Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hell no! – Cas? Cas!”

Dean rushes up to the angel where he hangs suspended from bound wrists, shirt in tatters and with needles stuck in the crooks of both arms. There’s one at the side of his neck, too, rammed directly into an artery from the looks of it. Blood is sluicing from all three punctures, feeding into bags that are almost filled to capacity, and likely not for the first time.

“Damn!” Dean curses when there’s no sign of life coming from the angel. He has no idea how long Cas has been here, how long the djinn fed off his blood. He can only hope that Cas’ grace has managed to offset some of the blood loss. Can’t have been more than some, if any, for the angel feels coolish when Dean puts his hand to his cheek, and Cas’ lips are frighteningly pale.

“Cas?” Dean tries again, but is met with the same lack of response.

“Listen, I’m pulling out those needles now. It’s gonna hurt, but I need you unhooked so we can get out of here, you hear me?”

It’s clear Cas doesn’t, but Dean keeps talking anyway, as much to calm himself as to get through to Cas eventually. Hopefully.

“Here goes,” he announces, wincing when he pulls at the needle in Cas’ right arm and realizes only when it comes out just how deep it had been shoved in.  

“Fuck!” he curses wholeheartedly, only to fall silent with his heart missing a beat when he hears…did Cas whimper?

“Cas? Hey, you coming round?”

Dean sets to work on the second arm. And yes, it’s definitely a miserable sound of pain coming from the angel. Dean’s heart and stomach twist but there’s no helping it, there’s still that third needle to get out. When he steps up and puts one hand on Cas’ shoulder to steady him, the angel jerks violently and his eyes fly up. Unseeing, wide, panicked, Dean registers.

“Shsh, calm down, it’s me. Cas, stop, you’re hurting yourself!”

But the angel keeps fighting against the ropes holding him. He snarls, tries to lash out, twisting and turning in his binds

“Cas, fuck!”

Blood is running down Cas’ arms from the holes left by the needles. Dean steels himself, moves back in and grips Cas more tightly, pushing the angel's head to the side so he can get at the last needle. Cas howls when it comes out, and the blood flows freely.

“Fucking hell!”

Dean drops the thing and looks up, assessing the strength of the ropes, his hand already going to the back of his pants for his knife. Cas is moving oddly, he realizes as he steps back a bit.
The angel isn’t just held in place by the ropes around his wrists!

“No! No way!”

Dean knows he can’t afford the hesitation. He can’t just stand here, stunned. Cas is bleeding, and the djinn could come back any minute. But what he is staring at is Cas’ wings! His fucking, magnificent, huge and awesome wings, black as night, which is why Dean hadn’t even realized they were there, had dismissed them as shadows in the murky light of the place. They are – God no! – there are nails driven through them, and it’s those that hold Cas suspended. His hands may be tied over his head, but it’s the wings that keep him pinned in place, like a giant butterfly.

“You’re kidding me! What kind of monster did this?!”

Frantic now, Dean looks around for something, anything, to get the nails out. Out of a fucking cement wall! Son of a bitch! This can’t be happening! And of course, there is nothing. This isn’t a nicely stocked workshop, after all. This is a djinn’s den of torture, and he needs to get Cas out of it right now!

“I’ll be right back,” Dean tells Cas, before he hurries out – returning with pliers that were the one useful thing he found in the Impala’s trunk, and a fist-sized stone. His insides twist when he realizes the pliers are way too small to do anything about those nails.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Cas yet again as he pulls up a crate so he can get at the nails. They are drilled in along what looks like the main – bone? muscle? – of each wing. Three on each side. And below, Dean realizes only now, the wings are not just gleaming naturally, they are soaked with blood.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Dean tries the pliers, he can’t not, but they don’t do a thing, just as he feared. He raises the stone. And starts to hit the first nail, first from one side, then the other, to loosen it. Cas cries out and Dean feels sick. Yet he continues bashing away at the nail and swallowing down bile, seeing how each jolt keeps ripping up the wing tissue even further. When he finally deems the nail loose enough, he uses the serrated edge of his knife to force it out the rest of the way. It takes ages to get rid of just the one, and when it clatters to the ground, Dean is sweating and cursing, and his stomach is in knots, his hands slippery with blood, torn feathers, and bits of squishy whitish stuff he can’t even think about.
Five more to go, and Cas is struggling against the ropes and ripping at his wings hard enough that Dean fears he might pull them straight through the nails and simply tear them apart in the process.

“Cas!” Dean cries out.

But the angel isn’t aware enough to know it’s him. The sounds coming from him are feral. Desperate.
Dean keeps working on the nails, trying to shut out the noises, the nausea from causing Cas this much pain. It’s a hack job, he is botching this, but what can he do? No way in hell is he leaving again to get tools or whatever, not without Cas!
Dean has to wipe the sweat out of his eyes before he sets his sight onto the final nail. The wing he already freed is hanging limp. The second droops down just as heavily when the nail comes loose.
Dean has to step down and push the crate over so he can cut the ropes Cas sagged into, and when he does, the angel’s weight catches him by surprise and they crash to the floor, with Cas’ weight all but crushing him. The back of Dean’s head hits the floor and he shakes it, dizzy for a moment. He blinks - and the wings are gone.

