The backseat was quieter.

Castiel sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours when the car swayed. He wasn't looking out the window. He wasn't looking at his hands. He was looking at you.

Not a quick glance. Not a stolen look. He simply watched, head tilted just slightly, like you were something he hadn't finished figuring out.

Then, as if remembering himself, he turned toward the window. The night blurred past. A few moments later, his eyes drifted back to you.

This time, Dean caught it in the rearview mirror.