[2: action]

[out_of_minutes]

[Backdated to the same night as the Christmas party, right after the festivities. Entry labeled action, but there's probably accidental video of this too for the sake of enabling more interaction.]

Castiel enters his and Dean's shared room. Uses the door for once, rather than traveling by unseen flight. Dean is with him; wouldn't let Cas

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[dashboardlite]

This is the worst it's been so far. Dean can't remember if it was this bad last night, or the night before, but it's like he's got a fever and the only solution is more Castiel. It's physically starting to hurt, and he hopes it's going away soon because he really doesn't know how much longer he can handle the closeness. He hasn't left Castiel's side since they walked out of the ballroom.

Loosening the bowtie around his neck so it hangs flat, Dean shuffles into the 'motel' room after Cas, kicking the door shut behind them and turning just in time to get a mouthful of feathers as the angel bumps into his Christmas tree (Hell yes, it's better than Charlie Brown's) and spontaneously sprouts wings again.

Dean flails for a moment before regaining his balance and steadying himself on the room divider, one hand clinging to cheap chipboard, the other buried in a wing. A very...very soft wing. It's then that Dean fully comprehends his previous desire earlier in the evening to run a hand through those feathers, because they feel exactly

[out_of_minutes]

The dazedness must be lingering, because it takes a moment before Cas notices Dean. Touching his wings. It feels... strange. Not unpleasant, but invasive, somehow. There's more to the feeling than just the bit of tug where the feathers he's grasping are rooted in thin flesh.

He tugs the wing a bit, catching Dean's attention, leveling a flat glare at him. Stop that, says the glare.

[dashboardlite]

He feels a slight pull, and in immediate retaliation pulls back, lifting his head to look at Castiel. The angel looks pissed.

Ha. Yeah, right. Like Dean's giving up now after waiting this long to touch the stupid things. "Oh, get over it," He mumbles, reaching out to run the fingers of his other hand along the ridge of feather-covered bone protruding from one of Castiel's shoulderblades. "Don't be such a baby, Cas."

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"I do not perceive any way in which I am being infantile," Cas replies.

Dean, on the other hand, is acting like a selfish five-year-old with a new toy he doesn't want to share.

And Castiel has recovered enough to mentally tuck the wings away again, so he does, sending them back to the plane in which they more properly belong. One moment they're solid, the next their outline shimmers a bit and begins to fade, and then they're gone, the back of his jacket rumpled as ever but otherwise unmarred.

[dashboardlite]

"Aw, that's cute. Nice comeback," Dean snorts to himself, occupying his time with figuring out exactly how big each feather was in comparison to his arms, hands, and fingers. Absently, he wonders if these can actually lift a person off of the ground. That'd be fucking awesome.

He's just reaching out to touch the wingtip when Cas shifts and they disappear. Again. Scowling immediately at the loss of his newest plaything, Dean looks back to the angel. "...what the Hell, dude?" One hand paws at the empty space between Castiel's shoulderblades, and Dean draws back with a deep frown, leaning against the divider with his arms folded across his chest.

He huffs an unhappy sigh, "Killjoy."

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Cas scowls right back. "They should not be physical," he says, and then as if there's any chance Dean might misunderstand, adds, "my wings."

He puts some distance between them then, going to the collection of booze on the table (still some left, no need to bother the closet again just yet) and taking a swallow of beer. "It is perplexing." Maybe the beer will help calm him. More likely it will do nothing, but at least it lets him occupy his hands.

[dashboardlite]

"...whatever," Dean grumps, glaring after Castiel. The angel's been pretty nice about his odd clinginess thus far; no questions, no inquiries. The least he could do is play along until Dean figures out what the Hell is going on with him. Huffing again, he pushes himself away from the divider and snags a bottle of Jack on his way to the nearest chair. Kicking back next to the hearth, Dean props his feet up on the aforementioned table and tries not to let how disgruntled he is show.

He finally finds something he likes about the guy, seriously, and Cas takes it away. He's accepting and fairly easy-going for the mostpart, but Dean's seen more excitement from a potted plant.

It doesn't work very well. Taking a heavy swallow of whiskey, he reaches over to fiddle with the garland strung over the mantle. It's laced with ribbons and an assortment of bells.

Dean flicks one.

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Whatever retort Castiel might have had is cut of by an honest-to-God "Oof!" as he again lurches forward, and wings spread backward.

He shakes the disorientation off, and sees that a bit of beer has sloshed out of the bottle he was holding. He glares at it, and the floor dries. At least something obeys his will, even if his own body won't.

