A/N: Prompt from the SPN Kink Meme, here: "The reason Dean had angel feathers in his car? Because giving someone's intended a feather of your own wings is incredibly romantic for angels and a sure way to declare one's intention. So write me Cas giving Dean the first feather. And Dean not getting it. And Cas coming back with more. And Dean still not getting it but keeping all the feathers in the trunk, carefully counted. And Cas finally giving up and just trying to woo him with pie instead."

I know, the prompt sounds like a humor/fluff prompt. But I accidentally all the angst. I'm (not) sorry.

"Dean." Castiel's voice was, if possible, even gruffer and weightier than usual. But Dean was too busy trying to figure out what was wrong with his Baby to notice. A moment went by with no response.

"Dean," Castiel repeated, portentously.

"...swear to God, if it's the alternator, someone's gonna suffer for this," came Dean's muffled voice from under the hood.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and seemed to falter, before trying one more time. "Dean?"

"What is it, Cas?" Irritated, tired and smeared with oil, Dean finally emerged, squinting in the sunlight.

Without a word, Castiel held something out to him. Dean stared. It was a small black feather.

"That's a feather," Dean said after a moment, still staring at it.

Cas might normally have made a dry comment about Dean's remarkable observational skills (the angel had slowly been picking up sarcasm, thanks to surreptitious coaching from Sam), but right now he didn't seem inclined to be snarky. In fact, when Dean dragged his eyes away from the feather and up to Castiel's face, the angel's eyes were very large and dark, and he took a deep breath before replying.

"Yes. One of mine."

"One of––" Dean eyed him suspiciously. "You actually have feathers? You're not messing with me?"

"No, I'm not..." Castiel hesitated briefly, like a computer rapidly analyzing new data input, interpreting it and filing it away, all in the space of a second. "...messing with you. It is a feather from my wings. For you."

"Huh." Dean reached out and took it, with a wince so small that no human eye would have noted it. But if he'd been expecting some type of heavenly electricity to zap him when he touched it, he was disappointed. It was just a feather. He spun the tiny shaft of it between his fingers and pushed his lips out in an appraising gesture. "Are they good for anything?"

Castiel's mouth opened, but nothing came out. There was a long moment of silence, and then he cleared his throat and answered in muted tones. "Yes, I suppose so. They are sometimes required in certain rare but very powerful spells." He cut himself off, and then spoke again, even more quietly. "If you wish, I can acquire information regarding their possible uses for you."

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Cas." Dean stuck the feather in his pocket and turned his attention back to his car.

As it happened, though, Sam was the first one to discover a spell that required angel feathers. It was a time-travel spell. They'd gotten themselves tangled up in a very tricky situation, involving a ghost that would have been salted and burned by a hunter in 1978, but had first been accidentally sucked through what Dean called "some sort of freaky Doctor-Who time-vortex" connecting the year 1972 to the year 2012. They couldn't get rid of the ghost in 2012, because it had technically already been laid to rest 34 years ago, so the only solution was to send the ghost back in time to 1972, where its story could play itself out naturally.

This spell could free the Winchesters from their weird ghost situation once and for all. The only catch was that the spell called for three angel feathers. So naturally Dean called for his angel.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, Cas! We need a favor."

Castiel arrived at once. "Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam. In what way can I be of assistance?"

Dean got straight to the point. "Hey, remember when you gave me a feather, a couple of days ago?"

To the great surprise of both brothers, Castiel blushed. Dean would have written it off as a trick of the light, just because it was so extremely unlikely that a hardcore warrior of the Lord would show embarrassment at the mention of his wings, but when he glanced at Sam, his little brother's eyebrows were raised and a small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Castiel swallowed and shifted awkwardly, his gaze fixing itself firmly on the floor. "Yes, I remember," he muttered, sounding reluctant to acknowledge the fact.

"Good," Dean said, a bit annoyed at the inexplicably uncomfortable atmosphere that Castiel had brought to the room. "Well, we need a couple more, okay? See, we've got this time-traveling ghost on our hands. I don't really feel like explaining the whole mess, but we found this spell that says we need three angel feathers. So, y'know..." He trailed off expectantly.

Although distracted by worries about whom the confused and angry (and probably majorly jet-lagged; forty years was a lot more than just a couple of time-zones) ghost might attack next, Sam couldn't help noticing how oddly Castiel was acting. Sure, maybe Dean had been a little blunt, but Cas was behaving as if he had been asked to perform an obscene act in public, or kiss Crowley, or something equally scandalous and humiliating. Surely plucking a few feathers wasn't that big a deal... was it?

