Bad Jokes

Angels pretty much suck – even the ones who don't want to wipe towns off the face of the earth. They show up and vanish randomly (Cas, for the twelfth time, the bathroom is sacred), invade your personal space (GETOFFMYLAPOFFOFFOFF!), teleport you places with no warning (Dude, you owe me some Ex-Lax), watch you while you're sleeping (Coin collecting! Model trains! Doll-making! I mean, just get a freakin' hobby already!), and creepy-stare at you until your skin crawls. They don't sleep or eat or anything, and therefore constantly forget that you have to. They use words even the dictionary doesn't know in everyday conversation, and they get you into crazy awkward situations by their complete social inept… ness… yeah, whatever. What Sam the Super Grammar Attorney don't know won't hurt him.

But having an angel on your side does come with some perks. There's the obvious, of course – the badass mojo can come in real handy in a tight spot. So can the healing ability, and the fact that angels are nearly indestructible doesn't hurt, either. Plus, they know all kinds of random stuff about pretty much anything supernatural, which can save you a ton of research.

Less obvious, however, is the entertainment value. There's nothing quite like having a socially-stunted, culturally oblivious angel to bother on a long drive through exotic Nebraska. Case in point: Sam's been whining about hearing Led Zeppelin again for the last eighty miles, so you switched it off and started badgering him with lawyer jokes, only you switch "lawyer" out for "pre-law student." Sam glares and says that's really not funny right now, but you see the trying-not-to-crack-a-smile tension in his cheeks, so you press on.

"Hey Sam, do you know the different between a hooker and a pre-law student? You see, there's some stuff a hooker just won't do…"

"Really?" says Sam. "You're gonna joke about hookers with an angel in the car?"

You hadn't even thought of that. "Why, yes, Sammy, as a matter of fact I am. Hey, Cas, did you hear about the hookers in the hardware store?"

"No, Dean, I did not," says the angel in the back seat.

"Whole troop of 'em, maybe ten or so, they go walking into this hardware store, and they're just hanging out in the aisles, and the manager spots 'em and asks 'em to leave, but then this customer comes running up and says 'No, wait! I'll take 'em, I've been looking all over this store for good screws!"

Sam rolls his eyes, and when you peek in the rearview to see Castiel's reaction, he's staring blankly.

" 'Samatter, Cas? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," he replies. "Are you attempting to do so?"

"Yes, he is," says Sam.

"Why?" asks Castiel. "Dean, you are the one who insisted I come with you."

"That's what she said!" you crow triumphantly.

Sam groans. "Deean!"

There's a few seconds delay. Then: "…Who is 'she'?" Castiel asks, hesitantly.

Sam quickly ducks his head sideways and looks out the window, but you hear his snort of repressed laughter.

"Are we speaking of Lilith? Or Ruby?" questions the angel, sounding more confused than ever.

This is too good. Cas clearly has no idea what is going on – in fact, knowing angels, he's probably never even heard of the concept of a joke before. Angels don't seem to have much of a sense of humor.

Speaking of which… "So, Cas, what do your buddy Uriel and a vampire's penis have in common?"

A moment of silence. "I don't understand the question. Why are we discussing genitalia? Are we no longer talking about Lilith? Were we ever talking about Lilith?" He pauses, as if for effect. "And your anecdote about the hardware store. I don't know why a 'hooker' shouldn't be in one, but it seems trivial in light of the oncoming Apocalypse."

Oh, the fun you can have with this guy. He has no clue.

"Okay, okay, let's try an easier question," you say, fighting to keep the laughter out of your voice. "Cas, how many angels does it take to change a light bulb?" You peek in the rearview again.

Castiel's forehead is slightly wrinkled in consideration. "I don't actually think that would be a wise idea," he finally says. "Light bulbs do not seem to respond especially well to the presence of angels. I think you'd be displeased with the results." He considers for a moment longer. "Is this why you were talking about the hardware store?"

Sam appears to be having a small seizure in the passenger seat.

"Yes," you choke out. "You got it. So, now, answer me this one: Why did the chicken cross the road?"

This time, when Castiel speaks, his voice has that slight edge which means he's getting irritated. "Dean. Please explain to me how poultry is relevant to the Apocalypse."

