So @gneisscastiel and @daughter-of-the-rain-and-snow and I were discussing this gif of Castiel’s wing imprints, which… his wings just look HUGE, amirite? Which, naturally, led to a discussion of, “Well, you know what it means when an angel has big wings, right? *wink wink* ” and then they prompted me to write about Dean and Castiel having a discussion about how Castiel is “well-endowed”, so here it is. :D
Please enjoy a little bit of brevity after this season’s tearful premiere.
(Gif credit to @codestielckles)
Dean puts out a hand to stop Cas, tugging him to a halt just outside the doorway to the kitchen.
“So, Cas,” he says, as casually as he can muster, which is, of course, Not Very. “Maybe this is crossin’ a line, I dunno, but I… I gotta ask, man. The curiosity’s been killing me. How big are we talkin’?”
Castiel squints at him, doing the (totally-not-endearing) head tilt thing. “What do you mean?”
Dean does not fidget. He doesn’t. He just shifts his weight a little bit, rocks on his heels, and then, belatedly realizing that his hand is still on Castiel’s arm, drops it and rubs his palms across his jeans. “Well, I mean, you said before that your true form is huge, right? Like, Chrysler building size?”
“Okay, so I’m just wondering: how big is everything else?”
Castiel still looks like he’s not following, so Dean rolls his eyes and gestures to his own shoulders, sweeping out a hand over the top of his shoulder and then wiggling his fingers to indicate feathers. Castiel’s face clears with understanding.
“Oh. Yes. Well, in my true form, I would estimate…” His eyebrows draw together thoughtfully for a moment. “…about 300 yards, from end to end?”
Dean stares at him, blank, and Castiel huffs a quiet noise of amusement.
“…about two and a half football fields, I believe, if that makes it easier to picture.”
Dean whistles quietly between his teeth, impressed. “Son of a bitch.”
Castiel nods and stands just a little bit straighter. It’s subtle, but Dean would almost swear that Cas is puffing up with pride. “I’ve always been ‘above average’, I guess you could say, in comparison to some of the other angels.”
Dean grins and punches him lightly on the arm, barking a laugh. “Hell yeah, you are! I always knew you were packin’! Go you. Okay, so that’s your true form. And now…?”
“Well, since I’m using a vessel and I’m not currently in my true form, everything is scaled down, obviously –“
“Obviously,” Dean agrees, nodding sagely, as if he has the slightest friggin’ clue how angel proportions work.
“- but I would still say…quite large. Several yards, at least.”
“Dude. That’s awesome.”
Castiel nods, looking pleased and just the slightest bit smug, and Dean takes a moment to build himself up for the next question.
“Okay, so maybe this is weird,” he blurts out, but he’s gotta ask before he loses his nerve and it takes him another eight years to get around to it again, “and feel free to tell me ‘no’, I dunno how angels are about this kind of shit, but can I… can I see?”
He can’t help the hope that creeps into his voice, but his heart sinks at the regretful expression that crosses Castiel’s face.
“I don’t think that’s wise, based on our past experiences,” Castiel says. He raises a hand towards Dean’s face, passing it in front of his eyes – Dean almost thinks Castiel is going to touch his fingertips to Dean’s eyelashes for a second, and his eyes flutter in anticipation – before dropping it.
Dean nods, thinking painfully of what had happened to Pam. And yeah, he gets it, but he still can’t help wilting a little with disappointment.
“Yeah, okay,” he sighs. “You’re right.”
Castiel is watching him thoughtfully, chewing just slightly on his bottom lip. It’s a ridiculously human thing to do, and it gives Dean ridiculously inappropriate ides.
“But maybe…maybe you could feel?” Castiel says hesitantly.
Dean perks up immediately, head snapping up. “Really? Dude, that would be friggin’ awesome!” He doesn’t even bother to disguise the eagerness in his voice this time. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Close your eyes,” Castiel instructs, looking amused. “And keep them closed,” he adds, almost like an afterthought, like Dean’s stupid enough to want his eyes burned out of his skull by looking at Castiel’s wings, no matter how awesome and cool and badass they might be. “And hold out your hands.”