“What the…?”

Dean gets out from under Cas and sits up. When he reaches out to pull Cas’ hands toward him and free him of the ropes, the angel growls, hurling himself backwards, ripping the ropes apart and crying out with the pain of moving the arms that have been tied up for however long.

“Calm down, Cas. It’s alright, we’re getting out of here now, come on.”

Dean might as well have talked to the stone that lies bloody on the floor next to him, for Cas is so far out of it, he keeps lashing out, scurrying back while grinding out: “Stay away from me!”

“Cas! It’s me. Dean.”

“No! You aren’t real. She is making me see you.”

What the hell did that djinn show Cas? This is so far from the happily-ever-after shitshow that kept Dean in thrall. This is the stuff of nightmares, and Cas’ face is contorted in pain and panic. He isn’t gonna get him out of here like this, Dean realizes.

“Fuck no, what else?”

It’s killing him to even think about hurting Cas any further, but he needs him to calm down and this now doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen anytime soon.

“Cas,” Dean tries again. “I’m real. I’m here. I’m getting you out.”

Yet Cas keeps struggling against any attempt to calm him down, desperate in a way a cornered animal is.

“Naomi, please! No more!”

Dean freezes. Cas’ voice is breaking with his hopeless plea.

Fucking Naomi! The angel bitch that brainwashed Cas? Is that what Cas thinks this is? No wonder he keeps fighting. But still. There’s no way around this, they need to get out, now!
Dean swallows, steels himself, then his fist connects with Cas’ temple, knocking the angel out cold. Likely only thanks to how weak he is, but Dean will take it. He couldn’t have subdued him any other way. And he didn’t really think it through, how he’s gonna get the unconscious angel to the car. Turns out, with his wings gone wherever, Cas is no heavier than any man of his stature, and Dean manages to half drag, half carry him to the Impala.
At least the bleeding has stopped, Dean notes when he maneuvers Cas into the back. Is his grace kicking back in, now that he is no longer being bled? He doesn’t look so hot otherwise, though. Pale. Sweaty. And – fuck! Now his skin is hot to the touch.

“Great, fucking great! – Alright angel, let’s get you home!”


As soon as they are on the road, Dean calls Sam. Learns that his brother got the djinn, but the bitch told Sam there’s more like him, and they are out to get them and any hunter there is. Fucking Michael, making fucking Frankenstein monsters, fucking nightmare djinns! Fuck!

Sam asks about Cas and Dean says that he got him out.

“He’s sick, though, I think. The way I found him…”

Dean is grateful that Sam doesn’t pry, just lets it go when Dean’s voice cracks.

“Bring him home, we’ll get him well in no time,” is all Sam says.

Dean swallows, glancing in the rearview mirror at the angel sprawled unconscious across the seats and praying that his brother is right.

Chapter Text

Sam helps with getting Cas into Dean’s bed.

“He has his own…”

“We’re not putting him in that monk’s cell of a room,” Dean snaps.

They peel Cas out of his dirty pants, shoes and all. They clean away the worst of the blood.

“At least the punctures are closing. – Dean, what kind of needles were they?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Dean says tiredly. He caresses the hair away from where his fist connected with Cas’ temple and his belly twists again.

“Why’s he still out? I didn’t hit that hard.”

“His grace must be depleted. Maybe it’s keeping him under?”

“Like a coma?”

Sam shrugs: “Maybe.”

“What about the fever?”

“Dean…”

“I know. Fuck. We have no idea, do we?”

“You got him out. He’s here.”

“What good is that if he’s burning up?”

“Look, you stay with him. I’ll hit the books. Do…do what you did when I was sick when we were kids.”

Dean manages to give Sam a faint smile.

Sam nudges him: “You always knew what to do, big brother.”

Dean swallows, his gaze returning to Cas as Sam walks out.

“I never knew what to do. I was just good at faking it,” Dean tells the angel, heart wrenching in his chest.
He remembers cold towels, though. And ibuprofen pills. That, he can do. Whatever good it’ll do in case of angel fever. But it’s something.

He rushes out and quickly returns with what he wanted.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, the endearment slipping out as his stomach clenches, realizing he has no way to make Cas swallow the pills. When he tries lifting up Cas’ head, the angel’s hands come up in defense, so weak yet still stubbornly trying to fend off Naomi, or so Dean figures.
He shakes his head, swallowing down his frustration: “I don’t know how to help you, Cas,” he says brokenly, reaching for the washcloth soaked in cold water and placing it on Cas’ forehead.
Cas all but throws himself out of the bed to get away from it. A moment later, his teeth start to chatter.

