kellifer_fic (kellifer_fic) wrote,

"Learning To Fly"

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Coverart by meret

Title: Learning To Fly
Rating/Warning: Mature (language)
Wordcount: 5,529
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
By: kellifer_fic
Category: Gen - wing!fic
Notes: Followup to Forgetting To Fall

He sees it all.

He sees the Rawhead grab Sam by the throat and lift him while Dean is still trying to struggle out from underneath the pile of bricks and off-cut wood he landed in. He sees the creature pick up Sam like he weighs nothing and hurl him. Dean sees how one of Sam’s feet clips the edge of the building as he goes over and Dean thinks ten stories, dear Jesus, ten stories.

He gets up and runs at the monster, puts his shoulder down and just pile-drives the bastard. He doesn’t have weight or strength on his side, but he does have rain after a ridiculously hot day and the mixture of tar and water has the Rawhead sliding and going over as well.

Dean leans over the edge and screams something into the downpour, not sure what he’s saying but if ever he needed a miracle, it is now.

He’s sitting with his back to the low, bricked edge of the roof, forehead resting on his arms when a hand grips his shoulder. Dean looks up and around and Sam is crouched beside him. Sam has lost his jacket, his t-shirt is in shreds and there are large, white wings arcing out of his back.

“Oh… hey,” Dean says and then promptly faints.


Dean wakes to the smell of coffee and frying bacon. He struggles up from sleep, trying to remember what he and Sam have on for the day when it hits him like a lead weight to the chest.

Sam being pitched off a ten storey roof.

“You want your eggs over-easy?” Sam’s voice calls from the kitchen as Dean jerks straight on the couch, heart trip-hammering in panic. Dean swings his legs sideways slowly and puts his feet on the floor. He recognises the rug under them but he can’t exactly place where he knows it from.

“Sam?” Dean calls, not quite willing to believe it yet, voice shaky because for a second there he’d been sure he’d seen his brother die.

Sam appears in the doorway and for a moment, Dean doesn’t register that there’s anything wrong because he’d lived with a winged Sam for sixteen years. The last seven though Sam had been without them and any memory of having had them in the first place. Dean gapes as Sam looks at him, a frypan held in one hand, wearing only jeans. “Over-easy or sunny-side?” Sam prods again and Dean swallows.

“Uh… no, just… just coffee,” Dean manages and Sam nods, looking completely unconcerned and pads back into the kitchen. Dean looks around and realises even though it’s a bit of a mess, he’s sitting in Jim Murphy’s farmhouse. There’s a thick coating of dust on everything and the air is stale, like it’s been closed up for a long time.

Dean startles a little when he snaps his eyes forward and there’s a coffee cup right in front of his nose. He looks up at Sam who just raises an eyebrow and Dean takes the coffee with a shaking hand. Sam has a plate in his other hand and he sits on the couch opposite Dean, or rather perches on the edge with his wings folded against his shoulders, and digs into his eggs.

Dean realises he’s staring and drops his eyes to his coffee, then takes a careful sip. It’s black and strong and he lets his eyes close, forgetting about everything except that first blessed mouthful, right up until Sam says, “So, what the hell did you do anyway?”

Dean almost finds out what it’s like to have coffee travel through his sinuses but manages to swallow hard, coffee burning the back of his tongue. Sam is working on his bacon and looking nothing but mildly curious and Dean thinks oh god.

“You think I did this?” he asks, finally realising why Sam is being so painfully calm about having wings.

“You must have done something, I heard you yelling as I fell and boom, these bad boys appear. I almost died gliding into the building opposite before I figured out what was going on.” Sam takes a final mouthful of eggs and wipes his chin with the back of his hand before saying, “Just de-wing me or whatever. These things are heavy.”

“I can’t,” Dean says slowly.

“Come again?” Sam asks, putting his plate down at his feet as the color drains out of his face.

“They’re yours.”


Dean explained as best he could, wishing desperately for the letter Sam had written himself and knowing like so many things in their lives, it was ash now. Sam had listened, not saying a word and not meeting Dean’s eyes and had then disappeared out the back of the house. Dean sat on the couch for two hours before he finally stood and made his way outside.

Sam is sitting on the fence that runs along the house and down into the back paddock. He has his head in his hands and probably would’ve pitched into the ground if his wings hadn’t provided counter-balance to his hunched form. Dean thinks it poetic that Sam’s body remembers the wings even if he doesn’t, naturally compensating for them.

