A/N: Just something that came to me, and might be loosely based on another fic?

Dean: 17 Sam:13

They had been on the road for over 14 hours, Dean and John taking shifts driving and sleeping while Sam stared out the passenger window, longing to stretch his legs and get out of there.

The radio played softly in the background as to not wake John up, who was currently sleeping in the backseat. Dean drove along the straight road, absently tapping the fingers of his right hand on the steering wheel to the beat.

They were passing through Kansas, and Sam was staring to see why everyone said Kansas was so boring.

It's all pastures.

So. Many. Pastures.

Soybeans, corn, wheat, cows, empty pastures. You name it, and they'd probably passed a pasture chalk full of it.

"You think cows ever get bored?" Dean announced suddenly.

It took him a good minute to figure out what was happening. The silence and peace of his pasture-watching was interrupted by his green eyed chauffeur, who was looking blankly at him from the driver's seat, waiting for his answer.

"What?" Sam Winchester, ever the articulate one.

"Cows," Dean repeated, casting his eyes back to the road, "You think they get bored?"

Sam actually thought about it. He was so tired and so miserable, that he actually humored his annoying older brother. His annoying older brother who he currently despised for not stoping for lunch and leaving John in the car. He actually contemplated the personal lives and feelings of cows. He needed out of here. This isn't something future Stanford Alumni should reminisce about at Ivey League class reunions when asked about their families.

In other words, Sam's sleepy brain was becoming dumber by the minute, and it needed to stop.

But it was a simple question; do cows get bored? How should he know? Does he look like a cow expert or something? "I-I don't know, Dean. Why would they get bored? They're cows,"

"I don't know. People get bored. Dogs get bored. What about cows?"

He didn't really know what to say. He was so tired, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the backseat and sleep. Dean started tapping his fingers again, and that's how Sam knew his brother's cow thought had been finished. Sam stretched his legs out in the floorboard and leaned back into the seat, stretching his travel weary spine and aching muscles. Leaning his face back up against the window as he settled back into the seat, he closed his eyes.

"I mean think about it!" But apparently, Dean can't take a hint.

Sam sighed and righted him self back into his seat, "Think about what, Dean?"

"They just stand around in a pasture all day and night, just eatin' grass and drinkin' their water," Dean's left hand flew off the steering wheel, dancing along with his words, "I mean, where's the fun in that?"

"Sounds pretty great to me," Sam shrugged, "They eat all they want, whoever they want. And I'm sure most of 'em get to make baby cows. What's so bad about that?"

Dean didn't answer right away, but Sam knew he wasn't finished, he was thinking, considering. Dean never gave Sam an answer without thinking it through. When Dean said something, it was final and absolute. He never half-did anything.

"Yeah, but then one day, when their little baby cow is all grown up, and they're just startin' to gain all their old-cow fat, they send 'em off to the slaughter house. The end. Hamburgers and beef stew,"

"Hamburgers and beef stew," Sam repeated.