“Fuck! – It’s alright, Cas, calm down. It’s all good. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dean makes his voice soft, he doesn’t move, doesn’t touch again until Cas has relaxed somewhat back into the pillows.

“Stop. Make it stop. I can’t – “

Dean closes his eyes, Cas’ desperate plea hitting him hard. When he opens them again, he has to watch the angel’s face crease in pain. Watch him twist and lash out at nothing. He is forced to listen to Cas beg Naomi to “please, just end this!” Dean sits and watches as Cas gasps and groans, and it’s from a change in names that he figures the scenery has changed, that it’s no longer Naomi torturing Cas now but…the angels that got him when he didn’t have his grace, maybe? Likely. For the pained noises are different now, more abrupt, as if from stabs, slices.

It’s when those ebb off, too, and all that remains is silent tears running down the sides of Cas’ face that Dean reaches the end of his rope. He figures that the angel has calmed down enough for him to try and give him this, at least: the tiny bit of comfort that lies in being held, in feeling another near. Dean needs Cas to feel safe! How else is he going to come out of this?
And it’s him, Cas must feel that, even in the state he is in. He has to!
Dean eases off shoes and climbs into the bed. He gently slips one arm underneath the angel’s neck. Pulls him close with the other.
Dean’s heart feels like bursting with relief when Cas doesn’t shrink from him but slumps. The tension sliding off him so rapidly, it’s as if his strings had been cut. He practically melts into the mattress, into Dean’s hold, and Dean has to swallow back tears.

“That’s it, Cas. See? It’s all good. You sleep now. I’ll keep watch. I’ll keep you safe. No one’s gonna get to you. You’ll be alright.”

Dean mumbles these words, and variations of them, for what feels like hours, until his throat is raw, but still he keeps going. He holds on to Cas, who keeps fluctuating between running hot like a furnace and shaking with cold. Dean lets his lips rest against Cas’ clammy, sweaty temple. He aches to do more, but he is reduced to this. It’s all he can to do put everything, every ounce of strength he wants to give Cas, into the hold he has on the angel. Hoping that it’s enough, that Cas gets it.

Chapter Text

Dean couldn’t say how much time has passed when the door knob is being pushed down, ever so slowly, and the door swings open. He tenses, calculating how to get to his knife, grab the gun taped to the back of the headboard, without jostling Cas too badly.

Then there’s a whisper: “It’s me,” and Jack slips into the room.

“How is he? Is he gonna be ok?”

Jack doesn’t question why Dean is in the bed with Cas, holding him close the way he does. As if that made perfect sense. And maybe it does, all things considered.

“I don’t know, kid. He’s sleeping now. I guess that’s good.”

“If only I had my powers, I could…”

“Jack, don’t. ‘If only’ never helped anyone. We got him out, he’s here. That’s what we’re running with, ok?”
“Ok.”

They are silent for a while. Jack quietly carrying over a chair and sitting down next to the bed.

“What’s the water for?”

“I meant to cool him down. Didn’t work out so well.”

“Want me to try? It’s for the fever, right?”

“Sure. But be careful.”

Jack is, the tenderness with which he places the folded cloth on Cas’ forehead making Dean smile.

“That’s good,” Dean says, keeping a close eye on Cas but spotting no signs of distress.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jack agrees.

Cas still feels hot against Dean, but it’s been a while since he last started shivering, and even longer since he cried out in the throes of a nightmare. So yes, this is good. Maybe the djinn’s mojo is wearing off. Or Cas’ grace is dealing with it.

“Sam says he’ll be fine. That he needs sleep most of all.”

“Did he find anything in the lore?”

Jack’s face twists apologetically as he shakes his head: “He said that’s what you used to say when he came down with a fever as a kid.”

Dean snorts, half touched, half frustrated. Of course, Sammy would try to comfort Jack. Of course there’s no lore on angel fevers.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“You care a lot about Cas, don’t you?”

“Sure. Same as you. And Sam. Mom…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?”

Dean reaches up, plucks the towel off Cas’ forehead and gently wipes the angel’s temples, his neck.

“Here, soak it again, will you?” he hands it back to Jack, who does as he is told, then puts the folded towel back on Cas’ forehead.

“I think it’s helping.”

Dean feels Cas twitch and curl into him just a bit. He puts his hand on Cas’ collarbone, fingertips on his pulse. He nods: “Guess you’re right.”

“You could sleep a bit. I’ll watch.”

“You should…”

“Dean. I’m staying.”


Dean didn’t mean to, but he does slip into a doze at some point. Only to be jolted awake when Cas thrashes violently and Dean gets an elbow in the ribs and a flailing hand in his face before he manages to subdue the angel.

“Just leave!” Cas all but sobs. “Let go. You need to get out of this place!”

