You think you've private lives.

Think nothing of the kind.

There is no true escape,

I'm watching all the time.

We follow the boys on yet another sleepless road trip; Judas Priest is softly playing in the background. We're on duty, no doubt. We're full to the brim with cheap beer and cheap diner food—and pie (we always have pie). Today, Team Free Will (though not even Sam and Dean are aware that all members are on board) is heading to Minnesota. The case is that of a suspicious disappearance, because one does not simply vanish into thin air…

"So get this—w e share the Winchester name with a company that manufactures rifles and shotguns…" Sam rambled on about—what Dean assumed to be—useless information, in order to kill time. Life as a hunter had its perks, sure (the excitement, no rules and saving lives). But moments like these proved it to be a bit of a nuisance. Spending time on the road took its toll (and not even due to the numbing rears after hours). The amount of time it takes to get from state to state—hell, even city to city—was exhausting in the department of conversation, and while the boys enjoyed each other's silence, Sam was always too chatty. Being the more informed of the two, he always wanted to share the interesting things he found with Dean. It's sweet, yeah, but, his mind wandered rather quickly tonight…

At first it was on the ridiculous fact that Sam was reading this article on his laptop. Where the hell does he find a Wi-Fi connection when they're driving? Baffling as it is, Dean decided it did not compare to what they've seen on their hunting missions, so he moved on to the next distraction: The heat in his pants.

Sam is too busy to notice the grin spreading throughout Dean's face as he shifts slightly in his seat. He licks his lips and grips onto the steering wheel, recalling his trip to the restroom just a few hours ago:

"You ever wonder what Castiel did before the civil war in heaven? I mean—"

"Hey, uh...could you order some more pie? I gotta hit the can."

As Dean walked away, Sam still trying to catch his thoughts replied looking over his shoulder "Er, sure. What flavor?"

The hunter rolled his eyes and spun around. He raised his shoulders and said "I don't know, Sam, pie flavor!" Sam figured the annoyance in Dean's voice was brought on by the mention of Castiel. The angel hadn't shown face for weeks now, and it seemed to be bothering Dean. Regardless of Castiel being Dean's—I guess—"best friend," the young Winchester couldn't grasp why he was so moody over it since his disappearance two weeks ago. But also—hadn't Dean ordered a whole pie for himself already? What did he even do with the last piece? As he tried to piece together an inference, Dean stared at him over his shoulder.

Good. He's doing that pointing-at-invisible-charts-thing; nerd-mode. Heh-heh, it's time for a long bathroom trip.

Dean entered the restroom cautiously, stood at the doorway and listened for any signs of life. Once he was safe, he slipped into a stall. He smirked, looked around the stall and slipped his hand into his jacket. Out of the pocket, he pulled a chunky mess of broken pie crust, sauce and fruit-chunks.

"Take me home, baby."

The memory was rudely interrupted by a slap on his thigh.

-Back to the present –

"Dude, you're smiling real creepy-like, and you're not friggin' paying attention to the road. What the hell is up with you lately?"

"N-nothing, man—what were you saying?"

"Forget it," Sam mumbled and started looking for a song on the radio.

Dean swallowed. Fuck, I thought it seeped through or some-shit. We need to find a motel—soon. I can't have this pie slide down my pants…

The hunter senses in Sam couldn't shake the feeling of a presence in the backseat (Dean would've been just as disturbed if there weren't pie on his crotch). He kept glancing into the rearview mirror as he sifted through the stations.

-And now for the angel in the backseat-

Castiel had been watching with interest since they arrived at the Diner. He couldn't gather why Dean would stuff a handful of pie into his jacket when Sam was busy staring at his laptop. He looked so content too...The angel recalled with a tilted head and squinting eyes as he stared at Sam's busy hand.

Finally settling on a song, Sam slouched back and relaxed on the headrest. He continued to glare at the rearview.

CAN'T EXPLAIN ALL THE FEELINGS THAT YOU'RE MAKING FEEL. MY HEART'S IN OVERDRIVE AND YOU'RE BEHIND THE STEERING WHEEL.

Dean raised a brow at the song. He shrugged and nodded with a frown on his face.

Eh, it's something different from the usual, why not.

He started to sing along (to which Sam gave a smirk, relaxing his gaze on the rearview).

Castiel smiled, looking from one Winchester to the other. He wished greatly to join them without having to be so secretive. It's not that he's always busy (granted, when he was, it was top-priority). It's that he's insecure. What if the boys wouldn't like him tagging along as much as he wished to? Would they mind breaking the tradition of only two brothers on the road? It was something he didn't like to ponder too long or he would ruin precious moments like these; being in the impala with Sam and Dean, both happy and enjoying (or tolerating) each other's habits and mannerisms.

A sudden jerk from his left wing had his eye twitch erratically.

What the—

It jerked again but opened suddenly, flinging him to the far right. Luckily, he reacted quickly and kept his composure. His eyes were wide, and he laid there, contorted in silence. Dean was still singing and Sam was smiling, with his eyes closed (he started singing as well). He released the tension and relaxed into his position, sighing. Castiel closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. Sitting up quickly, he looked at both Winchesters just to make sure. He then glared at his left wing, still extended. There was a disturbance—like an itch. The angel shook his wing, trying to rid of the irritation. It didn't work. He tried again and felt that it wasn't on the inside.

Great, I can't reach too well back there. It's not like they can see me or my wings; I shouldn't leave any traces of doing this.

Castiel started to rub the backside onto the door handle. Of course, he had to manifest the wing into this dimension to have any contact with the impala, but it wasn't too much that he would be found out.

A cold shiver ran throughout his body as he rubbed the wing. He felt his body tense and his fingers curled. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he shut them quickly. Once the wave ended, he collapsed onto the seat and opened his eyes lazily.

What was that…? Whatever it was, it was pleasant.

The angel figured there was no harm in doing this. The impala was safe from any physical damage so long as he kept this lovely balance between himself and its dimension. So he went back to rubbing the wing. He did enjoy the slight stinging the door handle gave when it grazed past the feathers, but he realized that he wanted something smoother. He looked around the car and decided his best chance would be the impala's seats.

If we were Sam, I bet we'd think "Castiel's been an angel for thousands of years now…he should know why his wings are being responsive." But in all honestly, Castiel was an odd angel. He never cared to learn anything that wasn't associated with following orders and keeping to god's will (his personal functions included). Somewhere along being a wave-length of celestial intent for thousands of years, he just…simply, forgot.

"Oh…" A small moan stifled its way out of his throat.