his brother and having Cas there. Usually, alone. And Dean knew his cue to leave was when Sam could vocally respond and Castiel entered the room.
“Want me to get you some Midol while I’m out?” But Sam could hear the jibe for the concerned question it was: Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving for a while?
“Get the fuck out, o-or Im’ma throw the lamp at your head, you dick.” Shuttup, I’ll be fine.
“I’d love to see you try, Samantha.” Sam heard him snort, along with the jingle of the motel keys getting picked up off the table. He left Castiel with the usual threat of roasting him if something happened to Sam on his watch, and Sam heard the door slam shut behind him.
Very soon after, Sam felt a familiar pressure on his thighs and the crook of his back. Straddling him, Castiel worked carefully to remove Sam’s red plaid shirt, and the new angel sighed out in a bit of relief at the touch alone. Then Castiel’s hands started working his back, massaging his shoulder blades and all the surrounding muscles. Sam instantly moaned as he felt them loosen up, the wings that Dean couldn’t see stretching out like they were their own sort of animal. He pressed his face further into the pillow, allowing Castiel’s fingers to dig into his skin and slowly release the tension, bit by bit.
They stayed like that in comfortable silence for a while, relishing in the contact. It was one of the reasons Sam knew that he was in love with the angel - it never felt awkward between them when they decided that were was nothing to say. But after a little while, though, Sam still brought himself to speak.
“This sucks,” he muttered, not caring at the moment how much like a petulant child he sounded. He was sick of these aches and pains the moment they started. They interfered with their work, kept them off the road longer than either of the hunters would’ve liked. He was starting to feel more like a burden and less like the powerful angel he was supposed to be now.
Castiel leaned over to press a kiss against his neck as he moved his hands downwards. “I know. But once they’re fully grown, the pains will go away. They only hurt because all of their growth is happening at once, rather than gradually like humans.”
Sam had heard this speech before, but he still huffed. “Seem to be growing pretty damn slowly to me.”
He felt the angel trace the outline of a wing’s spine, and Sam could tell without looking that he had a light grin on his face, which he usually wore when he stifled his laughter in Sam’s presence. Sam boosted himself up a bit so that he was resting on his arms, his long hair dangling in front of his face like a curtain. Well, at least he felt like a petulant thirteen-year-old instead of a five-year-old now. Complaining about his size, of all things, felt ridiculously juvenile, but he couldn’t really help it. Angels and their wings were supposed to be magnificent, and Sam’s were measly tuffs of white in comparison.
“You’re a fledgling, Sam,” Cas said, interrupting his thoughts. “All angels go through this process.”
“Yeah, well,” Sam grumbled, unconsciously arching into Castiel’s touch despite his moodiness, “I already went through puberty once. I’m not so keen to do it again.”
The older angel, instead of arguing, just started to kiss Sam between his shoulder blades, the spot that made Sam melt, no matter how bad of a mood he was in. He groaned aloud, squeezing his eyes shut, letting Castiel’s hands travel lower and lower, until they reached his hipbones. He’s pretty sure he can feel his wings shudder, a sensation that still both freaked him out and tinged the rest of his body with arousal. Sam really had a hard time believing that Cas had never had sex before Sam, because he can’t remember coming undone so quickly and so easily under anyone else. He continued to kiss Sam’s back, light, quick, tempting pecks until he reached Sam’s collarbone, which he proceeded to suck.
“Cas,” Sam moaned, his previous aches almost all but forgotten under the heat of Castiel’s body. He turned onto his side, flipping Castiel along with him, and finally pressed their lips together, his grace all but blazing in reaction to Castiel’s. It was a sensation he couldn’t even come close to describing, and no sensation of euphoria as a human compared to it. Two angelic graces meeting and bonding, becoming one. It was an angel’s purest form of love.
Sam gasped a bit when they separated, and with a hint of an affectionate smirk, Castiel smoothly pawed his hands through Sam’s long locks. “Better?”
Sam managed a low chuckle. “A bit, yeah.”
Castiel pulled him closer, placing a hand over Sam’s heart as he kissed his brow. “I understand your worry, Sam. But believe me, someday, they will grow to be as magnificent as your soul.”
Sam hid his hint of a blush inside the crook of Castiel’s neck - he was the only one who could say stuff like that and not sound unbearably cheesy while doing so - and just let himself be held, loved, like he hadn’t been in a very long time.
Life had been against him from the start. Fed demon blood and lost his mother on the same day when he was just a child, died quite a few times, and made a lot of shitty mistakes on his own. But here, right now - it was a blessing. What he’d become was a blessing, pain and fear aside, because he’d gotten what he ultimately wanted, to be rid of the demonic part of him forever. It stalked and tried to overpower him every day, until the day he sprouted wings. Now, he was rid of it forever, which was more than he could’ve dreamed for.
But the biggest blessing was lying right here next to him. It was Dean and Bobby being alive, too, but having Castiel right here, alive and loving him? It was something he’ll never believe he truly deserved. But he was here anyway, thumb against his cheek, looking at him as if the whole world was hidden inside him. And Sam smiled, knowing whatever crazy crap life threw his way next, as long as the people he loved the most were right there, than he’d be okay.
He kissed Castiel’s lips tenderly, and he felt his wings give a tiny, happy flutter. “I know.”