49. Chapter 49

To say that Dean was not a happy baby over the next three days was an understatement. He was visibly uncomfortable from the itching; he could barely stay still, squirming constantly, and more than once he'd start scratching his wings if he thought no one was paying attention. The itching was preventing him from sleeping, which meant that Dean was getting extremely cranky, and the only thing that really helped was a combination of ice, wing oil and warm baths. Unfortunately, they quickly reached the point where not even that was enough.

Castiel felt terrible as he paced back and forth outside of the cabin, Dean sobbing into his shoulder. He had one arm braced under Dean's bottom and the other across Dean's lower back, mindful of Dean's wings. Dean had slid straight past the point of being able to communicate with words about two hours ago. He was so frustrated and wound up and just plain exhausted from the past two weeks that he was reduced to laying weakly in Castiel's arms and wailing his displeasure out for the world to understand.

On the one hand, it was kind of a good thing. There was no way Dean would've let himself act this way when Castiel first brought him to the cabin. But on the other hand, it was extremely upsetting to have his hatchling be in this much discomfort and not be able to help. At least when Dean's wings were coming out, the wing oil had gone a long way towards helping. Castiel was familiar with just how irritating the growth of new feathers could be, as it happened to all angels every year when their feathers molted. But he was used to it, annoying though it was, and Dean - who was already at the end of his rope - wasn't.

"I know," Castiel said for what had to have been the thousandth time, pressing his lips to Dean's temple. Dean was a little too warm for his liking, but he wasn't sure he wanted to try a cool bath just yet. He didn't think it would really help, and it would only upset Dean further. It was too bad that human medication wouldn't have much of an effect on the baby now, or he would've sent Gabriel to the drugstore for something to lower Dean's temperature.

"Still not a happy baby, huh?"

Castiel turned to walk back, glancing over at the door and his brother. "No, not in the slightest," he said with a sigh. "If anything, I think he's getting more upset. I was hoping he'd cry himself to sleep, but he's just as stubborn as always."

"He's a Winchester. That's never going to change," Gabriel said wryly, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "If it helps, I think we'll be able to take most of the sheathes off tomorrow morning. Those feathers are looking just about ready to me."

"I hope so. He's not going to like that."

"He likes this far less," Gabriel pointed out. He snapped up a pacifier and came down the steps, walking over to them. But when he offered it to Dean, Dean twisted his head away and just cried. Gabriel sighed and gave up, tossing the pacifier over his shoulder. It vanished before it hit the ground, and the two brothers looked at each other miserably.

"Maybe he'll take a bottle," Castiel said, though he wasn't holding out any real hope. He'd coaxed Dean into drinking a bottle filled with water and grace earlier that morning, but Dean had staunchly refused to drink or eat anything since then. Castiel didn't like it. Dean was starting to lose weight, and this process was hard on his body as it was without Dean getting weaker from lack of food. He needed to start eating again. But at the same time, there was no point in forcing Dean to eat or drink: the stress on his body meant that he'd only throw it right back up. Hopefully, once his feathers were out, he would feel better.

Morning was a long way off, though. He watched as Gabriel went back into the cabin, presumably to fetch a bottle on the off chance that Dean might accept it, and climbed the steps himself. He sank down into one of the porch chairs, remembering the first time he'd sat here with Dean at night. That was after Dean had woken up from that terrible nightmare. He'd been embarrassed at finding himself in Castiel's arms, but at the same time the comfort had soothed him. Castiel wished that he could soothe Dean the same way now.

"My poor baby," he murmured, smoothing his hand over Dean's head. Dean was curled into his shoulder, arms wrapped around Castiel's neck. Castiel tucked his wings around his hatchling, making sure that Dean was fully covered. He didn't want Dean to get chilled.

This was a frustrating situation for all of them. Even though Dean understood on a logical, adult level that this was necessary, there was still the babyish part of him that was growing every day and that didn't understand why his daddy wasn't fixing his problems. So Dean had spent the day alternating between pushing Castiel away because Castiel couldn't help him, and crying and clinging to him because he wanted to be comforted. It was almost more frustrating than when Dean had been in pain, because at least then Dean had been too sickly and feverish to really respond. This endless crying was beginning to try even Castiel's patience, though he was doing his best to keep that from Dean.

Gabriel returned to the porch with a bottle of apple juice and grace in hand. He took the seat beside Castiel and offered it to Dean. Dean actually turned his head for the first time, revealing puffy green eyes and flushed cheeks, though the rest of his face was pale. He actually accepted the nipple of the bottle and sucked a couple of times, but just as quickly he turned his head away and whined. It was a thin, high sound that made Castiel's feathers shiver in distress. He patted Dean's back and exchanged a worried look with his brother.