Purgatory, Dean figures. Cas must be back there, back when he shoved Dean through the portal while Cas stayed behind, punishing himself.

“Cas!” he pulls the angel fully into him, even as Cas is still struggling weakly, futilely, against his hold.

“I’m not letting go, you hear me? Not this time! I need you to snap out of it, Cas. Come back!”

There’s no way of saying whether it’s Dean’s words or whether the latest nightmare has simply run its course, but Cas slumps, boneless again, and Dean’s hold turns into an embrace, one of his hands moving to Cas’ neck, supporting it as he tucks Cas’ face against his throat.

“I need you back, Cas,” he whispers, lips in Cas’ messy hair.

“See,” Jack says quietly from where he has curled up in the chair.

Dean had forgotten all about him. He feels raw with the memories Cas’ episode dragged up. Shaky when one of the angel’s arms slips around his waist, holding on. He swallows, a lump growing in his throat. His heart misses a beat when there’s movement at Cas’ back: Jack scooting close to the angel.

“He can feel you. It’s helping. He’s my dad – let me help, too.”

Dean has no idea what to say to that. It does make sense, in a way. What else could get through to Cas but letting him feel them near, two of the people who love him most?

“Hope you’re right,” Dean says.

He and Cas are jostled a bit as Jack makes himself comfortable. Then all there is is the sound of Cas and Jack breathing. The steady thumping of Cas’ heart against his chest. The angel’s arm around him, its weight grounding as Cas seems to drop back into actual sleep.
Dean listens, lets himself feel. Until he, too, dozes off again.


Cas fights his way to consciousness from somewhere deep and dark and utterly devastating.

He feels awful, shaky and somewhat nauseous. Sweaty and hurting in places he hasn’t even thought about since the fall, since he tucked away his wings for good. Or so he thought. His wings…His shoulder blades twitch yet he keeps in check the urge to spread them, do something about the persistent ache.

Opening his eyes feels like a task too grand to accomplish. He has a moment of panic when it feels as if he couldn’t pry his lids apart. When he manages, his lashes are weighed down by something, the corners of his eyes feeling crusty. He blinks. He breathes in. And his throat closes up when he realizes: It’s Dean’s arms around him. He has been lying tucked into Dean, held tight against the man’s chest.

At his back, Cas senses another presence. Moving just a bit and barely suppressing a groan as he does, he can see it is Jack. And behind Jack, sprawled uncomfortably in a chair, is Sam. All three fast asleep. All three here with him.

Tears, Cas realizes. His eyes feel as odd as they do because of dried tears. He swallows to hold in fresh ones, even as his heart feels like it might explode with the way Dean holds on to him, even in sleep. With how Jack has snuggled up to his back. How Sam would rather sleep in that chair than leave the room. No one ever did this for him. And he didn’t think anyone ever would.
It must be real, though, because this isn’t something the djinn could have plucked out of his mind. Because Cas couldn’t have come up with a scenario like this!

Even less so when the door is being opened very, very carefully and Mary peeks in, a smile blooming on her face when she notices Cas is awake.

“Oh thank God!” she breathes. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”

Cas meets her gaze, unsure what is expected of him. He watches Mary look from Dean to Jack to Sam with a soft smile.

“Of course, your whole family’s here.”

Her gaze returns to Cas.

“Looks like y’all could use some more sleep. But Cas, I’m glad you’re ok.”

When Mary pulls the door shut again, Cas allows himself to settle back in against Dean’s chest, heart leaping when the man’s hand shifts to his neck for an unconscious caress.

Your whole family, Cas’ mind replays Mary’s words. His family!
He had called them that. Had them tell him it’s what they are.
He believed it, too, and meant it himself.
But it never felt as real and true as it does in this very moment. 

Chapter Text

Dean wakes up, instantly aware that something is different. His heartrate spikes and his eyes snap open. Cas is still in his arms, curled into him. There’s a warm and slightly damp spot low on his throat where the angel is breathing against him. In fact, the warmth they are sharing is just about perfect by now, which means Cas isn’t running hot anymore. Nor cold, since someone – Jack? Or Sam, when he came to sit watch? – pulled up the sheet to above Dean’s hand in Cas’ neck, tucking them both in safely and securely. Dean swallows, touched by the simple, yet so very caring gesture. He lets his lips find Cas’ forehead, the mess that is Cas’ hair at this point tickling his nose. Still, Dean has no intention of moving away. His fingers curl and caress where they are resting in Cas’ neck.
The angel releases a soft little moan in response.

Heart in his throat, Dean gasps: “Cas?”

He doesn’t have words for the kind of relief that washes over him when incredibly blue eyes meet his, bright and fully alert, not a trace of that awful confusion and panic left in them. There’s a different kind of trace, though, and Dean’s thumb is carefully wiping away the worst of the sleep and crusted tearstains before he can even form a conscious thought to do so. He can’t have anything keeping the angel from meeting his gaze full on.