“I can’t believe you thought that was just some spell I pulled out of my ass,” Dean says, trying for levity but it falls flat between them. He pulls himself up onto the fence beside Sam and desperately longs to tug on a wing, something he did whenever they sat together as kids. He resists the temptation, not knowing how Sam will take it.

“I didn’t really,” Sam admits, voice muffled by his fingers. “I was hopin’ but deep down I knew this was something else.”

“It’s weird for me,” Dean says, shuffling a little because a splinter the size of his thumb is digging into his right ass cheek. “This is the first time in seven years you’ve looked… normal.”

Sam glances up at Dean for a second and then away, eyes tracking up towards the sky. “Do you think everything’s gonna come back?” he asks. “I’m not sure I’m too happy with bits of my memory missing.”

“You wrote a letter,” Dean says. “You explained everything in your own words, or at least I assume that’s what it said.”

“You never read it?” Sam asks and Dean shrugs.

“Wasn’t mine to read.”

“Where is it?” Sam prods.

“I…lost it,” Dean says, feeling like a heel for lying, but not willing to admit that he’d been close to wrecking Sam’s chance at normal just because he’d missed him so damn much. Turned out the point was pretty much moot, but he knows Sam, knows Sam won’t see it that way.

Sam’s suspicious though. Dean can see it in the way his eyes narrow and his jaw tenses, but he doesn’t call Dean on it. Dean knows the subject isn’t dropped, just put off for now while Sam gets his head around the immediate problem. Dean feels something nudge his back and then shove and he’s on the ground before he knows it. He looks up and Sam’s grinning.

“Handy,” Sam says, folding the wing back against his shoulder.

“Oh bitch, you did not just do that,” Dean growls.


Sam is rifling through Dean’s duffle when Dean comes back in from finding wood for the stove. For a second Dean thinks maybe Sam didn’t believe him about losing the letter, but Sam comes up with a pill-bottle with a little “Aha” of triumph. Sam uncaps the lid and shakes a couple of pills onto his hand and dry swallows them before dropping the bottle back in Dean’s bag.

“You okay?” Dean asks, leaning into the kitchen to drop his armful by the stove. Jim’s place is wired for electricity but a lot of the features are still old. The stove is wood burning, there is a water pump outside even though there is central plumbing and Dean had found a pretty impressive collection of candles and lanterns even though there are electric lights. There’s also a rain tank and an overgrown patch of garden that might’ve once been for vegetables but has been overtaken by weeds.

Dean likes it a great deal because with a little work, it can be a place that’s pretty close to self-sufficient.

“Just sore,” Sam grumbles, rising from his haunches and stumbling a little, his center of balance still off.

“C’mere,” Dean invites, sitting on the couch and thumping the floor between his legs with a heel. Sam quirks an eyebrow at him, looking incredulous.

“Is this some kind of backrub chicken?” Sam asks. “I sit down, you put your hands on my shoulders and whoever squirms first is the loser?”

Dean rolls his eyes, standing so he can lean forward and grab one of Sam’s hands, tugging Sam to him. “Stop being such a pissy princess. I used to rub your legs for hours to stop you bawling when you were still growing into those stilts.”

“That’s when we were kids, Dean,” Sam says in a tone that’s half exasperated, half bemused.

Dean switches his grip to Sam’s forearm and yanks down, Sam given little choice but to follow his appendage if he doesn’t want to lose it. Dean manhandles Sam around until he’s got the wings spread out and down, Sam back as far as possible. The flesh around the root of the wing is red and tender-looking and Dean digs his thumbs into the right shoulder blade, working outwards. Dean feels Sam tense and then finally relax as he works out the hot ball of pain Sam must be feeling.

It’s always puzzled Dean, the boundaries other people have, including Sam. Sam hit puberty and it was suddenly personal space and wanting privacy. Dean thinks privacy is overrated and personal space is just absurd. He’s seen Sam in all manners of undress and had to stitch gashes closed in embarrassing places a time or two. If they’re sharing the same bed, which happens, Dean will shove Sam off if he sprawls because Sam generates heat like a furnace but he doesn’t feel the need to move away if Sam just rolls into him, unless he drools. Dean’s a toucher, always has been, which isn’t to say that he particularly likes being coddled or cuddled but he’ll jostle Sam when they walk, touch the back of his hand to get his attention.

Sam lets the back of his head rest on Dean’s knee which is a sign he’s completely given in and Dean grins. He moves to the right side without a word.


