Archive of Our Own

“Dean, you know we don’t actually look like that, right?”

Dean rolls his eyes and looks down at Castiel. “Dude. Yes, I know you don’t have fluffy wings and a halo, but the rest of humanity thinks you do, so hand it over.”

Castiel looks at the tree-topper in his hands and sighs. He hands it over to Dean, who is perched on a step ladder and is making a “give it here” motion to him. “I still don’t understand why we are decorating the bunker for this holiday. You don’t even follow any of the religions that celebrate it.”

Dean jumps down from the ladder and dusts his hands off on the back of his jeans. “It’s hard to explain, Cas, but mostly, it has to do with family. Remembering good times.”

Castiel squints at Dean as he walks over to the boxes of vintage decorations. “But you said yourself that you don’t have any good memories of this holiday.”

Dean nods. “And that’s why I’m setting up the tree and decorating. I’d like to have at least one good memory, you know?”

Castiel tilts his head to the side and hums. “I see. Then… May I help decorate the tree?”

Dean looks up with an eyebrow raised. “You wanna help?” Castiel nods once, and Dean shrugs. “Dude, sure. Let me show you what’s what, and we’ll get started.”

Dean points out the different boxes to him and tells him to go nuts with the decorations. “Just don’t put so many on the tree that we can’t see the actual tree, OK?”

Castiel nods and picks up the first ornament and scrutinizes the tree, looking for the best place to put it. Dean claps his shoulder and moves off to the War Room to start hanging garland on the stairs leading up to the front door. Castiel makes his way through the boxes until he feels that there isn’t enough room for any more ornaments and closes the box up. He goes in search of Dean, finding him in the kitchen talking with Sam.

“Dean, the tree is decorated. Would you like to come and see it?”

Sam raises an eyebrow at Dean. “I don’t know about him, but I’d love to see it, Cas.” Sam steps up to Castiel and pats his shoulder. “Let’s go see this masterpiece.”

Castiel furrows his eyebrows as Sam guides him back into the library. “I don’t know that it’s a masterpiece, Sam, I’m nothing like any of the great artists.”

Sam chuckles. “It’s a turn of phrase, don’t worry about it.” They make their way into the library, and Sam sucks in a breath at the sight.

“Is it that bad?” Castiel asks, shifting from foot to foot.

“Dude, no. This is awesome, Cas,” Dean says as he steps down into the room with them. “You did a damn good job with this thing.” He walks around the brightly lit tree and takes in the ornaments and their placement. “Man, you did better than I could have ever hoped to.”

Castiel feels a smile stretch across his face. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Come on, I’ve got hot chocolate in the kitchen for us. I know you don’t need it, Cas, but humor me, alright?”

The three men make their way back into the kitchen, and Dean passes out mugs of the beverage. “Your’s is plain, Cas, but Sammy and I have a marshmallow vodka in ours, just for a kick.”

Cas smiles and takes a drink. The sweet beverage spreads across his taste buds, and he hums in surprise. “This is wonderful, Dean. Thank you for making this.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder and shoots him a grin from behind his mug. “It’s nothin’ much, really.” He raises his mug in a toast. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

They raise their mugs and clink them together. Dean claps Sam on the shoulder and makes his way out into the garage. Sam and Castiel talk quietly about the fact it’s been quiet since the turn of the season and their thoughts for what could be causing it.

Sam yawns and shakes his head. “Alright, I’m out for the night.” He rinses his mug and turns it upside down in the drainer to dry. “Have a good night Cas.”

Cas raises his mug in a salute. “Good night, Sam. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sam half-heartedly waves at him and makes his way out of the kitchen. Castiel finishes the last of his hot chocolate, marveling at the taste still, and follows Sam’s example of rinsing the mug. He wanders out into the garage to see Dean sitting on Baby’s hood and watching the snow falling outside the open bay doors.

“Out of all of the things my father created, I think the first snowfall is my favorite,” he says as he comes to a stop next to Dean.

“I’ll give you that one,” Dean says. “I’m not one for cold weather, it plays hell on my bum knee these days, but it sure is pretty.”

