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Cursed Wings

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One of these days, Dean will stop investigating the Bunker’s storerooms. Or he’ll at least wear protective gear when he does.

The box had seemed innocent at first, which should have been the biggest red flag. The items that screamed magical were usually the simple curses that were easy to remove. This one, though… Well Rowena was still trying to find a cure that could possibly work. It didn’t help that Cas wasn’t answering his phone since he was probably the biggest resource on this.

The curse in question had given Dean wings. They were huge, mainly white with color edging the feathers. Some were rich, forest green while others had deep cerulean edges. There were even a few interspersed throughout that were inky black.

Dean glared at the object that had caused his current predicament. The gleaming cedar box seemed perfectly ordinary. When he had swung it open, a small black stone was the only thing resting inside. Granted, he had felt a strange compulsion to pick up the stone but didn’t think twice. Now, he realized the enchantment had started as soon as the box’s seal cracked.

The feeling of the wings ripping through his back was beyond painful. His screams brought Sam running but, thankfully after they were through his skin, the pain disappeared, leaving behind two large and heavy wings.

Sam had circled him several times, marveling over the wings and studying them for clues as to their origins.Finally, he determined that they were probably angelic in nature.

Cue Dean’s incessant phone calls to Cas, none of which had been answered or returned.

Dean had stomped around the bunker, wings taut against his back, feathers slightly bristled. When Sam tentatively suggested phoning Rowena to see if she could help, Dean snapped that he could care less. However, his wings relaxed slightly so Sam took it as a win.

Rowena had been pouring over books, cross-referencing between seven different volumes, for hours. For a while, Dean had peered over her shoulder in the war room until she kicked him out with threats of plucking him like a chicken. 

Huffy, Dean yanked his cell phone out again, dialing Cas’ number. “Come on, Cas, just pick up,” Dean murmured. Ring, ring, ring . “This is my voicemail. Make your voice...a mail.” Beep.

“Damnit Cas. Pick up the phone and call me back ASAP. Don’t make me summon your feathery ass,” Dean winced at the insult, glancing at his own feathers. Sighing, he ended the call.

After two more hours of radio silence and five more insults from Rowena, Dean found himself sitting in an unused room. A pile of ingredients sat in front of him and he was steeling himself to actually paint the summoning sigil on the floor. There was a reason that Cas wasn’t answering, right? It was probably a good one. What if Dean summoning him did more harm than good? But Dean couldn’t keep these wings forever. He was confined to the bunker and unable to even go to the grocery store, let alone work cases. They didn’t know how long the curse would last or if this was as bad as it would get.

He knelt on the floor, paintbrush dipped in red paint hovering above the concrete, when the door beside him swung open.

“Were you really going to summon me?” a gruff voice questioned.

Dropping the paint brush, Dean shot up. “Cas, where the hell have you been?” He stared at Cas who was ignoring Dean for his wings. Cas edged closer, hand outreached as if to touch. Without thinking, Dean’s wing twitched forward, meeting Cas’ hand halfway.

Sparks raced across Dean’s skin. He felt light-headed and warm and shaky all at once. Cas’ fingers traced along the edge of the wing and Dean felt his knees buckle.

“These are,” Cas paused, raking his fingers along the edge of Dean’s wing, “interesting. What happened?”

Dean stared at Cas, slack-jawed. “Uh, what?”

Cas smirked, digging his fingers deeper into Dean’s feathers. “I asked you a question Dean. You needed my help so badly and now you can’t even pay attention to a simple question.”

Yanking his wings back, Dean stumbled backwards a few steps. “I can’t concentrate when you’re doing whatever that was,” he helped, throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s not fair.”

“But you like it, don’t you Dean? At least your wings do “ Cas chuckled.

Sure enough, Dean’s wings were edging back toward Cas, drawn as if to a flame.

“Stop it,” Dean said. He did not whine, he would swear later.

“I’m not doing anything, I promise. It’s,” Cas paused. “Well it’s you. You’ve got a low-level grace curse so your wings are acting the way a typical angel’s would, which is to say they’re transmitting your emotions. You like being near me, so your wings want to be near me.”

Dean flushed. “Is this curse dangerous?”

Cas shook his head, inching forward slowly. “‘No and it will probably fade in the next few hours. If not, I can mix a cure together fairly quickly. I can even do it now, if you want. Or,” he slid into Dean’s space, “I can show you how wonderful wings can be.”

The tips of Dean’s wings shot forward, caressing Cas’ face. “Uh what about…”

“Sam and Rowena have already been informed about the spell and are now running a few errands,” Cas interrupted.

“Well,” Dean straightened. “What are you waiting for?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Cas smiled as the storeroom door slammed shut.