He huffs in already-weary frustration, feathers ruffling with a soft dry sound.

[dashboardlite]

Dean turns slowly, finger lingering on the little silver bell he'd flicked so casually, and his eyes widen in realization at the magnitude of his discovery. The bells. He glances back to it, then to Cas, and smiles. It's the bells. The bells make his wings appear. Why they make his wings appear isn't exactly clear, but it's hilarious nonetheless.

He starts chuckling, taking another sip of whiskey and setting the bottle aside to laugh at the hapless angel's situation. Dean doesn't have a proclivity to Schadenfreude, but this is too damn funny. It's a wonderful life, indeed.

"Every time a bell rings," He tries to stifle the chuckles with one hand, grinning broadly. "An angel gets its wings."

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Cas shrugs again, folding the wings and mantling them close to his back, starting to feel a futility in bothering to put the things away.

"Dean, you should not laugh. This is not funny."

He cocks his head. "And I do not understand that reference."

[dashboardlite]

"This is hilarious," He corrects the other blithely, smirking. Just desserts for trying to keep his wings away from the hunter. "And it's from- Wait, are you serious?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "You haven't heard of-? Shit, 'course you wouldn't."

It's A Wonderful Life is only one of the best Christmas movies ever - even Dean has seen it multiple times. It's second to A Christmas Story in his book. He can always relate to Ralphie's enmity towards that douchebag yellow-eyed kid.

"Okay Clarence, c'mere. We're gonna fix this."

Dean moves from the chair to the couch, patting the space next to him with another harmless smile. He grabs for the remote to the television. It gave him Dr. Sexy, M.D. before, so it can give him a Christmas movie.

"I'm gonna educate you."

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Castiel hesitantly approaches the couch, and sits as far from Dean and his feather-seeking hands as he can manage. When the wings get in the way of sitting comfortably, he huffs in annoyance and puts them away again, ignoring Dean's undignified sounds of maligned protest.

"You are going to do what, Dean?"

[dashboardlite]

Oh, clever. Castiel thinks he's being smart. The space between them was too far, and it definitely wasn't enough to satisfy the need. Doing well to hide his disappointment about the wings, Dean flips through a few channels before settling on a film network that looks promising. Sure enough, It's A Wonderful Life is just starting.

Far be it from Dean to ever admit that he's more like Jimmy Stewart's George Bailey than people might think possible, but the comparison is fairly accurate.

"I'm educating you. Cultural lesson."

He eyes a small silver bell on the table at his left, fingers closing over it carefully to prevent it from ringing, before propping his elbow back up on the armrest, fist clenched around the bell.

No one ever said that Dean Winchester was without sin. He's going to Hell, after all. Why not drive there in his own damn car?

The movie starts and he offers Cas a small smile. "It's a classic. You'd like it."

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Cas settles to watch, at first keeping a sideways eye on Dean, but then becoming interested enough that he misses Dean's sneaky move.

As the minutes pass, Cas offers remarks. "Why are the stars blinking at each other. Angels do not speak to each other in this manner.

And all angels have wings. They do not need to earn them.

Dean this movie is inaccurate."

A few more minutes pass, and he adds, "George Bailey is strange. Surely he knows a human cannot lasso the moon. He should not mislead Mary in such a manner."

[dashboardlite]

It's easy to laugh at Cas. Everything he does is just...aside from pathetically hilarious, it's just fascinating how concentrated he appears all the damn time. Like the world is meant to be examined closely. Not all of God's "creations" are that interesting. Dean ignores the angel's protests for the first ten minutes or so, seeing as Castiel probably isn't well-versed in movie etiquette, but after the remark about George Bailey's infamous line...well.

"Cas," Dean finally turns to look at the other, a rather indulgent parent-telling-a-small-child-something-they-should-know expression crossing his face. "It's s'posed to symbolize his love, man."

This is not sappy. This is fact. Even Dean Winchester knows this.

Dean extends one arm to the window and points at the moon. "Like...okay. If I said that I loved you, to prove that, I'd have to try something crazy, like lasso the moon for you. It's romantic, dude."

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"It is romantic to attempt physically impossible things? How does inevitable failure prove one's love?" Cas really doesn't get it.

George and Mary keep talking on the screen, and Cas refocuses on it, trying not to lose the thread of the narrative.

"Besides," he adds a moment later, "the likelihood of your ever professing such sentiments for me is very small."