"Dean, come on, kiddo. Just try a little more," Gabriel coaxed, trying again. Dean whimpered, biting his lip and shaking his head. More tears welled up in his eyes. When Gabriel went so far as to press the nipple against Dean's bottom lip, Dean opened his mouth and let loose with an ear-splitting wail. Both angels winced at the volume of the sound, and Castiel was pretty sure that every animal in a fifty foot radius took off running.

"Well, you wanted him to act more like a baby. You're getting your wish," Gabriel said, covering his ears.

Castiel glared at him and bounced Dean gently, hoping to settle him a little more. "I just wish that there was something I could do," he said, long past the point of frustration. He wasn't sure how the parents of newborns did it. At least with Dean, he knew there was an end in sight. Dean would be much better tempered when his feathers were out. Or he was hoping that would be the case.

"I am so, so glad that Sam is not going to be this young," Gabriel said.

"Sam is still going to react exactly the same way," Castiel told him, pausing to wipe some drool off of Dean's chin. "At least Dean's only crying. He could be trying to drink, or lashing out, or trying to distract himself with sex..." He trailed off, remembering all of the coping mechanisms that Dean used to use on a regular basis. It was amazing how much progress they'd made. Dean hadn't had a drop of alcohol in months. Castiel was certain that he touched himself at night sometimes, but Dean had never even mentioned finding a human woman to satisfy himself with. And his temper had cooled significantly as the stressful life of a hunter was left behind.

Gabriel made a face. "Don't remind me. Dean's exhausting me enough as it is. It's going to be a long time before I'm ready for Sam." He leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Sammy?" Dean said, the first word he'd spoken in hours. He looked around with glassy eyes, as though expecting his brother to appear.

"Sam's not here, sweetheart," Castiel said, brushing at the tears on Dean's face. "Maybe we can go visit him soon. Would you like that?"

Dean mumbled something and curled back into Castiel's shoulder. His wings fluttered and twitched and Dean winced, tensing. Castiel gripped the base of his wings in one hand, urging him to relax. Slowly, Dean did. The pin feathers were surprisingly soft against Castiel's fingers, and Dean seemed to like the feeling of his hand there, so he left it.

"Do you want to try some ice again?" Gabriel asked.

"Might as well. Can't hurt, at this point," Castiel said, grateful for Gabriel's presence.

The ice didn't help. Sometime towards 3am, Dean finally fell into an exhausted sleep, but it didn't last long. He woke as the sun crested the hills, sneakily reaching for his wings to try and scratch. Castiel caught his hands, trying to steel himself against the adorable look of outrage that earned him. Dean didn't understand what scratching would do; if he was too rough, and Castiel knew that he would be, he would damage the pin feathers and either they would fall out or - much worse - they would need to be pulled out. Then the whole process would start all over again.

That was the last thing any of them wanted. Castiel didn't think he could take another week of this. He didn't even want to think about the fact that Dean would be molting every year from here on out. He just wanted to get through the next couple of hours as best they could, and then go curl up in bed with his baby and let Dean sleep.

"Dean," he said, sitting down on the couch with the baby on his lap. Dean looked up at him. He wasn't crying right now, but he looked utterly miserable. It was breaking Castiel's heart. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering whether this had truly been the right decision. Maybe he'd led Dean down a path that they never should've gone down. But it was too late to turn back. They couldn't reverse the process now even if Castiel wanted to. All he could do was keep moving forward as best he could.

He put a hand to Dean's cheek. "Your feathers are ready. This might be a little uncomfortable for you, but Uncle Gabe and I are going to work as fast as we can to remove the sheathes. You should feel better once they're gone. Then you can sleep, okay? When you wake up, I'll bathe your feathers and apply some wing oil and you can see how beautiful they are." He tried to smile, wanting to reassure Dean, but unsurprisingly it didn't seem to help.

He gently helped Dean to lay down on the couch on his belly. Then Castiel and Gabriel each took a side. Removing the sheathes wasn't too hard. Both of them were used to it; it was a simple matter of rolling the sheath between the thumb and index finger until it grew brittle and flaked away. But each of Dean's wings had hundreds of feathers, so it was a time-consuming process. Dean was worryingly quiet, squirming at times and whimpering a little when one of them touched an area that was especially sensitive, but otherwise not moving or even crying.

"You're being so good, little one," Castiel whispered at one point, blinking hard. His vessel's eyes were hot, and the sight of Dean's half-feathered wings was a little blurry. He carefully combed his fingers through the soft feathers that had been unfurled, admiring them because now he could see their color for the first time and it was lovely: Dean's wings were the beautiful color of copper.