With what appeared to be great emotional effort, Castiel nodded, still staring at the floor. He appeared unable to meet Dean's eyes. "All right," he said in a barely-there voice. "I... will return presently." And with those words, he vanished.

Sam thought of taking the opportunity to quiz Dean about the angel's strange behavior, but he decided against it, and before ten minutes had passed, Castiel was back, with a glazed look in his eyes that Sam couldn't quite identify. If it were anyone else, he would have said it was carefully-concealed misery.

Castiel dithered briefly in front of Dean before stepping closer and shyly holding out his closed fist.

Dean nodded at it. "Got them? Let's see."

Castiel sent a rapid nervous glance in Sam's direction, an unconscious plea for something, before he regained his usual steadfast bearing, lifting his chin bravely. He turned his hand over, clearly about to reveal to both of them the feathers he was holding.

On instinct, Sam looked away. He opened his laptop and stared blankly at the black screen until he heard Dean saying "Cool, thanks Cas," and the whisper of wings that signified the angel's departure. When Sam turned around again, Dean was buttoning his shirt pocket. Sam sighed in relief, although he wasn't sure why.

As it happened, their 1970s counterpart, the hunter who originally took care of the ghost, had cooked up a time-travelling spell of her own and managed to get through the vortex and drag the restless spirit back to its correct spot in the timeline. Which meant that the Winchesters didn't have to end up using their feathers after all.

Castiel missed the days when he had friends in Heaven, other angels to whom he could confess his worries and from whom he could receive advice. Now he was alone. And as much as it devastated him to be forced to follow the ancient sanctified traditions of the bonding ritual while not having their momentous import acknowledged in the slightest by his intended, there was nothing he could do about it. The celestial courting customs were strict and unbending. So Castiel ignored the aching feeling somewhere deep inside him, somewhere angels weren't supposed to be able to feel pain at all, and continued to follow the ordinances.

"Lucky number thirteen!" Dean joked, grabbing the luminous dark quill with sticky fingers. "I'm building up quite a collection here." He shook his head, stuffing another forkful of peach pie in his mouth. "I still think it's weird––I mean, what kind of angel goes around pulling out their own feathers?––but hey, as long as it's not hurting you, I won't complain."

In the back of Castiel's mind pulsed the words You have no idea how much it hurts, but they didn't make it to his lips.

A fat chunk of gooey peach suddenly wobbled on Dean's fork, and, distracted by the dreadful prospect of losing it, he let go of the feather and quickly moved his hand to catch the falling fruit. Just in time. "Yeahhh," Dean congratulated himself, and popped the piece of peach into his mouth, licking his fingers happily.

Meanwhile, the long black feather drifted gracefully downwards. Castiel watched it fall. His eyes tracked every sweep it made through the air until it landed soundlessly on the filthy motel carpet.

When Dean glanced up again, the angel was gone.

Castiel didn't return for almost a week. When Dean saw him again, it was Thursday afternoon around 3 p.m. Dean had a cold and had been doing his best to deny and ignore it for two days now, but Sam's annoyance at his big brother's martyr complex had finally softened into worry, and he'd gone out to see if he could pick up some immune-system boosters or something at the local pharmacy.

Dean was sulking in the motel room when Castiel arrived. "Hey, Cas," he said dully. "You here to give me more feathers? No offense, dude, but I kind of think we've got enough for the time being. What I could really use right now are those magical-healing abilities of yours."

Without a word, Castiel sat down on the bed next to Dean and placed a hand on his forehead, before brushing it gently down over his face. Dean took a breath and found it easier than it had been in days. His throat didn't hurt anymore either, and the sinus headache that had been plaguing him was gone.

A wide smile spread across his face. "Thanks, Cas. You're the best."

Castiel's eyebrow twitched minutely. He knew Dean was not usually so verbally affectionate. It must just be the relief at regaining his health. The angel withdrew a small box from his coat. "I brought you something."

"But it's not even my birthday!" Dean protested playfully. "Let's hope it's not feathers." He winked at Cas, who merely opened the box. The mouthwatering scent of freshly-baked cherry pie wafted up to Dean's nostrils.

"Don't worry," Cas said quietly. "I know you like pie better than feathers."

Dean's eyes widened. "Cas," he said reverently. "Let me repeat it: you are the BEST. Dude, it's my favorite kind!" With childlike enthusiasm, he grabbed the box and took a deep sniff. "Oh, man. Having an angel around is awesome. Can you manifest me a fork?"

"Anything you wish, Dean."