Dean wakes up when something taps him on the nose. He rubs his eyes so the blurry silver thing being held in front of his face resolves itself into his cell phone. “What?” Dean grunts, rolling onto his stomach and pulling the pillow over his head. It’s yanked away and now Sam is tapping what Dean would swear is the baseline of “Touch Too Much” on the back of his skull.

“Dude, I will give you five seconds to stop that before you have to explain to a doctor how a phone got that far up your ass.”

The bed dips at Dean’s hip but thankfully the tapping stops. Dean turns his head so he can see Sam with one eye and tries to glower even though he knows the affect is probably ruined by half his face being smooshed by the mattress. “Bobby’s on the phone,” Sam says and Dean rolls over.

“You could’a just said that, goddamit,” Dean grumbles, taking the phone after Sam pulls it out of his reach a few times to be contrary. “Hey Bobby.”

“Sam called. Said you needed to find someone,” Bobby says by way of greeting and Dean looks at Sam, brows furrowed.

“He did?”

“Yes Dean, he did,” Bobby says in an exasperated voice. “I’m not in the mood to be your conduit if you girls ain’t talking to each other for some reason.”

“We’re talking,” Dean says, sitting up and managing to dump Sam off the bed with a well placed knee. Sam scowls at him and Dean grins and mouths that’s for the fence jerkwad. “I’m just still asleep here. I think we’re looking for a guy called Edgar something… Casen I think.”

“What do you want with Ed Casen?” Bobby asks and his voice has gone strangely careful. Dean frowns at Sam who is picking himself carefully off the floor and dusting himself off with exaggerated swipes of his hands.

“I’m kinda fuzzy on the details but he helped Sammy out with his little problem a while ago and well… problem’s back.”

“Jesus, I didn’t know that’s what your Daddy used Ed for. I never would’ve passed the number along if I’d known.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean demands, worried. He loved his father more than anything but Dean sometimes feels like John left landmines behind, little details of the John Winchester life that have a habit of blowing up in their faces. Ellen’s husband was one such disaster waiting to happen and now Dean feels like he might’ve stumbled onto another one.

“Not many hunters will deal with Ed anymore. He’s delved too deep, been twisted by what he does. Dark arts are like drugs, you can’t be a little bit of a junkie. Lot of hunters think they can handle it because they know what they’re getting into but no one really knows. You figure you’re using it to fight evil you’ll be okay but that ain’t the way the world works.”

“But he…” Dean takes the phone from his ear and scrubs a hand over his face, needing a moment. His dad had sent him away, sent him on a wild goose-chase to get him out of the house when they were ridding Sam of the wings. Dean always thought it was because his father would know he would be upset about it but now he thinks maybe there was a little more to it, like Dean would recognise rituals used as the kind they would usually steer well clear of. He’s not sure if Sam would’ve known what he was getting into but John would have and Dean feels a pulse of dull anger twist through his gut.

“I care about you boys and that’s why you gotta understand why I’m going to say no to you,” Bobby says and Dean blinks.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m also going to call everyone I know and make sure they do the same thing. Ed Casen isn’t easy to find unless you know someone who knows someone.”

“Bobby, what-”

“Listen to me, Dean. Ed Casen doesn’t come cheap.”

“We’ve got money. If it’s not enough we can hustle-”

“Don’t be dense, son. Ed isn’t someone interested in money. I don’t know what he took in payment last time he visited but it was more than John should have parted with.”

Dean can feel Sam’s eyes on him but he won’t look up, he can’t. What Bobby has said has sent a cold curl of dread through him.

What he took in payment

Dean remembers what he was told, how the wings and the memory of them should have come back when the spell was broken and how Sam doesn’t remember a thing. Dean hates to entertain the idea that his father could’ve been taken in by someone like Casen and lost something so vital to Sam but Dean isn’t in the habit of putting two and two together and getting five. He makes logical leaps and more often than not they’re right, especially when it comes to what people are capable of.

Dean decides right then and there that he is going to kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands.

He feels fingers on his shoulder, a gentle press and he can finally meet Sam’s gaze and give him a grin that wipes the concerned puzzlement off Sam’s face. Dean’s getting uncomfortable with how much lying he’s about to do but he wants to sort everything out, not worry Sam unnecessarily. It’s possible that his fears are unfounded and when they catch up with Casen, they’ll find that he can restore Sam with no fuss.

Dean doesn’t think it’s likely, but hope springs eternal.