“Are there any holiday traditions for the first snow?”

Dean hums. “Lots, actually. Making snowmen, snowball fights, sledding. Making snow angels.”

Castiel eyes Dean and sees a smirk spread across the hunter’s face. “Snow angels?”

“Yeah, come on,” Dean says as he hops down off the Impala. He tugs at Castiel’s sleeve and leads him out of the garage to a spot where the ground is relatively flat and has a good build-up of snow on it. “OK, now watch.”

A laugh is startled out of Castiel as Dean throws himself back into the snow, arms and legs splayed out. “Dean, what are you doing?”

“Just hold on a sec there, sunshine.” Dean wiggles until he’s satisfied, then he starts sweeping his arms up and down and legs from side to side. He does this a few times before he seems to be happy with the result and carefully extracts himself from the snow, taking Castiel’s offered hand.

“Now, I know that this isn’t what angels really look like, but that is a snow angel.”

Castiel takes in the figure imprinted in the snow. He points to the spot where Dean had swept his arms up and down. “Is that the wings?”

“Yep!”

Castiel nods and tilts his head. He closes his eyes and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders back. He feels his Grace rush through him and allows his wings to manifest on the physical plane. A gasp next to him has Castiel opening his eyes and looking over at Dean.

Dean’s eyes are glued to his wings. They shuffle with his nerves, and the movement breaks Dean’s reverie. “Wow,” he says and rubs a hand over his mouth. “Cas, I-”

Castiel holds up a hand, cutting him off. “I know they aren’t as impressive as I’m sure you thought they would be, and I’m sorry.” His wings rustle again, and Dean’s hand raises and starts to reach out.

“Cas no, man. I mean, the fact that they are a little rough looking, we already knew that yeah? But man, they just. Wow.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at Dean and casts a glance back to his wings. They are ragged and unkempt, and he cannot see what Dean sees so he shrugs and lets it go.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Dean starts. He sounds hesitant.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, um. And tell me to fuck off if this isn’t something you would be interested in, but uh. I can help with them? If you want?”

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up. Does Dean know what he’s offering?

“I uh, know that grooming is normally only for uh, family and stuff, but uh, I mean, you are family and-”

“Dean. You, you want to help me groom them?”

Dean shrugs and looks down at the ground. “I mean, yeah, if you are OK with it.”

Castiel stalks up to Dean and catches his chin, forcing the hunter to look up at him. “Dean, this isn’t something that we do between friends. This is much more profound.”

Dean licks his lips and nods. “I know.”

Castiel’s Grace rushes up between them in joy. He feels it pulse between them, and Dean gasps as the phantom handprint flares to life again. Castiel inches as close as he can to Dean and asks him, “Are you sure you want this?”

“God, yes, Cas. Please.”

“Please don’t bring my father into this,” he growls and covers Dean’s lips with his own. Dean sighs through his nose, and he wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, burying his hand into the hair on the back of his head. Castiel wraps him up in his wings and nudges them back into the garage, waiving the doors shut. They break for air, well, Dean does, as they get to the door leading to the kitchen, and Dean touches his forehead to Cas’.

“Your place or mine?”

Castiel squints at him until it clicks, what Dean is asking. “Yours. Mine is… nothing. Yours, please.”

Dean turns in his grasp and leads the way through the kitchen and hallway down to his room. He opens the door and lets Cas proceed him before he closes and locks the door. After a few seconds of thought, he tugs off one of his boots and a sock and opens the door again to tie the sock around the doorknob. Castiel raises an eyebrow at the odd behavior, but Dean shakes his head.

“I’ll explain it to you later. Now, as much as I was loving where things were going earlier, let's get those wings taken care of. Get comfy and tell me what to do.”

“Honestly, just go through them and make sure the feathers are all going the right way and pull out any of them that are twisted or broken.”

“But won’t that hurt? Pulling them out?”

