Category: Gen, Drama, Humor, Angst, AU, wing!fic
Spoilers: Through It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester
Series: Playing the Angel - While Sam and Dean continue fighting to prevent the Apocalypse, Dean inexplicably manifests a pair of wings. The brothers must work together to figure out what is happening and reverse the act before the changes overtake Dean completely.
Summary: Dean manifests wings for the first time, which complicates the case the brothers are investigating.
Word Count: 32,244 (Total)
A/N: This series is obviously AU, but will follow show canon as closely as possible. Each story can be read as stand alones, but it might make more sense together. I may occasionally post out of order.
Disclaimer: See previous posts.
[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]
Dean let out a whistle. Bobby had given him quite the laundry list. He was positive he had some of this stuff, maybe even more in the back of the Impala, but he'd been lucky enough to have the bare essentials.
The rest? Hell, guess it was time to improvise.
Over the course of the next few minutes, Dean ransacked his duffle, the mini-kitchen, and the bathroom. He'd have to use the bathmat for an altar cloth, and the soap and shampoo could substitute a few herbs…somehow. He already had the candles, matches, and the spell itself. He didn't have a bowl, but he remembered Sam had been munching on cereal the other day, and after a quick, though demeaning, trash dig, he found it and filled it with water.
Dean set everything up on his makeshift altar and exhaled. Showtime.
He followed the directions precisely the way Bobby had given them to him. He chanted the incantation as he sat on the floor. As he neared the end and completed some rituals with the herbs he had on him, along with the stuff he'd stolen from the bathroom, he leaned over the bowl in the center of the altar. Dean concentrated really hard on how he wanted to look, hoping the image would finally manifest in the darkening waters.
Nothing. He saw diddlysquat.
"Dammit." He muttered. He'd hoped the substitutes would have worked, but maybe it was too much of a long shot this time.
Dean tried a few more times before giving up. Bobby had told him that the glamour spells tended to work better under the dark of night, so maybe he could try one more time once the sun set.
Or it could be that he seriously needed birch. And there weren't no birch anywhere in the motel.
With a sigh, Dean packed up the materials and stuffed them in his duffle. He slumped at the edge of the bed and let out a heavy sigh. Behind him the wings responded with a slight flutter of their own.
They made his nose itch. He rubbed it, and stopped, pausing just long enough to check to make sure it hadn't grown.
He breathed a sigh of relief. This whole ordeal was going to drive him mad.
If the stupid things didn't have a mind of their own…
Maybe he'd been jumping the gun on this one. Making the wings invisible would mean nothing if he couldn't get the damn things under control. If just about every other supernatural creep could find a way to blend into the world, hiding this or that, or going invisible, then he could find a way to make the wings work. Hell, even Cas could look perfectly normal.
"Somebody shoot me now," he mumbled as he stood.
Cringing, Dean reached over his head to touch the enlarged feather dusters. The wing he poked quivered from the unwanted prodding before bursting into a flapping frenzy that caused several feathers to fly around his face. He swatted the dislodged feathers with his free hand and struggled not to sneeze. That was the last thing he needed--to be allergic to the stupid things.
Dean tried not to think how dumb he looked as he traced the edge of his wing. He was no contortionist so he couldn't reach the entire wing, but he was able to get a good idea how it worked and how big it was.
He let out a long, deep breath. Now to see if this worked.
He reached up his right arm towards the ceiling. Then, he wiggled his shoulder trying to coax the wing to follow. Instead of the wing spreading out like he'd hoped it would, it remained motionless, almost stuck, cemented in place behind him.
"Oh, come on," Dean said.
He did a small hop, hoping that would jiggle the wing into action. He pumped his fist. He rolled his shoulders. He waved his arms back and forth.
No such luck.
"What the hell," he grumbled. The wings couldn't just be there for show.
Dean collapsed onto the bed and stared at the wall. The pounding in his temples and his back was getting worse, and he felt like all of his energy was spent just from that little exercise alone.
Worse, he was out of options. He had no clue what to do with the damn things.
He shivered, finally realizing there was a chill to the morning. Perfect. With a heavy sigh, he folded his arms and rubbed his biceps for warmth. As he bowed his head, the wings drooped over his shoulders.
He immediately felt warmer as the feathers insulted his bare skin.
Dean shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to be thankful for anything associated with the wings. In fact, he wouldn't be having any of these problems if not for the stupid things.
He was about to slap them away when he realized that the wings weren't rubbing against his skin. They hovered just above the skin, every so often quivering as they covered him. The more he thought about how cold he was and how nice it would be to wear a shirt, the closer they crept.
Dean pondered on that for a minute before he decided to try something else. He let go of his arms and swatted the wings away and thought about a nice long stretch. He reached his arms up, closed his eyes and arched his back, letting some of the night's tension roll off his shoulders. As he stretched, he felt the wings lengthen on either side, one extending higher than the other. When he was done the stretch, he felt that satisfied release throughout his entire body, including the wings.
Dean smiled despite himself.