The Flowers in my Wings

1.

It was late in the afternoon when Dean sat down at the table across from Sam, beer in hand. He glanced around the bunker.

"Where's Cas?"

Sam looked up from his laptop, where he had been searching for a case. "I have no idea, he doesn't answer to me."

Dean frowned, sliding his bottle across the table between his hands. Sam glared at him as the bottle continued to scrape across the tabletop.

"Will you stop?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess I could." However, he continued to slide the bottle around, pushing it faster so it produced a louder sound. Giving up, Sam closed his laptop, stood up, and left, but not before he slid a nearby spoon across the table, tipping Dean's beer.

"It's not good to drink too much, anyway."

Dean made a face at his brother, but he tossed his beer into the trash anyway.

At that very same moment, the door to the bunker flew open. Dean stood, a gun from Chuck knows where in hand. Castiel looked down at him, slightly wide-eyed. His wings flicked in agitation. "Please don't shoot me, Dean. I have a very serious problem."

Dean sighed, lowering his weapon. "What's up, Cas?"

Cas hurried over, stopping right in front of Dean. He held his wings in a strange position, too far from his body to be comfortable but too close to be expressing anything. He turned so his friend could see, and Dean burst out laughing.

"How did you manage that?" He gestured to the grass and flowers that were caught in Castiel's secondary feathers, soft greens, pinks and violets contrasting with shiny black.

"I was watching the bees, Dean. I followed one into some tall grass, but... I do not believe it was a wise decision. I cannot fly like this, Dean." Castiel looked to Dean sadly. His wings and shoulders drooped slightly in desperation.

"Don't worry, we'll get you fixed up." Dean smiled, green eyes alight at the prospect of helping his bo- no, his friend. Just friends.

Castiel immediately perked up. "Really? You will?"

"Course. That's what b-... That's what friends are for."

From the other side of the kitchen, Sam watched their interaction. "Just get a room already, you two." he said loudly. Then, to himself, he muttered, "God, maybe the fan girls were right about something. CasDean? De...as? No... Destiel."

Meanwhile, Dean was leading Cas to his bedroom. Sam smirked as they walked by, and Dean glared at him.

"I hope I am not causing tensions between you and your brother."

Dean jumped at Cas's words. "No." he said. "No, just a bit of brotherly love."

Cas squinted in confusion. "Humans seem to show love much differently from angels."

Dean opened his bedroom door. "What do you mean?"

Stepping inside and looking around, Cas said, "Well, for one thing, we all have wings. We can use those as an extra communication device. Much like a dog's tail, I think. Also, mating is much more...sacred. We don't sleep with anyone until we have found a mate, and mates are usually for life. In Heaven, love is shown by helping each other, even with simple things. Here on Earth, love seems to be sex, I think. And money. And fighting."

Dean went silent for a moment. He sat down on his bed and patted the spot next to him noiselessly. Castiel took the invitation. "I hope I haven't offended you." he said quietly.

"Don't worry, Cas. Sometimes I wonder what love really is like, too." As he spoke, he began gently untangling Castiel's feathers. As he got closer to the base of the wing, however, Cas suddenly pulled away, shaking. Worried he'd done something wrong, he leaned forward. "Cas?"

There was no response, however, when the angel sat back up, Dean saw that his cheeks were red from laughter. Unsure how to react, Dean set to work once more. Again, Cas doubled over laughing.

"D-Dean, that tickles!" Dean couldn't help but smile back. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen his friend truly laugh before, but he loved it.

There was that word again, he thought to himself. Love. Was this what love was? He couldn't really be sure; he'd never felt it from his father, he hadn't had time to remember feeling it from his mother, he had felt something akin to it from Bobby, and with Sam it was brotherly love separated by occasional fights. With Cas, it was different. It was not being able to wait to see the other again. It was defending each other, even if they might be wrong. It was understanding their intentions and always returning to each other. It was calling each other first after trouble just to hear the sound of their voice. It was pain, heartbreak, conflict, sacrifice, loyalty, trust, smiles, and safety.

Yes, Dean decided. This was love.

Cas continued to laugh until Dean had gotten all of the plants out of his left wing. Then he moved on to the right. After he'd gotten past the base of the wing (which was nearly as difficult as the first; Dean considered tying his friend to the bed to keep him still but decided that if anyone showed up that could be taken the wrong way), Cas was able to stretch the wing to allow better access to the secondaries without his primaries getting in the way. He reached his wing up and held it awkwardly in the air. Dean quickly grew frustrated.

"Cas, stop moving it- Cas- dammit, Cas!" Dean cursed as a slight twitch of Castiel's wing had him re-tangling a knot of spectacularly colored lilacs. "Here, just- uhm, kinda..."

Soon enough he'd gotten the wing repositioned so that it rested across his shoulders. He half-turned to face the inside of the wing and set to work, trying to ignore how soft the feathers felt against his neck and fingers.

It took several hours, and by the time Dean had finished it was nearly midnight. Cad had nodded off to sleep a while ago, wing still curled around Dean's shoulder. Dean glanced over at his friend. He didn't have the heart to wake him up, but he also didn't have a blanket on his bed. He didn't need Cas getting sick. Castiel's wing against his shoulder was warm, and, he realized, he was exhausted as well. Closing his eyes, he resolved to get up in five minutes to get a blanket for Cas and another for himself.

Well, we all know how that whole "give minutes of sleep" thing goes. Five minutes turns to twenty, twenty minutes becomes an hour, and so on and so forth.

Dean fell asleep next to his angel, who curled his wings protectively around his charge.

Walking by later that night, Sam smirked and gently shut the door.

A/N: It was midnight, I had an hour before anyone was gonna get suspicious of the light in my room, so I figured, "What the hell?" and wrote this...thing. Yeah. If anybody actually reads this, it would be awesome if you could comment what you think. Constructive criticism is always accepted.