Author's Note: Castiel's wings are sadly underused in the show, and I haven't read many fluffy stories involving them so here's a short series of silly Cas figuring out how to cope with them. This is my first Supernatural fic and I am a lowly Britlander so forgive me if there are glaring errors with speech and things.

It was Sam who first noticed that something was wrong.

After a week-long chase down rocky country roads, the three of them had finally vanquished a witch that had been dishing out curses like candy. Dean had pulled up at the first diner they spotted and now they were taking a well-earned breakfast. The place was a little run-down, with hinges that creaked and paint that was cracked in places, but it was friendly, it had food, and most importantly it was free of demons.

As they were queuing up to order, Castiel had proclaimed he wasn't hungry as usual and wandered off. Neither of them had given him much notice, too distracted by their grumbling stomachs to care about much else. It wasn't unusual for him to wander off- human things like food aren't particularly interesting to angels - though when they'd finally sat down in a booth by the window and he hadn't shown up, Sam found himself glancing around the busy diner. Was it possible that there were demons here? Had Castiel managed to get himself in trouble?

Just as he was starting to worry, Sam spotted him at the far end of the room. He emerged from the restroom of all places, face set in his default serious expression. Sam waved and he nodded curtly, trench coat flapping at his ankles as he made his way over to them.

Dean hadn't even noticed Castiel had been missing, too busy devouring a large helping of apple pie. He offered a muffled greeting, causing crumbs to scatter onto the table, then went straight back to his breakfast. Castiel gingerly sat down beside him, perched on the edge of the seat like a bird poised to fly. He folded his arms close against his body as though cold, though of course he couldn't be. His blue eyes stared at the salt shaker in the middle of the table with an intensity that suggested he was trying to hypnotise it.

Sam studied his expression thoughtfully from across the table. You could never tell what Cas was thinking, but he decided there were definitely some extra creases in his forehead today. Perhaps he was thinking about the witch they'd taken out- or the angels that were still out to get him. It wasn't as if the guy had nothing to worry about. But he was pursing his lips in the way he did when deep in thought, so Sam didn't interrupt. Instead, he tucked into his own breakfast: a wobbling stack of pancakes complete with handfuls of strawberries and bananas and a tooth-achingly generous swirl of maple syrup. The last thing he'd eaten was a cold tin of beans he'd chugged in the Impala as they sped away from the witch, and that was almost twenty-four hours ago. Real, warm food was utter heaven after a week of canned food and dried noodles.

Ten enjoyable minutes later, Sam leaned back in his seat feeling fuller than he had done in days. The diner was a little less crowded now lunch hour was over, the noisy chatter dimmed to a cheerful murmur. He sighed happily.

In front of him, his brother was polishing off the remains of his second helping of apple pie with no less gusto than when he'd started. Castiel hadn't moved a muscle for the last ten minutes, still folding his arms with a look of intense concentration on his face. Maybe it was time to say something.

'Um, Cas, are you okay?'

Castiel blinked slowly and looked up at him. 'Yes. I am fine, thank you Sam.' He shifted slightly in his seat but said nothing more.

'Right.' Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin, screwed it up into a ball and tossed it onto his empty plate. 'You guys ready to hit the road?'

The thought of getting back in the car didn't exactly fill Sam with joy, but of course they had places to be. At least now the threat was over they could have conversations that didn't end with them snapping at each other. Dean insisted on playing his rock CDs now the chase was off, so in joking protest Sam sat in the back with Castiel. Before long they were laughing and teasing each other as they always did, relieved to have the heat off their backs for the time being. Castiel was usually quiet when they were travelling, but today he was silent. Every so often he would fidget with his seat belt, a definite frown crossing his face.

'Ants in your pants, Cas?' called Dean from the driver's seat when this happened for the fourth or fifth time.

'I-' Castiel's eyes widened slightly and he began clawing at the belt again, this time with definite urgency. 'I need to-' He pressed the button to release the seat belt, and then blackness exploded inside the car with a loud whumph, accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric. Sam was thrown back in his seat, pressed down so hard he could barely breathe.

'Holy shit!' Dean bellowed, and the car swerved dangerously from side to side, eventually skidding to a stop at the side of the road. The CD player was switched off, leaving a ringing silence. 'What the hell happened?'

'Don't look at me, I didn't do anything!' Sam fumbled in front of him and pushed against the weight that was pinning him down. It was warm, like a living thing, and when he managed to free his head and shoulders he found his fingers slipping on feathers.

'Sorry.' Beside him, Castiel looked... sheepish. 'I couldn't help it.' He was pressed up against the back of the driver's seat, cheek squashed against the headrest. The back of his trench coat was in tatters, and from the mess of fabric two enormous black wings had burst free.

'What was that?' Dean leaned into view and took in the sight of the two of them squashed in the back.

Castiel attempted to look up at him, but his wings filled the roomy Impala and left him with no space to move, so he remained squished against the seat and spoke to Sam instead. 'I may have been... cursed by the witch, just before you vanquished her. My wings won't disappear.'

'What, these are your wings?' Dean raised his eyebrows. 'I thought they were supposed to be invisible or something.'

'They don't normally exist on this plane. They shouldn't be here,' he insisted.

'Why didn't you tell us this before?' asked Sam.

Castiel closed his eyes. 'I'd hoped they would revert when the witch was gone. I was wrong.'

Dean rolled his eyes and leant back in his seat. 'Well, thanks for letting us know, Cas. We've really gotta work on your communication skills. How am I supposed to drive like this?'

Sam looked down at the wing that was still pressed against him and blocking most of the window. They were black like a raven's, with blue and green tints where the sunlight touched them. It wasn't what he'd imagined an angel's wings would look like. Intrigued, he reached out and prodded at it. The wing flicked up reflexively and whacked him in the face, earning him a mouthful of feathers for his trouble.

'There's nothing I can do Dean, this has never happened before,' Castiel snapped, reaching for the wing nearest Sam and pulling it against his body like a cloak. 'I had cramp. I couldn't hold them in any longer.'

'Well, you're gonna have to hold them there, 'cause unless you can make them invisible again I can't drive when an angel's wings are blocking my mirrors.'

With evident difficulty, Castiel pulled the feathery appendages into reach. They were enormous, though it was difficult to be sure of their size in here. Sam supposed he should have guessed that as an angel Castiel would have wings, though in the paintings they were usually white and fluffy. These wings were as black as tar, and they glistened like oil in the sunlight.

Sam brushed his clothes down and cleared his throat awkwardly.

Castiel made an attempt to re-fasten his seatbelt over his wings, gave up and resumed glaring out of the window.

Dean sighed and started up the engine again. 'This is going to be a long day.'