Title: Unforeseen Complications
Category: Gen, Drama, Humor, AU, wing!fic
Spoilers: Through Wishful Thinking
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: After three weeks of living with wings, Dean finally reaches Castiel for answers. But Castiel's reaction isn't exactly what Dean was expecting.
Word Count: 2,054
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. This serves as a GEN alternative to the het fic Performance Anxiety.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.
Maybe they're temporary, Sam had said.
Temporary his ass. Three weeks. He hadn't been laid in three weeks.
And it was all their fault.
Dean didn't know how or why it all started. He had to assume this wasn't at all part of the Master Plan. If it was, then God needed to get his priorities straight. Instead, Dean figured it had to be Castiel. He didn't know if this was another lesson or some sick game. Hell, maybe this was how angels got their kicks. Whatever it was, Dean thought it sucked.
He leaned against one of the walls of the bar, beer in hand, lazily sipping from the bottle as he dangled it by the neck. In front of him, two sexy blondes were working the pool table. Every so often, one of them would turn her head and send him a cute, coy smile. He'd smile right back and raise his bottle to them, nearly forgetting his dilemma. The invitation was clearly there, and he certainly wanted to go. Normally, he'd just swoop right in and flash them a dazzling smile. But after that stint in Cincinnati, Dean knew he had to keep a low profile. Sam was right; he didn't need his mug splashed across the cover of Weekly World News.
But maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight would be finally be the night he could control the wings long enough to get in some fun.
Dean slammed the door behind him.
Sam's head bobbed up and he closed the book he was studying. "You're back early."
Dean ignored him and stormed over to his bed. He grabbed his duffle and tore it open, checking for the few occult items he always kept handy. He didn't really want to know why Sam was up at 3am reading. It really wasn't important now. It was still dark enough where Dean could find an abandoned building or something to get this rite done.
"I'm going to take a wild guess and say things didn't work out."
Dean refused to look up at Sam. He wasn't going into this right now.
But Sam had always been quick. Dean hated that about him.
"You've been ready to explode for nearly three weeks." He saw Sam hover from the corner of his eyes. "You finally think you have enough control over your wings to get some action and…?" He heard Sam laugh. "You're not up to task."
"Hey, don't you talk about Dean Jr. that way."
"Not even Jo wanted you, huh?"
Dean rammed some herbs into the duffle. They'd bumped into Jo in town unexpectedly. At first he was a little weirded out, especially the way he'd left her a couple of years back, but she'd settled into some community college and seemed fine. He'd promised he and Sam would stop by before they left and drop off some contact materials in case she needed them.
She hadn't held her breath.
Sam glanced down at the duffle bag. "You think this has to do with the angels."
Dean glared at him. "No, I think it has to do with Mickey Mouse. Of course, I think it's the angels."
"Dean, why would the angels care about your sex life? Don't you think they have more important things to worry about?"
"Well, that's what I'm going to ask them," he said. Dean was getting tired of Sam's prying. One day he insisted the angels were directly involved with his problem. The next day he was positive they had nothing to do with it. Truth was neither of them knew for sure either way.
It had to end.
Dean double-checked his stash – he made sure he had a couple of candles, a ritual dish, and some chalk. He knew Sam was watching him carefully.
"You're going to try to summon Castiel."
"Dean, you haven't been able to reach them in weeks. Just think about what you're doing."
"I am." Dean had thought about this long and hard. "I'm being screwed by angels."
"Apparently, you're not getting screwed by anyone."
Dean scowled and shook his head, trying to keep his anger in check. "Oh, that's real cute, Sam. Nice."
Sam laughed but the humor quickly died from his eyes. "Dean, seriously. Just think this through. If Castiel or Uriel is involved somehow, don't you think there's a reason?"
"What possibly could they gain from this?"
"Maybe not anything. Maybe this is about you." He paused, his eyes unwavering. "Maybe God is trying to teach you a lesson in humility or self control."
Dean stared at him. If God was messing with his sex drive, then Heaven just lost a player on their side. He hadn't been brought back to become a celibate monk.
He zipped up the bag. It ended tonight.
Sam quieted. "Dean…"
"What?" When Sam hesitated, Dean rolled his eyes. "Now what?"
"Maybe this is simpler than you think."
Dean pointed a finger at Sam. He kept his voice even and controlled and waited for his brother to sigh and back down.
"I'm not having this conversation with you," Dean said. "This isn't about me. It's about Heaven and Hell constantly mucking up our lives." He grabbed the duffle and slung it over his shoulder. "I've had it. I'm fixing this tonight."
Dean pushed his way past Sam, ignoring the looks and the protests his brother called behind him. He knew an old building just a few blocks from here that would do. Satisfied, he tossed the duffle in the Impala and started the engine. Within minutes, he was speeding down the street with only one goal in mind: getting his life back on track and ridding himself of those damn wings forever.
Dean finished the incantation and leaned against an old printing press. He didn't have to wait long.