“Hey. You ok?”

Dean doesn’t recognize his own voice. He can imagine it might come out this way if he tried to talk through tears, or after yelling…it’s raw and so soft it’s barely audible. But Cas is right there, so close Dean can see what the question does to the angel’s face: the tremble in his chapped lips, the darkening of his eyes.

“Dean,” Cas croaks.

Dean barely manages to suppress a sound that’d be way too close to a wail, or sob, or anything that’d help release the unbearable tension and fear and anguish he felt building throughout the hours Cas’ eyes remained closed, the angel remained caught up in those nightmares of his.
Dean pulls him close, hugs him tight – too tight, for Cas yelps.

“Fuck, sorry, you still hurtin’?”

Dean can see the strain in Cas’ expression when he loosens his hold, yet Cas tries to smile through it: “Thank you. For getting me out. That was – “

Dean is quick to shake his head: “Don’t mention it. I’m just…I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”


Dean’s first pulling Cas in, then easing him away just far enough to be able to see his face again, has jostled Jack awake, man and angel realize as one when the youngest member of their family pops up from behind Cas, sleepy-eyed and bed-headed but beaming.

“It worked!”

Cas attempts to roll onto his back, or maybe sit up, but abandons all movement with a groan from between clenched teeth, tensing all over.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks, frantic, his hand shooting out to Cas’ shoulder, steadying him.

From the corner of his eyes, Dean sees Sam jump to his feet and toward the bed, put on instant alert by the commotion even pulled from deep sleep. Dean’s main focus is on Cas, though, who is breathing hard as if holding in noises of pain. It’s mere grunts that come out for a while, until Cas is able to grit out: “Wings, I…they’re still…”

“What do you need? What do we do?” Dean asks, leaning down until he is in Cas’ line of sight. He watches the angel swallow repeatedly, forehead creased in a pained frown, before Cas speaks up again:

“Out…they need…there must be something still…ah…”

“Fuck!” Dean is out of bed in a flash.

“Sam! Let’s get him to the showers – he’ll need more space than this. Those wings are massive.”

Sam, bless him, doesn’t question, just acts. He and Dean manage to get Cas out of the bed and to the communal showers with the angel stumbling along between them, in nothing but those baggy white briefs.
Dean can’t let himself acknowledge that Cas is practically naked against him, that it feels wrong dragging him through the bunker in that state. Instead, he keeps beating himself up for not paying attention to the fact that Cas’ temple is still bruised, that he still hasn’t managed to heal that. What the hell is wrong, why isn’t his grace back up by now, if the djinn’s magic has worn off?

“Now what?” Sam asks once they have reached the big shower room.

“Cas?” Dean seeks the angel’s gaze. It’s wide and it’s like Cas is warring with himself.

When nothing is forthcoming, Dean finds he might have an inkling what’s going on in their angel’s head. It makes him ask: “Sammy, can you get disinfectant and stuff?”

Sam frowns.

“Whatever’s wrong - as soon as he gets those wings out, we’re gonna need…whatever. Please?!”

Ok, so maybe that sounded way too urgent. Likely Sam’s even more suspicious now. But whatever is making Dean do this, try and get Sam to leave, it’s insistent and he just goes with it.

“You got him?” Sam asks, carefully shifting all of Cas’ weight toward Dean.

“Ja, we’re good,” Dean tells Sam. And once his brother has left, he grips Cas even tighter: “Come on, whip them out – let’s see what’s wrong so we can do something about it.”

When Cas opens his mouth to speak, drops of red appear on the tiles and Dean realizes the angel has been biting his tongue to stay quiet. Cas swallows, almost chokes on the blood. Coughs. Then he angles himself so his back is turned away from Dean, grips Dean’s upper arms to the point of snapping the bones, or crumbling them while still covered by flesh, Dean thinks darkly as he grits his teeth against the pain. Next comes the whoosh, the sound Dean has learned to associate with Cas arriving nearby. And there they are. Those huge, black wings, even more breathtaking now that Dean can actually see them in their entirety in the harsh light of the shower room. He did remember correctly, though, that they are massive. They are also drooping, as if Cas just didn’t have the strength to hold them up. Cas tries, Dean can feel the angel tensing, hears him grunt when it’s not working and all his efforts achieve is ruffle the feathers.

“There’s…something’s stopping them from healing,” Cas grates out.

Right. Those nails. Which Dean hacked out. Fucking hell, did he do this? Did he mangle Cas wings to the point where…?
Dean feels Cas’ knees wobble, his weight practically doubling in Dean’s hold, making Dean stumble as he barely manages to keep them both upright.

“Ok,” Dean says, drawing a deep breath. “You sit…”

He lowers Cas to the ground as carefully as he possibly can. It’s obvious that even the tiniest twitch of his wings is causing Cas pain, from how his face twists when his wings try to settle near the ground with him. Dean feels his own face screw up in sympathy. Where the fuck is Sam?

