Chapter Text
There are several things that Dean Winchester has learned during his – admittedly long – experience as a hunter.
1. Never trust a demon.
2. Never trust an angel unless they're of the nerdy variety – and even in that case you still need to keep an eye out for them not to Jump Off the Slippery Slope in a misguided attempt to fix everything going wrong around them at the same time.
3. The likelihood of ritual sacrifices to go right is inversely proportional to the power and rarity of the being needed to be sacrificed.
Luckily for them, when it came to most of their hunts, none of the three were particularly relevant nowadays, what with demons being somewhat less bitchy and invasive since Crowley had become the head of the new management of Hell and with angels finally – finally – deciding to stick their noses only in their own businesses after Raphael had gone bye bye in a burst of dead sparkles in consequence of one slightly irritated soul-powered Godstiel.
Even human psychopaths had seemed to give up on trying to gain eternal life by knifing virgins and making deals with pagan gods that clearly weren't to be trusted unless you planned to gank them on the spot, as soon as they showed up at your front door.
This is why, when their resident guardian angel was neutralized and kidnapped by what looked like a group of New Satanists wannabes, Dean was not only far-more-than-marginally irritated but had also no trouble in realizing that, given the relative luck that had seemed to bless them in the last few months, if they didn't do anything to stop it as soon as possible, he and Sam were going to have on their hands a problem of the third kind the like of which they'd never witnessed before.
Required ritual sacrifice to summon the umpteen forgotten deity plus nerdy angel in distress? With their luck it was probably going to jump-start the next New Apocalypse on Earth. Not a problem in itself - they were basically the Jedi Masters of stopping the 'End of the World as we know it' by now - but Dean would find himself with one socially awkward angel less hovering over his shoulder and he simply could not allow that to happen.
So when he and his brother burst into the Dudes-in-Incredibly-Clichè-Red-Hoods' den, guns blazing, he was relatively relieved to see Cas still alive, if not slightly drugged – judging by the lack of responses to their admittedly pretty cool entrance – and kind of bound to a makeshift sacrificial altar – and seriously, did every Dark Cult Club buy them at Wall Mart? Because he was sure he had seen that one before…
"Let the angel go!" he shouted at the one standing over Cas with a book in his hands as he recited the incantation to summon Bitch-Deity #27, shotgun pointed at the cultist's head, only to receive a scornful laugh that would make any Disney villain envious.
"Fools! You cannot stop us!" the man replied, completely ignoring the threat before him while he continued "You are but a puny mortal! We are the followers of…" he ducked with a yelp when Dean decided that he sincerely didn't give a damn about knowing the name of the Monster of the Week and shot in his direction without a single trace of hesitation.
From the corner of his eye he saw the other mooks scramble for cover but he didn't pay them much thought.
"I said: LET. THE. ANGEL. GO!" he shouted again instead, punctuating every word in case the guy had trouble understanding English – and wasn't it somewhat satisfying when even his own brother turned his startled gaze in his direction with a "Dude, wha--..." only to cut himself off and bring back his focus on the bewildered spectators in front of them?
Ah, Dean was a badass.
"Do not underestimate us!" was the slightly high pitched reply that he received from the man now wisely crouched behind the altar, keeping it between himself and the trigger-happy hunter with a shotgun in front of him "The ritual has already begun! I just have to recited the last few lines and it will be completed!"
"Well, thank you for the heads-up, Red Riding Hood, I'll be sure to shoot you in the head before that happens!" growled Dean in return, taking a step closer to the altar.
He'd almost made it around it when the faceless mooks seemed to finally recover themselves from their careful scrutiny from behind the safety of the local furniture and jumped on both him and Sam at the same time.
The hunters' weapons disappeared somewhere in the brawl that followed and the two brothers were subdued by the sheer number of their enemies. They found their arms twisted behind their backs and pointy knives poking at their backs as another Disney-villainesque laugh rang through the room, coming from Red Riding Hood.
"Fools! You cannot stop us!" he repeated and Dean kind of felt the need to break his nose because, seriously, fuck you, lousy boss who hadn't even moved one finger to help his mindless drone underlings!
When he saw his expression, Red Riding Hood grinned victoriously at him in return, to then launched himself into a litany of words that Dean was pretty sure to be some weird variation of Enochian and that – if not everything else – was the last confirmation that the hunter needed to be sure that the whole thing was going to blow up in their face.
It was with barely-repressed glee that Red Riding Hood finished his chanting and was rewarded by the sight of the unconscious angel sharply arching his back as his face twisted in what was obvious pain. The lean, shirtless body trembled, his feet curled as they scraped at the edge of the makeshift altar, forbidden to do anything else by the sigils that bound him to the surface.
"Cas!" Dean heard his brother gasp but he himself could do nothing if not watch the scene, his mind completely lost in some form of morbid fascination at the sight before him. He let his gaze trail down the angel's pained expression, taking in the screwed eyes and clenched teeth, to then move lower on the neck and reaching the pale chest glistening with sweat that hadn't been there only a few minute before.