Castiel starts divesting himself of his vessel’s clothing. “Yes, but it hurts worse now to leave them as they are.” He looks up and squints. “Actually, that’s not exactly correct. They don’t hurt, exactly, but the Grace is all twisted up, so removing them will be better for my Grace to flow through them and heal them.”

Dean nods. “OK, that makes sense. So I think the easiest way for us to do this would be with you face-down on the bed, and your wings spread out to the side.”

Castiel nods his assent and climbs onto Dean’s bed, still clad in his boxers. He’s not body shy by any means, but he also doesn’t want to scare Dean away when they’ve just started feeling out a new phase of their relationship. He sinks to his chest and curls his right wing up to his back and lets Dean move the left one around until he’s got it laying across his lap. Dean combs his fingers through his primaries, and he relaxes into the mattress, sighing happily. The room is quiet as Dean works through the large feathers first and then through his secondaries. Castiel can feel Dean plucking feathers that don’t want to lay flat and opens an eye to see Dean lay one down on the bedside table.

“You should keep those under lock and key,” Castiel rumbles. “Even though they are old and worn out, they will still work for spells.”

Dean runs a hand through the feathers next to his back. “Good to know,” he hums under his breath. He works through the rest of the feathers on the left side and switches to the right. The piles grow steadily larger as Castiel feels the flow of Grace even out in his wings.

He flips over when Dean asks him to, and he smiles lazily at the ceiling. Dean’s hands are gentle as he makes his way through the sensitive underside of his right wing. He hums his pleasure as Dean continues to pluck out the feathers that need to go and straighten the ones that are OK to stay.

“You know,” Dean says quietly, “you could have asked for help a while ago. Not let it get this bad.”

Castiel opens an eye and looks over at Dean. “Would you have been ready for this before?”

Dean opens his mouth but closes it again without saying anything, a thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t know.”

Castiel shrugs and wiggles down into the mattress. “This is fine, Dean. It wasn’t a pressing issue, and we had other things on our minds.”

They fall silent again until Dean deems his wings done, and Castiel rolls to his feet. He stretches them out as far as they can go in the bedroom, and he gives them a mighty shake, watching the loose feathers come free and fly around the room. He hums in satisfaction and catches all of the stray feathers and deposits them on the bedside table with their brethren. Dean’s eyes are wide as he watches from his perch on the bed.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says as he folds his wings behind him. “I can already tell my Grace is moving through them easier than before.”

“Oh, that- that’s good.”

Castiel walks up to Dean and cups his face. “Ol’hoath,” he murmurs and leans down to capture Dean’s lips with his own. Dean sinks his fingers in the feathers closest to Castiel’s back, and he groans, breaking away from Dean and curling his body around the hunter’s.

“’M guessing that’s a sensitive spot?” Dean murmurs as he draws Castiel down into his lap.

“It seems so.” He feels Dean grin into his shoulder and shudders when Dean plunges his hands into his wings again and starts massaging the muscles his bicep to his wrist. Castiel feels his body melt into Dean’s as his muscles turn into jelly. He rumbles his approval and buries his nose in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. The massage turns gentler, and Dean starts skimming his hands up Castiel’s back and between his wings, thumbing gently at his skin. Castiel draws back and presses a kiss into the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Ol’hoath, if you are tired, we can sleep.”

Dean looks up and blinks sleepily at Castiel. “Yeah, that sounds good. I guess being in the snow and then working on your wings tired me out more than I was expecting.”

Castiel climbs off Dean’s lap and brushes a hand through his hair, smiling at the sleepy hunter. “We have all the time in the world, ol boaluahe.”

Dean makes a sleepy murmur of dissent but lets Castiel bully him out of the majority of his clothes and into the bed. As Castiel is turning away to go to his own room, Dean whimpers. “Cas? Will you stay?”

Castiel looks over his shoulder to see Dean reaching out for him. “Of course, Dean.” He pads back to the bed and climbs in next to Dean, laying on his side. He tucks his head in under Dean’s chin and covers them with his wing. He feels Dean sigh, and his breath evens out into sleep, and Castiel smiles.

They sleep.