“Here’s what we’re gonna do: I’ll get Sam to find a flashlight and we’ll check…”

Cas’ hand shoots out and grabs Dean’s wrist.

“What? Is there a problem with Sam and your wings?”

This really isn’t the time to get into a fight over Cas’ peculiarities, Dean is aware of that. But he is out of his depth here, and he really wants his brother to help so they can get Cas better. And how is the angel so bad off right now anyway? He looked kinda ok in bed. Until…

“Did Jack help with your wings somehow? Should I get him…?”

“No!”

“Then what, Cas?”

Dean isn’t angry. He is out of his mind with worry, and wondering what’s taking Sam so long, and not getting why Cas is so shifty about the whole thing now.

“You do it. Touch…”

Dean frowns. “You’re so gonna have to explain this, angel. But fine, have it your way. Can I at least have Sam hold the flashlight so I can see properly?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” Dean’s tone is sarcastic so as not to sound overly anxious. “Now where’s…”

“Dean. Can I come in?” Sam asks just then, through the door, and Dean has a second being amazed that Sam has apparently figured out something for himself while he was gone.

“Ja, Sammy. – Listen, can you run and get a...”

Dean stops mid-sentence when his brother rounds the corner and just – freezes. Stares.

“Sam?!” – “Sammy! Shut your mouth and get over here. We’ve work to do!”

“I...ah…ja,” Sam stammers, unable to take his eyes off Cas’ wings and almost stumbling into one of the low partition walls as he walks closer.

“Hey!” Dean snaps his fingers to get his brother to focus. “Eyes up here,” he adds for good measure, even though the remark is idiotic and uncalled-for. It serves to make Sam scoff, though, and some focus returns to his somewhat bleary, overwhelmed gaze.
Is this what Cas was worried about? Is it the effect his wings have? Doesn’t explain why Dean isn’t affected as much, but he’ll take the explanation for now, it’s as good as any and they really need to get this done. Dean won’t even let himself think they might not be able to! They will! They are going to find what’s stopping Cas’ grace from working its magic, and then their angel will be as good as new!

Motioning for Sam to move behind Cas, Dean kneels down in front of the angel. When that doesn’t seem enough, he takes Cas’ face in both hands: “You gonna be ok. Just…hold on.”

Dean wants to say more. And Cas looks at him as if waiting for him to. Their gazes stay locked, and Dean hopes and prays that Cas knows the words Dean’s mind won’t form, trust him enough to let him help.

“Let’s do this,” he declares, knees creaking as he gets up.

Cas’ upper body twists as he tries to follow Dean with his eyes. Dean lays a hand on the angel’s bare shoulder: “Don’t move. I’m right behind you, ok?”

Unwilling to break contact, Dean lets his hand glide from Cas’ shoulder to where the main bone, or muscle, or whatever, of Cas’ right wing sprouts from his back. The low moan Cas can’t seem to hold back makes the hair on Dean’s arms stand up. For it’s not one of pain. And it takes just that small, involuntary sound for Dean to understand – a lot. About the whole wing matter. But that’s for later to parse out, he reminds himself, if with an effort. Now is about stopping Cas from hurting, and he makes his voice gentle when he prompts: “Can you spread them? Sorry, I know it hurts, but I’ll need to get at all three…” He can’t say holes, and he won’t bring up the nails. Not ever again. He doesn’t have to, for Cas is already spreading both wings until they touch the walls of the room.

Sam’s eyes have grown glassy again as he just stands and stares, supplies dumped at his feet. Thankfully, he has thought to bring that light-up magnifying glass from the lab, Dean sees, silently cheering his brother even as he shoves the thing into Sam’s hands with more force than necessary to jolt him out of his stupor.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do – Sam, you listening? You’re holding the lens and light so I can see. I’ll – oh fuck!”

Dean stops in mid-sentence when he spots, even with his naked eyes, the shards of metal in the first ragged hole he put into Cas’ wing when he tried to get the nail out.
Did he do more damage than good? By hacking at the nails with that stone, he didn’t just rip up Cas’ flesh, he also drove slivers and chips of the nails into the open wound – and those are glowing, faintly blue with fucking djinn magic.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, grabbing a pair of tweezers from the kit Sam brought.

“Sam! – Hey!” Dean yells and Sam snaps out of it, looking puzzled.

“Sorry, I…it’s…”

“I know. Just…try and stay focused, ok? And don’t touch the wings!”

Sam gives Dean wide eyes but nods. Visibly pulls back his shoulders.

“Let’s do this,” Dean says again, more for himself than for the others.