“What do you mean he said no?” Sam is standing on the top of the fence that runs the length of the property. He has his wings fully extended and his arms out like he’s going to dive into water. He’s wearing a deep frown of concentration and Dean tries not to find the whole thing hilarious but he can’t help it. Especially when Sam wobbles a little and drops down to his haunches, gripping the fence like his life depends on it.

“Dude, you’re only going to fall two feet,” Dean admonishes because it’s the fourth time Sam has done the same thing.

“I’m working up to it,” Sam grumbles, rising to standing again. Now he has his arms straight out, hands back and Dean thinks that if he hits the ground like that he’ll break both wrists.

“First time you did it you jumped off the barn’s roof,” Dean observes, pointing. Sam turns carefully and shades his eyes with a hand, squinting at the barn in the distance. He turns back with his face twisted into a grimace.

“No fucking way,” he snaps. “Anyway, don’t change the subject. Why did Bobby say no to helping us?”

“He didn’t say no to helping us, just to finding this Casen guy. Says he’s bad news.”

“Dad trusted him enough to-”

“Sam, no point arguing with me about it, okay? I’m not Bobby. He’s going to see if there’s anyone else that can help out. He’s going to call back tonight with a list.”

“I hope everyone on his list is within a day’s drive of here,” Sam says. He takes a foot off the fence and his wings beat up and down once, only serving to finally make him overbalance. Sam pinwheels his arms and for a second looks like he might even recover but then wobbles and goes over backwards, landing in the tall grass. “Ow.”

“I’m telling you, barn’s the way to go.”

“Did you make me jump off the barn last time?” Sam asks, rising up onto his elbows. Dean remembers how they were bored, how he’d thought Sam was joking and how Sam probably had been, right up until Sam had slid off the barn’s roof without actually choosing to do so. Dean remembers the split second of fear because Sam had fallen straight down before he’d extended his wings and arrested his descent. Dean read in a book somewhere once that the trick to flying was forgetting to fall and he always liked that idea.

“Fine, we’ll work up to it,” Dean snorts.


Dean dumps three shirts into Sam’s lap that evening and Sam picks one up and shakes it out. “Tell me you didn’t cut up all my shirts,” he exclaims, seeing the two parallel slits in the back.

“I modified a couple. I’m getting tired of staring at your nipples all day.”

“I can’t help it that they’re at your eye level,” Sam retorts, eyes bright. Dean flips him off before going into the kitchen to see if he can make beans and bread more palatable than it sounds.

“Wow, who knew you were such a Suzie Homemaker,” Sam says, following Dean into the kitchen while he pulls one of the shirts over his head. He tugs the back down straight and finds the Velcro tabs Dean had inserted to secure it in place.

“See if I ever do anything nice for you again,” Dean snaps, digging through the grocery bag on the counter and wondering if he’ll get away with M&Ms for dinner without being nagged at for hours.

“Sorry, thanks,” Sam apologises. Dean nods and decides that an M&M sandwich might just be the ticket. He’ll gross Sam out while getting both fibre and candy. Instead, as Sam watches him press candy-covered chocolate into two pieces of bread and then squash them together he says, “Can I have one of those?”

Dean grins and hands his masterpiece over and starts on a second one.


“No one?”

It’s what Dean had been afraid of, but also what he was expecting. John Winchester was oftentimes reckless with his own life but the same could not be said for that of his sons. Dean suspected that Edgar Casen was a last resort and Bobby’s call confirms it.

“It’s a fairly specific problem Sam has. Most of the people I talked to seemed to be pretty dismissive. Can’t see why he can’t have them cut off.”

“We tried that. They grow back,” Dean growls through his clenched teeth. “It’s not like he’s a Lobster Boy or something. I mean, people can’t honestly think that it’s just a genetic hiccup, like if Dad didn’t smoke Sam would’ve been born normal!”

“Well, you got the other extreme, the religious types who basically cursed me out for even thinking about it, saying Sam was a divine gift and we shouldn’t be meddling,” Bobby allows. “Add to that the people who plain just don’t believe me-”

“There’re people in our little community who don’t believe you?” Dean snorts, incredulous.

“Hey, you should know by now we got the biggest sceptics there are. Hell, if I told you I saw a unicorn, what would you say?”

“No such thing,” Dean replies automatically and then sighs. “Ah, right.”

“Anyway, I’ll keep trying but maybe this is just the way he’s meant to be.”

“There’s still Casen,” Dean tries.

“Dean, just trust me on this, he’s not an option.”

“I’m not a kid you gotta protect anymore, Bobby. I can decide that for myself.” Dean’s feeling black anger at the edges, frustration at the older hunter’s insistence that he knows better.

