Feathers (Destiel)

Learning

Dark. Too dark. He wasn't used to it. He was floating. He couldn't feel anything. There was no sound. He tried to move. Pain. He stopped, and so did the hurt.

Light. Blaring. Blue. Too bright. He wasn't used to it anymore either. Slowly, he became more aware of himself, of his grace, he remembered.

He remembered taking a vessel, Jimmy Novak, on Earth to save the Righteous Man from the Pit. He remembered saving him time and again. He remembered betraying his brothers for the vessel of Michael. He remembered offering his blood, his mind, his grace, to help the man who solved every problem Castiel had made.

'Castiel.'

It was a voice. A male voice. Who's? He felt he knew it.

'Cas, please.'

It was loud. Too loud. He wanted it to stop. It only got louder, surrounding him and filling his senses, blocking out pain.

'Cas, babe, please, you gotta wake up.'

This was a prayer. He was an angel, and someone was praying to him. Who would pray to a failed angel?

'It's me. It's Dean. Please.'

Dean. The righteous man. Michael's true vessel. A hunter. His friend. His charge. His.

He needed to get to him. He remembered. He loved him. Castiel didn't listen to what the voice said next, only where it came from. It echoed around him, and he tried to move again. It was jarring, but that wasn't important. He tried to move again. He felt his vessel around him, like a cage. A safety net. He felt the atoms, the cells building the intricate walls that made up his body. And it was his, now. He could feel it. The tinny buzzing of nerves in the skin, the bones, cracking against each other. He felt. Air filled his lungs in a rush that made him dizzy, and his eyes sliding open.

Light. Colours. Pain. Softness below him. He was on a bed.

"Cas! Oh, thank God." He barely understood what was happening, but there were strong arms around him, holding him, as their owner buried their face in his shoulder.

"H-hello, Dean..." Castiel waited until Dean pulled away, and tried to move his wings. Electrifying pain shot through him, and he yelled.

"Cas, its OK. Just stay still. Your wings are damaged. Gabe tried to fix you up, but...there was only so much he could do, man, and..." Dean trailed off.

Castiel looked up at him, utterly lost. "D-Dean, what...what happened?"

Dean offered the angel his hand. Castiel grasped it without hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled to stand. He failed to steady himself, so Dean didn't move away.

Usually, angels used their wings to balance. It made inhabiting a vessel easier. So when Castiel could barely support his own weight, he knew his wings were damaged. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when Dean led him to a full-length mirror, sat against the far wall.

One of the wings was more-or-less fine. A tad ruffled, but painless. Nothing some grooming wouldn't fix.
The other one, however, was appalling. It was slightly droopy, and the primaries brushed the floor. Its feathers were slightly withered, the colours faded and dark. Some, near the joint, were coated in clotted black blood, dried and sticking the filaments together. Both of the wings were almost black.

"Gabe said we should wait 'til you were awake before doing anythin'...so we can see how bad it is..."

Castiel said nothing. He didn't have anything to say. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. His wings were truly ugly; his feathers were a dark, muddy colour. Dean hated them, he could tell.