He was so captured by that sight that made his insides coil and twist into a churning ball of rage, that he almost jumped when the angel's eyes suddenly shoot open and a screeching, inhuman sound left his throat.
Another laugh left the man hovering next to the altar only to be suddenly cut off midway when a choked sound came from the same direction.
"What?" the confusion in Red Riding Hood's voice was evident and immediately Dean's hunter instinct seemed to react at the potentiality of taking the upper hand again: his gaze snapped up to the man's face and he saw it contract into a frown.
"What is this…" the man hissed "This shouldn't be…"
Uh? That couldn't possibly be a good sign.
When a new, louder screech thundered through the room, it eerily reminded Dean of an episode happened when he had been younger and still hunting with his father.
They'd been scouting the outer edge of a woods which supposedly had been the cozy home of a pack of definitely-unfriendly werewolves, passing the whole morning setting traps in prevision of that night's full moon. They'd both been about to go back to the motel they'd been staying at when, out of nowhere a sudden, high pitched bird call had rung through the air and, a big, breath-taking eagle had dived down from the sky like a feathered and deadly bullet, catching without effort a hare that had been hiding in a patch of tall grass at not more than a few feet from them.
It was disconcerting hearing now the same sound coming out of the human throat of his angel's vessel.
When he lowered his gaze again on the figure sprawled on the altar, he felt the beginning of a shiver make its way up his back as a soft "shit!" flew past his lips without him realizing it: Castiel's teeth were still clenched in pain, except Dean was pretty sure that there were fangs now that hadn't been there before, his body was taut with the strain caused by the inability to freely move due to the sigils keeping him bound and his eyes were still wide open and fixed on the ceiling above them, the far too familiar white light of his grace dancing just behind them and threatening to get loose.
Dean wondered for an instant if he should shut his eyes before the angel decided that his vessel was too confining and everyone's sight went to its bloody merry-land, but just a second later the brightness seemed to subside until it finally vanished. The hunter would have let out a sigh of relief if not for the fact that, together with the dimming of his grace, Castiel's body had gone limp, his gaze unfocused and his breath slowing just a bit, becoming a kind of soft panting sound in the background.
No-one moved or said anything as Dean let his gaze move up and down the other's body in the feverish attempt to make sure that he was all right - or as all right as he could be given the situation.
The angel took a deep breath, then another, and then his head slowly turned to fix half-lidded eyes in the hunter's gaze. A soft, almost quiet sound, like a bird calling for their family members to get back to the nest, reached his ears and then he watched with growing dread as something went very, very wrong with his best friend's body.
At first Dean thought he was just seeing things due to experiencing, not more than a handful of moments before, the most stressful minutes he'd the pleasure of withstanding in his life, then he watched as feathers - actual, honest to God, black feathers! - began to sprout out of the back of Castiel's neck. Slowly at first, but then, after what looked like a moment of hesitation on their part, spreading further and further down his spine, part of them splitting their trail to cover the back of the angel's shoulders and upper arms.
"Cas?" he couldn't help but call again and the angel let out another short, high-pitched peep before a pair of big - freaking huge! - feathered wings surged out from underneath his body, awkwardly trying to flap their way in a more comfortable position from the one they were forced in by the binding sigils painted on the sides of the altar.
Castiel's blue gaze was fixed into Dean's green eyes, in a silent plea for help and the hunter felt his chest clench at that sight.
Then, suddenly, something seemed to snap in the angel and his head turned sharply to stare unblinkingly at the hooded man still standing next to him. Another loud, eagle-like screech of threat left his mouth and he abruptly tried to throw himself at at the other, the long, dangerous claws that had grown out in his nails' place clearly targeting the other's throat.
With a startled yelp Red Riding Hood pulled himself at a safer distance, his eyes wide in panic.
"This shouldn't have happened!" he began to say, gaze darting back and forth between Castiel, still staring at him like a giant, pissed off bird of prey, and the book in his hands "He should have fallen! What is this?!"
The man's urgency was what finally snapped both Dean and Sam from the horrified state of fascination in which they'd been lingering: seeing that Red Riding Hood's underlings were as confused as their leader was, most of them keeping their attention on the obviously-far-from-harmless thing currently staring back at them like they were only slightly overgrown, delicious rabbits, the two brothers sprang into action, disarming the ones nearest to them and prompting the remaining ones into finally falling to the part of their brains that was cheering for them to make a run for it.
Soon only their leader remained in the room - so much for loyalty! - but, as soon as he saw Dean stare back at him and he realized the situation he was in, he made quick use of his lean frame and dashed toward one of the exists, the book in his hands promptly dropped on the floor in the hope that the two hunters would be too busy with both it and the angel to go after him.
For a couple of instants Dean actually considered going after him, but then his attention was caught again by a questioning chirp and he decided that getting their hands on the godforsaken book that had been the cause of all this was good enough for now.
