Quiet

You let out a heavy sigh as you began to straighten out the mess you'd made in the front seat of the Impala. Newspapers littered the dash, passenger seat, and floor but none of it spoke of omens or anything resembling supernatural activity. You'd driven the twenty minutes from the bunker to the nearest gas station to purchase the local paper as well as The Times, USA Today, and even a copy of the latest tabloid. But everything was quiet; even the tabloid didn't have any heft to its stories. The only headline that had looked promising-a werewolf family in Tennessee-had been inconsistent and just didn't ring true. Did demons and monsters take a damn holiday each year or something?

You reached for the key in the ignition before changing your mind. You didn't have to rush back to the bunker just because you'd finished the one thing on your agenda for the day. The place was driving you stir-crazy and the boys didn't need you there walking around with an irritated scowl on your face. They deserved a rest and seemed, unlike you, to enjoy these quiet times. Sam was a reader; he'd collect interesting looking books from used book stores in towns you were working when he got a few spare minutes. He had a pile in a corner of his room that had been collecting dust for the last several, busy months and you were sure that's what he'd be diving into now. And Dean would have already finished making sure his weapons cache was in pristine condition before moving on to the monumental task of cataloguing the artifacts in the bunker. He and Sam and gotten a good chunk of it done when they'd first moved in, but there were still so many boxes of varying sizes, importance, and states of aging that hadn't even been opened yet. Dean enjoyed knowing what he was sharing housing with and learning about how he could use each one against the supernatural.
You, on the other hand, did not enjoy times of rest. You had been spending the past few days reading every news story you could get your hands on, just trying to find a case. You'd even looked in the international news for the hell of it but knew that even if there was a case in Italy or Japan you'd never be able to convince Sam and especially Dean to fly out for it. There were hunters in other countries who could take care of it and you couldn't justify such a trip with your boredom and restlessness.

But this truly sucked. You looked out your open window towards the trees lining the side of the road you'd stopped on the shoulder of.

"Aaaagh!" You let out in frustration. "Any wendigos out there? Anything? I won't even kill you, we could just go a few rounds!"

You thought you heard a twig snap somewhere nearby but before you could get out and investigate what was probably a squirrel, you heard the familiar rustle of wings settle into the passenger seat.

You turned your head to see Cas looking through the stack of newspapers you'd placed on the dash.

"Well you're not a wendigo," you muttered.

Though he had a habit of appearing from nowhere, you'd learned not to be startled by him anymore. The sound of his wings was as familiar as the bunker door when Sam or Dean came home, it had just taken some getting used to.

He turned his attention from the papers, tilting his head slightly to the right.

"No," he replied, "I'm not. Y/N, what are you doing sitting on the side of the road?"

"I don't know-definitely NOT hunting anything. Definitely NOT enjoying all this DAMN SILENCE!" you shouted out the window. That would show that squirrel not to get your hopes up over a wendigo.

"You're frustrated," Cas stated.

"Yeah, man, thanks for identifying this feeling for me," you huffed, even annoying yourself with your sarcasm.

"Why?"

"Because of this!" you grabbed the newspapers from his hands and began flipping through the pages. "'Zoo Gets a Baby Tiger', 'Spring Has Sprung', 'Local School Succeeds in Fundraiser For New Science Wing'!" You threw the papers in the back seat and looked back at Cas who for all intents and purposes looked frozen in that tilted-head pose of his.