“Well, you can find him for yourself too,” Bobby snaps. “I’m not having any part of it. I just wish to God I hadn’t last time either.”

“Fine,” Dean says and disconnects, throwing the phone down on his bed. Sam is standing in the doorway, hands curled around a mug of coffee.

“No luck?”

“Nah, it’s just going to take a little while,” Dean says.


Dean spends four hours the next morning being lied to, evaded or avoided altogether. Most people claim to have never heard of Ed Casen and with the majority Dean thinks that might be true but there are others he knows Bobby got to first who are apologetic but firm.

He calls Ellen who is one of the polite but firm ones. “Bobby’s just trying to protect you,” she admonishes when Dean lets his annoyance slip a little in her direction. Dean apologises without really meaning it and hangs up. He tries again a half hour later and does a little air-pump with his fist when Ash answers the phone.

“Dean-o, what can I do you for?” Ash drawls.

“I’m looking for someone-”

“I know that and Ellen told me she’d break my Doctor Badass sign into little pieces if I helped you find him,” Ash says but Dean can hear the grin in Ash’s voice and he’s heartened. He doesn’t think anyone ever convinced Ash to do something he didn’t want to but by the sounds of it, Ash had already chosen which way he was going to go. “So I’m sorry Dean, but I can’t tell you anything,” Ash says a little too loudly and then in a lower tone, “But I emailed you somethin’ that might be of interest.”

Dean hangs up and goes to check on Sam, finding him sacked out belly-down on the sagging couch in the living room, one wing trailing on the floor. Dean finds a pen and scrawls ‘supply run’ on Sam’s forearm. Sam flinches and snorts but doesn’t wake up and Dean grins. He takes a moment to rub a thumb across Sam’s brow and the lines there loosen up.


Sam isn’t in the farmhouse when Dean returns and he heads towards the old barn, something deep down telling him that’s where Sam has headed. Dean breathes a sigh of relief when he draws close and spots Sam with two feet still firmly on the ground, hands planted on his hips and curved backwards, eyeing the roof.

“I must’a been nuts,” Sam notes dryly when Dean arrives by his side.

“Nah, just young and dumb,” Dean snorts in response. “Hey, I offered to throw you off a cliff once, I’m willing to still do that.”

“No thanks, I’ve already been thrown off a building,” Sam says and Dean feels his mouth go dry because with everything that’s happened, he’d almost forgotten, how Sam was only alive by virtue of chance. Dean feels light-headed and leans over for a moment, hands braced on his knees. There’s a warm hand on the back of his neck and Sam asking in a concerned voice, “You okay?”

“Yeah just… too much coffee or something today,” Dean waves him off, standing straight again and breathing slow.

“I don’t believe that’s possible,” Sam dismisses with a grin and Dean lets off a dutiful bark of laughter, even though he still feels a little queasy.

“I don’t know man, maybe if you get enough of a run-up?”

“You reckon?” Sam prompts, looking away from the barn and back at the field stretched out flat and long behind them. “You’re not just saying that to watch me make an ass of myself, are you?”

“The ass thing would be a bonus, but yeah, I think you gotta try it if you’re not willing to take a swan-dive off the barn again.”

Sam turns, extends his wings out to their full reach and then glances at Dean. “I feel like an idiot,” he says with a grimace and Dean shrugs.

“You wanna be an ostrich or an eagle?”

“What does that even mean?” Sam laughs but then sets his face in a furrow of concentration and bends down a little like an Olympic runner. Dean puts a hand to his mouth to hold the giggles in because he knows if he laughs now, Sam will give up and not even try. He knows the wings might be a temporary fixture but he also remembers what it was like to see Sam fly and he realises that he wants to see that again.

Sam jumps a couple of times in place and then takes off, getting up to his top speed quickly. With such long legs, Sam eats up the distance quickly and right before he hits the fence and the end of the field he jumps high, throwing himself up and out. Dean sees him clip the fence with his shin and flip, landing on the other side with a yelp.

Dean jogs up and reaches through the wooden slats to poke at the mass of feathers and limbs sprawled on the other side. “You alive in there?”

“No,” Sam groans.

“Well, you know what they say,” Dean says. “Try, try again.”


Sam is dirty, bloody and his jeans are ripped in more than a dozen places when he drags himself back to the farmhouse, eyeing Dean balefully when he flops down on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“If at first you don’t succeed, give up because otherwise you fall on your ass a lot,” Sam grumbles.