Dean snaps his eyes shut, curiously holding out his hands, palms up and cupped. He startles a bit, surprised, when he feels Castiel touch his hands, taking them gently and turning them around so that his hands are in front of his chest, palms facing outward - raised as if trying to protect himself, or ward something away. Which, yeah, that’s not a real comforting thought. But he trusts Cas, so he waits, trying not to grin too stupidly as Castiel releases his hands and moves away, footsteps shuffling farther down the hall.
He waits. And waits, hands held up, ears straining.
The first brush of a feather against his palm makes him jerk even though he’s expecting it, recoiling automatically against the alien sensation, but he immediately wrenches his hands back up and reaches forward cautiously. He presses his palms against soft feathers. They’re buttery soft, and silky, and Christ, some of them are friggin’ long - it takes an entire sweep of Dean’s hand, from up by his head to down past his knees, to follow some of the feathers to their end. He stretches out his arms and carefully feels his way along Cas’ wing, trying to get an idea of the size, and wow, Cas hadn’t been kidding. His outstretched wing, just one of them, fills the entire hallway from floor to ceiling, and it seems practically never-ending. It takes him many awkward, shuffling steps, feeling his way gently along Cas’ wing, before he finds the end of it where there’s finally no more feathers, only the empty hall.
Cas’ wings are awesome, just like he knew they would be. But also, more sobering, they’re damaged. There are places where feathers are obviously missing, and if even Dean can tell there’s something wrong - Dean, who doesn’t know a damn thing about angel wings - then it’s probably pretty serious. Some of the feathers are rougher, sticking out at odd angles, and he combs them back into place with his fingers without even thinking about it. Castiel makes a pleased, grateful noise, so Dean keeps doing it whenever he stumbles across one.
Finally, Castiel’s wing twitches under his hands and gently pulls away, and Dean lets it go, dropping his hands a little wistfully.
“You can open your eyes now.”
He does, immediately searching for Castiel’s unsure gaze and holding it. His face splits into a grin, and Castiel seems to relax a little, some of the tension in his eyes easing away.
“That was awesome, Cas. You’re really somethin’ else.”
“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says quietly, offering a small smile back.
The moment stretches out until Dean notices it and clears his throat, jerking his head towards the kitchen doorway and effectively bursting the bubble. “So. Yeah. I guess we got sidetracked. Coffee?”
“Coffee,” Castiel agrees readily.
Dean laughs and claps on him the back, steering him through the doorway. “And man, let me just say, if you ever need a volunteer to help take care of -”
He pauses for a second, catching sight Sam standing at the kitchen counter. No one had passed them in the hallway, so Sam must’ve been come in earlier and been in here the whole time - probably trying to drink all the coffee so he can scurry away and leave the pot empty, again, the bitch.
“ - morning, Sam,” he says, cheerfully. He’s in too good of a mood to hold a coffee-related grudge at the moment.
Sam jerks when Dean addresses him, some of the coffee in his cup slopping over onto his fingers, and Dean pauses, taking another look at him.
Sam is standing stiffly, eyes fixed wildly on Dean and Castiel. He’s holding his coffee cup in a death grip, not drinking from it, not even reacting to the coffee splashing onto his fingers. His shoulders are hunched up around his ears, body weirdly tense.
Dean frowns. “Sam, are you okay - ?”
“I’M GREAT, I DEFINITELY DIDN’T HEAR ANYTHING,” Sam announces loudly, startling them all. “NOPE - DIDN’T HEAR A THING - I’LL JUST BE GOING NOW - LEAVE YOU TWO ALONE -”
He shoots for the kitchen doorway, powerwalking like a middle-aged woman trying to beat the neighbor to the newspaper, and then he’s gone, leaving a trail of slopped coffee in his wake - a trail that Dean will have to mop up later, the asshole.
“Huh,” Dean mutters, narrowing his eyes. “That was weird.”
He glances at Cas, but Cas looks just as confused as Dean feels, giving him a small, perplexed shrug.
Dean shakes it off and moves towards the coffee pot. Weird brothers will have to wait until after his caffeine fix. “So Cas - tell me about your four heads.”