(Happy belated Birthday to my friend Emily (whelvenwings); prompt: fluff with wings!)
Cas has the most beautiful wings Dean has ever seen. They are huge and fluffy and sparkle a deep, rich blue in the light. Dean’s own wings are so ordinary in comparison, white and brown with some reddish specs thrown in, and not nearly as fluffy. Not that Dean has had occasion to do anything so intimate with Cas as touch his wings - Dean can barely even talk when he’s around Cas. He turns into a flustering, bumbling mess. They look soft though.
Wings sagging low, Dean sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He needs to let go of this crush. Cas has never shown any interest in any angel ever. There’s no way he would now, suddenly, want Dean as his mate. Dean was the crudest angel in the garrison. Hell, maybe in all of Heaven.
Dean resolves himself to let this go - let Cas go, but then he returns back to his quarters. There, he finds a single black feather atop his bed. It’s dark, almost black, but glints blue in the light creeping in through the window. He walks to it, picks it up, and runs it through his fingers.
God, it’s the softest thing he’s ever touched.
Dean’s heart picks up speed but he stomps on any rising hope. This feather - this token of affection, of intention for courtship - could never belong to Castiel. Because Castiel could never want Dean.