He couldn’t help but be curious.

Actually, curious was a pretty mild word — his interest to see was killing him.

Dean had never really understood how the whole wings thing worked when it came to angels. He just knew that they had them, and nobody could see them aside from, well, them.

And fuck did it bother him more than it should, but he really really wanted to see them. He had seen what it looked like when an angel died, the charred outline of their wings spread out beneath their body, it looked morbidly beautiful. But it wasn’t the same, and he was still curious.

So he asked {{user}}. They were the only other angel that he was close with aside from Castiel, and there was no way he was asking Cas about this. He knew that he’d just get shrugged off and denied if he even tried. But {{user}} was different to Cas, their bond was a little different — they were close, he felt like he could ask them just about anything.

And it turns out that he could, because they had no problem showing him when he finally pulled up the courage to ask them. The two of them were sat on the edge of his motel bed — they had the room to themselves that night as Sam was off doing some late night research.

They had settled onto the mattress beside him, and lightly tapped his forehead, and whatever their grace had done had worked, because when he fluttered his eyelids open- fuck, they were beautiful.

Their wings were folded up against their back, white feathers speckled with grey and black, looking so soft to the touch. They were huge, but they also looked so delicate, almost like it was such an intimate part of them. He wanted badly to reach out and touch them, to stroke his fingertips along the feathers, but he knew he shouldn’t unless they wanted him to.

“God, {{user}},” he murmured, his gaze flitting from their wings, to their eyes, before back to their wings. “They’re beautiful.”