A/N: Based on a tumblr prompt by whump-galaxy:

A winged whumpee jumping from a high place, believing they can escape, only to find out too late that their wings aren't working.

And oops, this is my 200th Supernatural fic. I meant to do something special for it (already have the story started), but this happened instead. Oh well, writing is writing.

Jack hadn't known what else to do but go to the roof. The vampires had chased him up there, merciless, beating him when they caught him, biting, but Jack always managed to get out of their grasp.

He'd been able to make it to the roof.

But now there was no way down.

The door he'd barred behind him was being smashed against by multiple adversaries, metal bending. Jack turned and looked back in fright, trying to see how much time he had before they were upon him again. He faltered, bleeding from multiple wounds, hurting. His vision blurred.

The lip of the building was before him.

Jack had power. He had wings. He could feel it, feel them.

If only he could—

The door burst open, hissing and snarling following close behind the loud bangs and clatters of broken metal.

Jack jumped; he had no choice. It was that or be kidnapped or killed. At least this way he had a chance.

Or so he'd thought.

He'd never used his wings before, not for anything. Not ever.

And certainly not now.

The ground rushed up at him.

Jack had a mere few seconds of shock, and horror, in which he thanked the building for not being so high.

He hit the pavement.

His world exploded in pressure, and then pain. He screamed, and screamed. And oh god, how he wished for his dads. As he bled, as he swelled, as he lay there, parts of him surely broken, he cried, and he wished for his dads more dearly than he could ever remember. Oh, why had he gone out alone? Where were his dads?

Home! Jack needed home!

Something burst through him, something not uncomfortable, saving him from all his agonies.

The world left him.

Only to return a moment later, the war room of the bunker now around him. He screamed, his dads rushing to him.

Castiel gripped his hand reassuringly. Sam and Dean held his shoulders, and one of them had a hand soothingly running through his hair.

"Jack, you have to heal yourself," Castiel told him.

"What the hell happened?!" Dean demanded.

Castiel: "Not now, Dean. Jack, listen to me, okay? It's part of you, it's inside you. Do you feel it?"

Tears soaked his face, pain stabbing through him, but he listened, found that golden energy.

And he healed.

Jack sat on the floor, his dads holding him, the pain gone. But now he was just numb. Completely and utterly numb.

"They didn't work," Jack murmured.

"Jack?" Sam asked, tentative, voice laced with worry, compassion.

"My wings," he went on. "They didn't work."

Dean slapped him on the shoulder in an affectionate gesture. "Well, they got you to us. We got you kid." Dean wrapped him up into a hug. "We gotcha."