He seeks Sam’s gaze, making sure he is with him. Then sets to work. Which is almost as grueling as getting those nails out in the first place. Or, scratch that. It’s worse, because with the magnifier, he can see exactly what he is doing this time. Or, what he already did. The damage he caused. He feels nauseous looking at the ragged edges of flesh, the remnants of torn feathers shoved in deep, and amid all that mess, the occasional blue hue. Dean squints, works carefully, finds he can steady himself by gripping the base of the wing next to the wound he is dealing with, so he does. Cas didn’t tell him not to touch, and he doesn’t now.
Dean has his ears pricked for any sound Cas might make, feelers out for even the slightest twitch indicating discomfort. He also makes sure to keep Sam fully focused and safely away from the wings at the same time. It’s exhausting. His knees protest, his back hurts, and he is biting his lip when his fingers start to cramp with how long he has been clutching the tweezers. And still he moves on, from one wound to the next. Occasionally speaking up to ask Cas how he is doing, whether he needs him to stop.

The angel doesn’t move a muscle through the whole ordeal, though. It’s as if he ordered his body to just freeze. Maybe he did. For he, too, must be deeply uncomfortable sitting on the cold tiles and having his wings pierced to the bone by Dean’s inexpert hands. Damn, Sam should be the one doing this. Or even Jack, who has smaller hands, and likely also steadier ones. Better eyes, too. What if Dean misses something, what if he doesn’t get all of the bits out and Cas’ll keep hurting? What if…

Feathers shift and ruffle underneath and around Dean’s hands just then, and it’s the most amazing sensation. He can’t help but relax his fingers, spread them, card them through the beauty that is Cas’ wings, just once, but it’s enough to pull another of those moans from the angel.

“Cas,” Dean croaks, “hold still, I think there’s…”

“You got the worst,” Cas says, quickly but unexpectedly clearly. “I can handle the rest.”

He is right, Dean sees, as the wounds are starting to close up before his very eyes, barely-there slivers being pushed out of the healing flesh, the comforting glow of Cas’ grace smothering their magic.
Dean hears Cas sigh with relief. He gets to see the wings lift up, spread and stretch, feathers ruffling into place and – oh – they aren’t even all black! Dean can allow himself to admire the magnificence that’s Cas wings now. He finds himself smile in wonder as he takes in the way the rather harsh lighting makes them shimmer, greenish, like…a magpie’s. His heart does a funny thing in his chest at the thought. Cas, the magpie. Somehow – Dean shakes his head, but the smile doesn’t fade from his lips. Once more, the wings move, then they fold up – and disappear.
Cas turns around, pale but smiling, too.

“Thank you,” he says, in that gravelly voice of his, and Dean swallows.

Cas’ eyes shift to Sam, whose gaze is vacant.
Dean follows the angel’s eyes and he stiffens in alarm.

“Explain,” he says.  

Cas draws a breath but lets it out without putting it into words.

“Sammy!” Dean addresses his brother.

Sam blinks, refocuses: “Cas! You good? What…?”

“I’d like to take a shower,” the angel declares, scrambling to his feet.

Sam barks out a laugh. Seeks Dean’s gaze: “You did it.”

When they turn their attention toward Cas again, there isn’t a trace of anything left on the angel’s body – the bruising on his face from Dean’s blow is gone, and it’s obvious from how Cas holds himself that his wings aren’t troubling him anymore.
Dean releases a deep breath, nodding.

“I’ll get you some stuff to wear, it’ll be right outside.”

“Thank you. Both of you,” Cas tells them as they file out.

“So, you think Jack somehow…kept the djinn magic in check?” Sam asks.

“But I don’t have my powers,” Jack points out.

“You’re still you, kid,” Dean says.

Cas shouldn’t be in the library trying to figure this out but in bed, recovering, Dean thinks. The worst may be over, but the angel still looks like he could use the rest. Or is it just that Dean can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that Cas isn’t in suit and trench coat for once, and therefore looks as far from his usual as Dean can possibly imagine. And that includes his time as a human. For even then, they never saw him freshly showered, hair still damp, and wearing nothing but Dean’s sleeping pants and a shirt. Not even socks! He is practically bare here with them, and Dean…it just doesn’t sit right with him. What with Cas having to expose his wings, go through everything he has…

Great, now he didn’t get Cas’ attempt at explaining why a powered-down nephilim might be a temporary antidote for djinn magic. Then again, Cas doesn’t look fully convinced himself. Dean suspects the angel really has no idea, just like the rest of them. Sam’s sure to hit the books once they are done here. Jack’s just happy to hear that he helped Cas get better, so, true or not, Dean is willing to let it rest. Maybe that’s Cas’ thinking, too, he realizes. The angel smiles at him when their eyes meet. Yeah, Dean thinks, that might just be it. He smiles back. Shrugs.

There’s still the matter of angel wings to talk about, though. Which Cas seems to shy away from.
Yet they all know Sam won’t just let it go, especially since he was the one most affected. So, after a moment of silence, Cas says: “Will it be enough for now if I tell you that…angel wings are an intimate matter, and also immensely powerful in their effect. Which is why they aren’t to be shown lightly?”

