He could feel the feathers of his wings, crumpled and uncomfortable.
Due to this discomfort, Castiel would constantly shift around, like he had an itch on his back.
"Cas, you okay there, buddy?" Dean asked, concerned when the angel wriggled for what seemed to be the millionth time, when, in reality, it was only about the fourth.
"My wings… uh… There may be something wrong with them."
Castiel suddenly felt glad the Sam was away - researching at the local library - as he felt a slight rush of embarrassment.
"Well, any clue what might have happened?" the blond asked the dark-haired man, turning his body to fully face the other man.
"Well, I haven't had time to look at them yet, but I think that they might be damaged."
The word 'damaged' stirred some fear in Dean. "How could they have gotten damaged? We haven't gone on a hunt in a week! And you didn't start your shifting until thirty minutes ago!"
"It's fine Dean." Cas chuckled. The naivety of humans usually irked him, but, with Dean, it was rather endearing. "It happens when I don't use them for a while. I haven't flown anywhere since our last hunt, and the disuse has caused them to become unkempt; hence my discomfort."
"Uh… How do you sort it out, then?"
"Well, usually another angel - or a person - can help by smoothing them out. But I may be able to do it myself. I've done it before."
"Yeah, and how did that turn out?"
"It didn't last long, I must admit." Castiel flushed red.
Dean rolled his eyes affectionately.
"I'll do it for you. Any way I can see them, so I actually know what I'm doing?"
Instead of a verbal response, Cas just shrugged off his trench coat, and then manifested his wings.
Dean finally understood why the man was in such discomfort - feathers were bent out of shape, and there may have been small pieces of debris stuck in them.
"What do I do? Just neaten them out?"
"Basically." A beat. "Thank you for doing this, Dean."
"No problem, Cas. It's what family does for each other."
Castiel's smile was unseen by the blond, but most definitely there.