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[venatoris]

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[messenger]

What.

[ damn it, dean. ]

Does this Tweety Bird molt excessively?

[venatoris]

[ He chuckles, shakes his head. ]

Nevermind. We'll take care of you, okay Cas? I'll, uh - google how to take care of a bird.

[messenger]

I'm not a bird.

[ >8[ ]

But, I, uh... I appreciate the sentiment.

[ how can he not? ]

I just hope it isn't too much work.

[ molting is a strenuous process for a bird, but for an angel? it's not usually done. it's something that only happens when one's wings are injured considerably, but in most cases there are only two options: the angel has strength enough to regrow the damage without need of a molt, or, well.

they die.

but maybe the spell that metatron used was exact for a reason. he tries not to think about that. ]

[venatoris]

It can't be all that different though, right?

[ Wings, feathers. Dean doesn't know, couldn't know - it's not like he's ever had animals around extensively. No dog, no cat. No birds, definitely. ]

It won't be. We'll get it figured out, you'll be okay- ah, here we go.

[ The sign indicates a shitty motel ahead, Mountaineer Inn or something of the sort, and he pulls off the exit, driving down the road about a mile before he finds it. ]

[messenger]

I am much bigger than a bird.

[ but otherwise? he has no idea what's really in store for him. or for dean. either way, he's not about to complain when dean is being so generous. and he's not about to try to convince him to change his mind, much as a part of him might think he should.

he wants to return to the bunker. he wants to stay there, even if it's only for a time.

getting into the motel is easier than getting out of the hospital was, at least. dean gets the key and comes back and castiel walks in with his wings tucked close, no one any wiser. when they're alone, the door shut behind them, the curtains drawn, castiel stands in the center of the room, looking anxious. he pulls on his sleeves.

he needs to ask something of dean. several somethings. but he's having trouble asking it. ]

[venatoris]

[ No one cares in places like this - no questions, rooms by the hour if need be. It's the perfect kind of spot to lay low until they figure out a better game plan. They've got a drive from Baton Rouge to Lebanon - 14 hours plus, maybe more - human needs and all.

He shuts and locks the door, and drops his duffle with a sigh. ]

Home sweet home for the night. You good?

[messenger]

I'm...

[ he wants to say that he's good. he should let dean get some rest. but dean is the one who wanted to help him with this, and— his curiosity is getting the better of him.

he takes a deep breath. ]

I need your help, actually.

[venatoris]

[ He shrugs his jacket off and tosses it towards a chair and misses, fabric hitting the ground in a pile as he walks towards Cas. ]

Sure. Whatever you need.

[messenger]

Uh.

[ this is embarrassing. he is embarrassed. ]

I need you to look at my wings. Assess the injuries.

[venatoris]

[ It might be for Cas, but it just seems logical to Dean. ]

Yeah, course, Cas. Just uh, I guess tell me what I'm looking for? Since I don't know what they're actually supposed to look like.

[messenger]

Well... Um. Anything that looks twisted or melted. Or burnt. You'll understand what I mean when you see it.

[ it's just that all the coverts are layered on top of one another and hiding the ends of the primaries where they were burnt away, down to base of the feathers where they attach to the wing beneath. dean's going to have to dig pretty deep in there to see. ]

[venatoris]

Okay. Uh, why don't you have a seat on the bed? I'll get up behind you.

[ They're big wings, he's gonna have to take his time with this. ]

[messenger]

... Dean. All right.

[ he perches on the bed, looking back at dean over his shoulder.

something else occurs to him. ]

I should take my coat and shirt off.

[ the base of his wings are half-hidden by his clothes. they're just going to make dean's job more difficult. ]

[venatoris]

Good idea.

[ He'll even try to help, slip Cas' coat over his shoulders, though he'll let the angel handle his own button down. ]

[messenger]

[ well, um. the problem is that his clothes are a little stuck.

dean manages to get them as far as he can, castiel unbuttoned all down his front, before castiel realizes what the problem is and rolls his eyes at himself. stupid angel.

a moment later, his clothes are gone safe for his pants— teleported to hang off the back of the chair. ]

[venatoris]

[ He laughs in surprise when Cas' clothes disappear, hands jerking back from the suddenness of it. That's sure one way to do it, though he's a little distracted now that Cas is shirtless and right there, asking Dean to touch him. Touch his wings. ]

Okay, I'm gonna start now. That alright?

[messenger]

Yes, Dean.

[ he looks back over his shoulder again, big blue eyes meeting dean's own with that familiar puppydog look. ]

I trust you.

[venatoris]

Okay. Okay, cool.

[ He flashes a little smile at Cas, but he really doesn't know what he's doing, here. Doesn't mean he's not gonna try, and so he sets about it, very careful at first, moving feathers around to see. It's delicate as hell, and he may or may not tickle Cas, but he's trying his best. ]

[messenger]

[ it does tickle, and his wings twitch while dean moves through his feathers, his toes curling in his shoes as he attempts to fight the strange sensation. he's not sure he likes it— like an itch that needs scratching— and after several moments he groans and flaps them to dislodge dean's fingers. ]

H-harder. Dean, you don't have to be gentle.

[venatoris]

Tryin' not to hurt you.

[ Cas' reaction is kind of funny, and he has an inkling that it does indeed tickle, which is kinda cute. Who knew angels could be ticklish?

But he obeys and digs his fingers in harder, working his way down to the bone best he can, trying to see what he can see. He has zero idea of bird anatomy let alone angel, so he doesn't really know what he's looking for, but for Cas, he's doing his best. ]

[messenger]

You won't hurt me.

[ oh, god. that feels much better. the tension in his body drains out when dean gets his fingers deep in there, a sigh leaving his throat as his head tilts back. it's relieving, to finally have that itch scratched— though he's too embarrassed to say so out loud.

eventually, dean will find the roots of castiel's long and once-beautiful primaries— burnt off near the root. some are loose, and fall free as he's exploring. ]

[venatoris]

Well, like I said, I dunno what I'm looking for. But there's definitely some singing going on here.

[ It's said as he roots around, digging his way through Cas' singed feathers, careful as some slip through his fingers and fall, others coming off in his hands as he moves. ]

Sorry, you gotta tell me if it hurts-

[messenger]

Mhm—

[ he figured as much. as dean moves through his feathers, he groans with relief. they itched where they were attached, and it's a relief to have them finally knocked loose. more flutter to fall down at his feet. ]

It doesn't— It doesn't. Don't stop.

[venatoris]

Okay. But it'd help if you told me what I'm actually supposed to do beyond picking through your wings.

[ Kentucky fried as they are. ]

Does it itch? [ Experimentally, he drags his nails over...bone? Are wings bone? Cartilage? Help, Cas. ]

[messenger]

They itch very much.

[ muscle, bone, and cartilage. so all of the above? it seems like now that dean's finally gotten his fingers in there, cas is actually responding verbally, though. mostly because he's too distracted now to be embarrassed by it, or to feel guilty about asking dean for help in the first place.

his head tilts up, and he looks at dean over his shoulder through a slitted eye. ]

They need to be groomed. An angel doesn't usually take a vessel for so long.