Feathers (Supernatural)

Birds

Abby finished placing the crow on the bookshelf and wiped the last traces of lacquer from their hands. "Alright, there we go. Don't touch her, she's still drying," they snapped as Castiel gingerly tried to run a finger down the bird's back.

"It's--she's beautiful. She's really dead?" He withdrew his hand just in time to avoid a slap.

"Of course she's dead, dumbass. That's kind of the point." They adjusted their glasses and poked at the bird's wing with a pair of thin tweezers, adjusting a feather to correct an imperfection only they could see. Castiel stared into the bird's sightless glass eyes, fully expecting it to take off at any moment.

"I can't blame him," Sam said from behind them, moving in for a closer look. "You did a great job."

Abby frowned, but Castiel didn't miss the touch of pride in their green eyes. They'd been in the shed for hours, putting the finishing touches on the preserved bird, and their hard work had paid off. The crow was posed mid-flight over a block of mossy driftwood, held in place by stiff metal wires, every ebony feather brushed and polished to perfection. It was almost impossible to believe that days before the little bird had been nothing but a dirty ant-covered corpse in the driveway. Now it looked alive and vibrant, as if its departed soul had come back to reside in the foam armature hiding beneath its polished feathers.

"That right wing is drooping a little. I think the wire is too short," Abby said distractedly. They started to take the bird down again, but Sam stopped them with a hand on their arm.

"It's perfect. Looks great," he reassured them, smiling affectionately. "Have you shown Bobby yet?"

"Shown me what? What have you done this time?" Bobby Singer came up behind them, seemingly from nowhere. "Did Cas break the TV again?" He eyed Castiel suspiciously and sighed. "I told you to stop playing with the remote, you're not going to figure out how it works by--"

"Shockingly, no, Cas didn't break anything," Abby interrupted, stepping back from the bookshelf meaningfully. "I finished the crow."

Bobby's attention immediately turned toward them. "The one Cas found in the driveway? Already?"

"That's the one."

"Oh, wouldja look at that?" The veteran hunter studied the bird carefully, stepping closer but still keeping a respectful distance from the still-drying feathers. "That broken wing set beautifully." There was genuine pride in his voice. "You're getting to be really good. You ready for me to bring you a deer yet?" He turned to his adopted daughter with a raised eyebrow.

Before they could answer, another male voice chimed in from close behind. "What are we all looking at?" Dean Winchester had joined them, a bag of potato chips in hand.

"Abby finished the crow, Dean."

"Hey, that's great! How'd it turn out, sib?"

"It won't matter if you get chip grease all over it! Back off, Dean!"

Castiel found himself forced to back away as the Winchesters and Singers crowded around the bookshelf. Abby was trying to push Dean and his chips away from their precious mount, their small frame ineffectually fighting his sturdiness. Sam and Bobby let them argue, exchanging pointed glances. Everyone knew it wouldn't do any good at this point to separate them.

"You let them look at it!"

"They're not holding a bag of salt and crumbs! The lacquer is still damp, do you want to ruin the sheen!?"

"Oh, I can't look at it because I'm hungry?"

"You are such a child--"

Castiel smiled to himself from his place at the outer edge of the group. He could sense the unspoken affection between the two, the way Dean was being careful not to get too close to Abby's work despite his protestations. Despite their near-constant arguing, it had always been abundantly clear that they had a close relationship. And besides, there was something oddly endearing in the way Abby scowled at Dean, the way they obviously didn't mean it. It's not at all like how they look at me. He pushed the envious thought away as soon as it came to him, feeling slightly ashamed.