Dean gulps. He sees Sam look at Jack and knows his brother won’t pry with the kid present. When he looks at Cas next, Dean finds the angel’s eyes on him, as he knew they would be. Yeah, they do need to talk. He sighs. Sees Cas deflate. And he can’t take that, Dean realizes, as all of him, head and heart and stomach and hands, protest the idea of letting Cas down. Again.

“Cas,” he says. “Why don’t you try and see whether you can sleep some more? You sure look like you could use a couple extra hours.”

The angel’s face falls and Sam, too, frowns at Dean. But no, that’s not…he doesn’t mean to send Cas to his room all alone, not at all!

To Dean’s surprise, Jack rectifies the budding mess for him: “I put on fresh bedding while I waited for y’all to be done. You can get right back in.”

Back in Dean’s bed, that is. Cas looks hopeful enough for Dean to think the angel might just get it now. Dean confirms it for him, though, by saying: “Come on,” and holding out his hand for Cas to take as he gets up. Dean’s heart is beating rapidly in the small eternity it takes Cas to make a move. Grab his hand and let himself be pulled up.

Jack is beaming. Sam is smiling, if somewhat befuddled.

But Dean can’t pay attention to them, not now. He has Cas’ hand in his, and he isn’t letting go. He isn’t speaking, either. He pulls the angel along, to his room, which is as they left it – the small light near the door still on, the chair still next to the bed. But Jack has arranged the fresh bedding invitingly, even placed water and what Dean thinks may be painkillers on the nightstand, which makes Dean smile.

“Is this ok?” he thinks to ask Cas then, even though he is still clutching the angel’s hand, and Cas is giving no indication that he’d rather be elsewhere.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Neither do you,” Dean points out.

They both smile, because isn’t this just typical?

“Well then,” Dean shrugs out of his flannel, hesitates, then steps out of his jeans, too. Nods for Cas to get into bed first. And follows the angel’s every move with his eyes as Cas does.


Slipping in next to Cas, settling in exactly like they lay earlier, is nothing short of amazing. Dean’s heart and belly do things he didn’t know they could, now that Cas isn’t in pain anymore but still in bed with him, and voluntarily.

“Ok?” Dean asks again. He just can’t not. He needs Cas to reassure him this is what he wants. Which is stupid, with the angel happily snuggling into him, one arm once more wrapping around Dean’s waist, his hand ending up flat on Dean’s back, holding him close.
Cas then slips one of his legs in between Dean’s, bringing them even closer together. Cas’ head tilts up. His lips are still chapped, but soft underneath, and warm against Dean’s.
Dean’s moan is muffled and he closes his eyes as warmth pools behind his lids. Along with butterflies in his belly and heat in his groin. His grip on Cas is growing tight enough to hurt. A man, not an angel, thankfully. Dean just needs him close, needs him safe and needs to feel him everywhere against him.

“Cas,” he mutters into the careful kiss.

He is helpless with how much he is feeling and how badly he is lacking the words to express it all: How it killed him to be right there while Cas had to suffer through the worst moments since they met, and realizing just how many he caused, how many he played an active part in. Realizing just how much pain and hurt and devastation is him in Cas’ life, and how much he never wanted that but kept causing it. How utterly bad it is for Cas to be around him, how he totally isn’t worth the angel’s continued faith. How he doesn’t want Cas hurting, how he’d give his life to keep anyone from getting their hands on the angel ever again!

Dean feels Cas shake his head, which pulls their lips apart. But then Cas’ are back with greater insistence, along with his tongue, licking at Dean’s lips and being let in. Cas’ hands come up to Dean’s shoulders, his neck, the back of his head, embracing and caressing and, finally, just holding.
Dean’s face is buried in the crook of Cas’ neck when the angel says: “I know.”
And Dean sobs. It breaks out of him, just once, before he muffles each and every sound in Cas, holding on as if for dear life.

That’s what Cas is. His life! Dean may not be able to say it, and damn has he been struggling to show it! But Cas knows. He does, Dean can feel it, the certainty that is Cas knowing all the things he just thought about, and still choosing to be here, to do this with him.
Dean won’t ever be enough, that’s what he knows, but he’ll be damned if he won’t keep trying!

Epilog – A few weeks later


“Yo, magpie – some help with these?” Dean nods toward the crates he and Sam are lugging into the bunker. “Or are you just going to sit there being your gorgeous self?”

Mary looks up from where she is busy cataloging the new additions to the bunker’s inventory, but Sam catches her raised eyebrows and shakes his head: “Don’t even ask.”

To Dean, Sam says: “He’s an Angel of the Lord.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“Count on you to make even that sound offensive,” Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean snorts.

Cas, for his part, is smiling, eyes seeking and locking with Dean’s. He clearly doesn’t take offense at the nickname, on the contrary.

Well then, who is Sam to get between his brother and his angel?