Castiel strolled into the old warehouse. This time he left the pomp and circumstance checked at the door, entering the building without any flash or flare like the last time Dean had successfully summoned him.
As usual, Dean had a hard time reading him. His face was impassive, but powerful, and Dean knew anything he could be thinking or feeling was closely guarded. He couldn't tell if the angel was pissed at him or not, but that didn't mean squat. If anything, it made Dean anxious. He preferred when people – or supernatural beings – were cut and dry. Guess work made his brain hurt.
"There are easier ways to summon me," Castiel said.
"I figured the angelic version of the Bat Phone wouldn't fail," Dean said.
"What do you want?" Castiel asked.
Castiel was always no nonsense. No small talk. He always got right to the point, but only when it suited him. While Dean appreciated that about the guy, he still was pissed at his condition. The fact he liked Castiel made this even harder.
"I want you and your buddies to stop messing with my body."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Oh sure you don't." Dean couldn't believe it. He thought angels couldn't lie. "I'm talking about the nice little present you and your buds left me."
Castiel remained impassive. Dean couldn't tell what the guy was thinking. He swore by the time this was all over, he was going to go insane.
"The wings, Cas. You can't tell me you don't know about the—" Dean made a vague moment over his shoulder.
Again, Castiel stared and said nothing. Dean was near his breaking point.
"I don't know if this is how you get your kicks, but enough is enough. Snap your fingers. Do some divine incantation," Dean said. "I don't care what you got to do. I'm not a damn bird."
This time Castiel frowned in that disapproving but compassionate way of his as he stepped toward Dean. Without warning, he reached forward and touched Dean's shoulder, pressing down on the same spot he'd once left his mark months ago.
Castiel's eyes were fluid but piercing as if he could cut through Dean down to his very soul. Dean had no doubt that was exactly what he was doing.
Then he pulled away and for a second, just a brief one, Dean was positive he'd spooked the angel.
"I have to go," he said.
Dean blinked. "What?"
Castiel didn't reply. He stepped back into the shadows and before Dean could curse him out, he disappeared.
"Son of a bitch," he said to himself. He'd just been dissed by an angel.
Dean remained there for a couple of hours, hoping that maybe Castiel would eventually come back. He wanted to think Cas had been snagged for some demon war or was needed to fight another seal from being broken. But as the minutes had dragged into hours, he knew Castiel wouldn't be coming back.
Again, he only had one thing to say to that: son of a bitch.
"I'm sure he had a good reason."
Dean stared out the windshield of the Impala. While he knew that Sam meant well, he just didn't want to hear any more excuses. He had wanted to believe in something more. He really had. Dean knew he had been ripped from Hell for a reason.
But this? Dean wanted no part of whatever the hell this was. He had enough on his plate without having to deal with some freaky ass wings. He didn’t want to think about the changes or what could be happening to him.
Supernatural mojo always had some kind of price. Always.
"The omens have moved South," Sam reminded him. He sat in the passenger's seat and closed his laptop. "If we're going to try and stop them…"
"Yeah, I know," Dean muttered. "It'll only take a sec."
Dean climbed out of the Impala and started toward the small apartment building. Jo didn't live in the best of neighborhoods, but with that killer knife collection of hers, he was sure she would be just fine.
And she'd be fine after he left too.
Dean rounded the corner, leaving Sam and the Impala behind him. They were quickly obscured by the overgrown shrubbery that lined the building on its West side. The brush was so thick and weedy that Dean nearly missed the somber man waiting for him by the apartment entrance.
"You got balls coming back now," Dean said, his voice low.
"Take this." Castiel held out his hand. As he unfurled his palm, a small slender vial rested inside. The container was filled with liquid the color of the sky.
"What the hell is this?" Dean wasn't about to take some divine LSD.
"It will help," Castiel assured him. "For now."
"I don't know what is happening to you, but I will find out." Castiel dropped the vial into Dean's hand and closed it, but allowed his own hand to linger. "This is my promise to you."
Dean couldn't really explain it, but despite all his anger and his frustration, he believed Castiel. The angel honestly didn't know.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Castiel withdrew his hand and gave Dean one last, lingering stare. "I'll be in touch."
And with that, he vanished from view.
Dean stood there, staring into the distance, as he fought to process everything. He didn't want to consider the possibilities of how or why any of this was happening to him. If Castiel didn't have the answer, he was afraid to know who did.
But that was a problem for another day. He and Sam had work to do. He took a deep and breath, popped open the vial, and downed the blue stuff in one gulp.
It tasted like ash.
Dean gagged, but forced himself to hold it down. If that kept the stupid feathers at bay, he wasn't going to argue.
He tossed the vial into the nearby trash and continued to the apartment building. After they dropped of the contact information for Jo, they'd be on the road again. He'd go back to pretending everything was fine, wings or no wings, but deep down he knew the charade had ended long ago.
If and when Castiel found the right answers, Dean knew they would be game changers. Nothing would ever be the same.
And that terrified him.