“I found Casen,” Dean says, toying with his cell phone. Sam rolls his head to look at Dean and raises his eyebrows.

“That’s good right? Everything can go back to normal?”

This is normal, don’t you get it?” Dean spits. While he’d had something to concentrate on, something to do, he hadn’t really dwelt on the actuality of it. He knows Sam can’t remember but he can, so many memories tied up tightly with the wings because they are part of Sam and to Dean, always will be. There is the mixture of fear and elation the first time Sam flew, the horrible choked sound of his sobs when he’d been trying to hide them and the fact that with them, Sam would always need him around because it was something that set them apart and away from the world and Dean had always been just fine with that.

He can’t say no to Sam and so he will do his damndest to find the way to remove them, just like that first time he’d taken up the hunter’s knife and sawed through delicate, trembling bone, but he won’t do it silently this time.

“How can you say that?” Sam sighs, rolling onto his side so his wings bump up against the fireplace’s bricked edge. “How is any of this normal?”

“We never were,” Dean challenges. “Dad said once that this was how you were meant to be and I think he was right.”

“I can’t live like this,” Sam says, voice low. “I can’t go to a movie or have friends or meet a girl. I can’t go out in public except maybe at Halloween. I know I’m probably missing the memories of the good times I had with these things, but you can’t tell me there wasn’t some awful times too.”

Dean pictures blood, feathers and Sam stuffing a fist into his mouth to stop the crying being heard and he shivers. “I just had to say it,” Dean mutters, knowing that the decision has already been made. Dean holds the phone out to Sam when he stands. “Casen says he’ll come here. You can call him. I’m going into town.”

Dean doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses Sam’s face when he turns towards the door, but he pretends to.


Dean wakes up in the front seat of the Impala with a horrible crick in his neck and a bad taste in his mouth. He blinks blearily out the front window, sees that he didn’t make it out of the bars parking lot and groans. He fumbles in the glove box for his sunglasses and finds a feather lodged in an old paperback he’d mostly forgotten about. He turns it over in his fingers for a few moments and then drops his head onto the steering wheel.

What gets him moving is the horrible thought that maybe he’ll get back to the farmhouse and find Sam sitting on the steps, wingless and with no memory, just like before. Casen will be sitting in the kitchen and he’ll smile his oily smile and offer to make Dean forget too.

Dean floors it all the way back to Jim’s property and for a moment when he catches sight of Sam sitting on the porch it’s like a nightmare come true, but then Sam shifts and Dean sees the wings, intact and almost blindingly white in the morning sunshine. Sam gets up and watches Dean swing the Impala to a stop by the steps.

“Not here yet?” Dean asks.

“No, he’s been,” Sam says and Dean frowns up at him.

“Couldn’t do anything?” he guesses.

“On the contrary,” Sam says cryptically and holds his wrist out. Dean notices a piece of red leather wrapped around his fingers and over his thumb and then looped twice around the wrist.

“What, he’s given up the black arts to make jewellery?”

“No, wiseass, it’s a glamour knot.”

Dean raises a hand and fingers the length of leather. “And this is supposed to do what exactly?”

“Hide the wings. No one can see them.”

Dean rolls his eyes and reaches out to tug the closest wing. “I don’t think it’s working.”

“The glamour doesn’t work on anyone of my blood. I made sure of that.”

“Won’t people notice them when you knock shit over?” Dean asks incredulously and Sam shakes his head.

“The glamour is a powerful one. It affects people’s perceptions. They’ll rationalise or dismiss anything I do because in their reality the wings just aren’t there.”

“Wow, this whole thing is making my head hurt.”

“I’d say that’s the hangover.”

“Now who’s the wiseass?” Dean eyes Sam for a moment. “What did you give him?”


“Bobby didn’t want us to contact him because he said Casen’s price was always too high. This is some pretty strong mojo so what did you give him?”

“I let him keep my memories,” Sam admits, ducking his head. Dean feels rage, pure and white flood through him. He remembers that he promised himself he was going to kill Casen and now it looks like he really will have to. “Look, I thought you’d be happy. I can take this off and put it back on. I get to keep the wings and look normal.”

“You always looked normal,” Dean interjects and Sam’s annoyed face melts, replaced by a grin.

“I don’t miss them and you remember. I’m used to doing without and this is just one more thing.”


“It’s done.”




“Tell me a story.”

“You’ve heard all my stories.”

“I haven’t heard all of my stories.”

“Oh… okay.”

** Story completed in The Air In Between **
Tags: wing!fic

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