From the corner of his eye he made sure that Sam picked up the tome from the floor and then he moved his gaze back on the angel sprawled on the altar: his wings were still folded in an awkward angle that ought to be anything but comfortable and his blue eyes were peering back at the two brothers in a way that was eerily reminiscent of a howl.
None of them moved for several instants.
It was the younger Winchester that finally broke the silence in the room by taking a couple of careful steps in the angel's direction, slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal.
"Cas?" he called, his voice soft and friendly, almost encouraging "Do you recognize us? It's Dean and Sam…" he took another step toward their friend and suddenly a pair of impossibly blue orbs was only fixed on him.
Castiel narrowed his eyes and a high pitched hiss left his lips in a clear warning.
"It's ok, Cas" the younger hunter slowly said, moving closer and closer, an inch at a time "We aren't going to harm you" he said, quickly catching his brother's gaze. Dean understood what his brother wanted and he began to carefully shrink the distance between him and the angel still trapped on the altar.
"We're your friends, Cas" Sam continued until they both were at less than a foot away from the other.
The angel was looking back at them, studying their faces like it was trying to understand what they exactly wanted from him, but he seemed calm and subdued enough for now. The two hunters shared another quick glance and, when Dean nodded at his brother's silent query, Sam took one of the abandoned knife from the ground and began to scrape the sigils out of one the altar's side.
The look of alarm in Castiel's gaze at the sight of the blade would have almost been endearing if not for the fact that, as soon as he realized he could now freely move, he launched himself at the younger Winchester, fangs snapping at only a couple of inches from Sam's wrists, who had to thanks his stumbling loss of balance if he could still say to have his right hand firmly attached to his body: he might have fallen on his ass, but at least he was still in one piece.
"Fuck! Cas!" before the angel could decide to jump again on his brother, Dean was quick to grab him from behind, his arms locking underneath the other's armpits as he tried his best not to eat a handful of feathers from the dark wings now flapping wildly in an attempt to get free from his hold.
"Goddammit, Cas! No-one's trying to kill anyone here!" he instinctively shout in spite of the fact that the angel's ear was just a handful of inches away from his mouth. Castiel's head snapped back at his words, a hiss leaving his lips even before he'd completely turned. Blue eyes met green eyes again, and Dean braced himself for what was going to happen next.
Except nothing happened and he only blinked in confusion when the angel seemed to suddenly lose all the tension that had him so wound up so far. Another, soft chirping sound left his throat and then the angel twisted around in his capturer's hold.
"Uh…" suddenly Dean felt very aware of the fact that he'd a not-entirely-in-his-right-mind angel pressed flushed against his body, and his traitorous gaze instinctively moved to stare at Castiel's mouth when the latter let out another satisfied chirp.
The next thing he knew, a pair of hot lips were pressed against his own and an even hotter tongue tried to stake claim over the inside of his mouth. He froze for several instants because, fuck, Castiel was kissing him. Freaking Castiel was kissing him. And it shouldn't be this hot, especially not with those weird and needy, bird-like sounds he was letting out, but the fangs slightly sinking in his lips and the lustful – fuck, since when 'Cas' and 'lustful' were acceptable in the same sentence? – light in the angel's eyes were doing wonders to shut down every remaining working neuron inside his head.
Then his lower brain seemed to finally catch up with the program, making him eagerly answered to the kiss, trying to gain back its control before his head could decide that it was probably a very bad idea to continue down that line.
A keening whistle left the angel and his wings folded behind the hunter's back to pull him closer, brushing some of the black, soft feathers he was so proud of against Dean's cheeks in an affectionate gesture.
When Castiel finally pulled back a little, just enough to part their mouths, Dean realized that his heart was wildly pounding in his chest in a way that was both delicious and terrifying at the same time because, while he was not one to refuse any such action when properly prompted, this was the first time that he'd ever been this worked up by a simple kiss. He could still feel the other's wings pressing gently against his back, and the look of complete trust in those blue eyes in front of him were making a very funny, fluttery feeling emerge somewhere inside his lower belly.
"Dude, I didn't need to see that!" bless Sam and the Bitch Face #13 – the one reserved to those times in which the other hunter had the misfortune of walking in on his brother having sex - currently being sent in their way, because suddenly Dean was embarrassingly aware of what he'd just done and he promptly pulled away from Castiel's weird, feathery hug.
"Fuck you!" he instinctively threw back in Sam's direction, deciding that the best course of action was to try and ignore what had just happened.
"Dude, I'm pretty sure that the only one here wanting to fuck anyone is your angel there" and really, fuck you again, Sammy, because Dean didn't need to have THAT image planted into his head now.
It really didn't help that the loud chirp which left Castiel at those words sounded far eagerer than it had any right to be.
He turned his gaze back on the angel, trying his best to copy one of his brother's bitch faces, but the other only replied by flapping his wings a couple of times and promptly spinning around where he was standing, as if showing off his plumage to a reticent female.
Fuck his life.