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Dean’s used to waking up to a face full of feathers by now. In fact, it’s become strange if he wakes up and isn’t wrapped in Castiel’s wings.
—
He’d fallen off the bed the first time it happened, groping for the knife under his pillow and yelling at Cas to wake up before he got eaten. The angel had jerked upright at the sound of Dean’s voice, never really asleep, and looked around in bewilderment before seeing the hunter crouched by the wall. Dean’s gaze was trained on the mass of black feathers filling the room, which he finally traced down to Castiel. Castiel had his head tipped to one side, blue eyes staring intently at Dean before he realized what had captured the hunter’s attention.
“My apologies,” he said, and the feather vanished with the rustling noise Dean associated with the arrival of an angel. Or he would have, had he been more alert. Dean stood slowly, dropping the knife onto the night stand and crawling back under the covers. They didn’t mention the incident again.
Until it happened the second time.
Dean just barely managed to stay in the bed, blankets pooled in his lap from where he perched near the edge of the mattress, but still woke Castiel by yelling something along the lines of ‘holy shit what the hell Cas’. The angel sat up, instantly alert. He was quicker to realize this time, and tucked his wings away again.
Putting the pieces together, Dean’s mouth dropped open, “No wait, hold up. Those are your wings?”
“Yes, Dean,” Cas replied, “what else would they be?”
Dean glared at him, but it didn’t seem to bother the angel, and so he asked, “I thought I couldn’t see them? You’ve never shown ‘em off before, so why do I keep waking up with a face full of feathers?”
It was Castiel’s turn to glare, and then he shrugged and lay back down, holding up one arm to indicate Dean join him.
“Not this time. This time I want answers,” Dean could practically hear Sam laughing at him, the arguments they had every time Sam tried to get Dean to talk about something. He ignored the mental Sammy Voice and looked back at Castiel. The angel’s eyes were closed, and Dean was fairly sure Cas was ignoring him.
“Cas?”
“I’ve already apologized. It won’t happen again,” Castiel said, letting his arm drop to the bed.
“Dude, seriously? I’m not mad or anything. I just want to know what’s up,” he paused to think, “You’re not sick or anything are you?”
“No Dean. I am in perfect health,” Castiel had finally opened his eyes and rolled onto his back, so he was looking up at the hunter. Dean waited silently for Cas to continue, moving to sit cross-legged. The angel sighed.
“I am distanced from heaven. My grace is weaker, and it requires large amounts of grace to contain my wings within my vessel. The effort becomes exhausting after a while. When we-” Cas stopped abruptly, a faint blush coloring his face.
Dean quirked one eyebrow upward, “Are you telling me you get tired from hiding your wings?” he asked. Castiel nodded, “But how come I can see them in the first place?”
Castiel shrugged, shrugged! Dean couldn’t help but laugh a little, quickly composing himself when Castiel glared again, “You are special Dean. Perhaps my grace protects you enough to see them.”
“Grace from the handprint?”
“Yes.”
“Right, okay,” Dean ran a hand through his hair, “That’s actually really cool. I just got one more question.”
“Yes?”
“Why the hell did you cover ‘em back up?”
—
Dean woke slowly, rolling over and batting feathers out of his eyes. Castiel stirs next to him but doesn’t wake. Despite his insistence that as an angel he doesn’t need sleep, Dean knows he enjoys it. Mostly because he overheard Sam and Cas talking about their feelings, and Cas had mentioned how much he liked waking up in Dean’s arms. Sam had made a gagging sound and then teased the angel about it until Cas threatened to smite him.
Despite the threats to his little brother, who he absolutely does not want to think about when he’s in bed with Cas, Dean can’t help but smile at the angels’ sleeping face. Castiels’ left wing is draped over them, the right one sprawled across the far side of the bed. When Dean pushes himself up and stretches, neck and back popping, the wing moves with him. Long primary feathers droop down around him. The motion pushes the blankets farther down the bed and Dean shudders as cool air hits his chest. Shadow fall across his face from the feathers hanging over his head and he scratches the anti-possession tattoo on his chest. Unwilling to brave the chill air of the room Dean settles back down in the bed, wrapped up in the warmth of Castiels’ wing, and kisses his angel awake.