You explode into a fit of mostly-silent laughter. It actually distracts you enough that you swerve onto the shoulder for a moment and have to fight to straighten Baby out. You mentally apologize to her while Cas calls up from the back seat. "Dean? Dean, are you okay? What is going on?"

"I'm fine, Cas," you reassure him, once things are back under control. "Just answer the question. Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"If you insist," says Cas doubtfully. "I know little about the motivations of chickens in general, let alone this specific chicken to which you refer. However, assuming that they operate similarly to other creatures of my Father's, such as cats, humans, bees, and other birds… I think the most likely explanation is that the chicken wished to get to the other side of the road, for some reason or another."

You want to laugh, but it's sound logic. It's actually reasonably impressive for someone who's never heard that one before to come up with the correct answer. But then, angel. Angel brains are probably all weird and work differently than human ones.

Heh. Angel brains.

"Perhaps the chicken in question wanted something that was on the other side of the road," suggests Castiel, sounding a bit less sure.

"It's a joke, Cas," says Sam, finally recovering from his giggle fit. "They all are. But yes, you got the right answer. The chicken crossed the road because he wanted to get to the other side."

"Jokes?"

"They're supposed to be funny," Sam informs.

Castiel does that little confused head tilt thing of his. "What is funny about a chicken crossing the road?"

"It's because the answer is obvious, but most people miss that and try to come up with complicated explanations."

Your celestial companion considers this. "Oh," he says somberly. "I still do not understand about the hardware store, or the light bulbs, or the unnamed female, or the genitalia."

"Never mind, Cas," you tell him. "Try this, instead! Knock, knock."

There is another moment of almost audible hesitation, then two timid thunks of knuckles on glass from the back seat.

"What did that accomplish?" comes from the back seat.

"He wants you to pretend you're answering the door," Sam explains.

You can just picture the now processing your request look on Castiel's face – or would that be his vessel's face? You're not really sure, although it seems like Cas is responsible for the expressions the face wears…

"Which door? This?" asks Cas. You sneak another glance in the mirror, and yup, he's looking curiously at the car door next to him. "I don't know how to answer. I've never been addressed by a door before."

Sam sighs. He sounds exasperated, but you can tell he's totally entertained. "Imagine you're in a house, and you hear someone knocking on the door. What would you do?"

"I would open the door."

"Well, what would you say?"

"Hello."

Another sigh. "You're supposed to say 'Who's there?', Cas."

"Why?" asks the thoroughly confused angel. "Having opened the door, I would clearly see who was there, even if I hadn't already sensed the identity of the newcomer. That question would be unnecessary."

"Forget it," you tell him, because the overly literally… wait… whatever. It's starting to be tired, not fun, so you pick out a new one. "Here's another one. This one's a riddle: What do you get if you cross a cow and a duck?" Okay, so it's lame, but you just drove past a cattle farm. First thing besides grass and telephone poles you've seen for miles.

"An abomination," answers Castiel promptly, vehemently. "Whatever ritual you are considering, do not attempt it."

"Remember what Sam just said, like two seconds ago, about it being a joke?" you ask, slowly, enunciating, so Cas figures out that he's being a dumbass. "Yeah, we're still doing that. It's not serious, it's supposed to be funny, and even kinda stupid."

"Oh," says Castiel. He doesn't sound convinced.

"What you get," you announce grandly, "when you cross a cow and a duck, is milk and quackers!"

Sam supplies an obliging "Ba-dum –CH!" and you nod to your imaginary audience. "Yes, thankyaverymuch, ladies and gentlemen!"

More awkward silence from the back seat. "I don't understand."

"It's a play on words," says Sam, ever the teacher. "Cows make milk. Ducks quack."

"…Okay." Cas still doesn't really get it. "Uriel sometimes 'plays on words'," he says, after some consideration.

You can believe it. Uncomfortably, you remember the whole 'angel food cake' situation.

"So, tell us one of his," says Sam inclusively. "What do angels think is funny?"

You hear the quiet huff that passes for a chuckle from the angel. "Well… there is the one where two seraphim are seeking revelation, and the first says 'I have not yet received that which I sought,' and the second replies 'Your wisdom is become as the sword of Gadreel'."

He pauses.

And pauses some more.

And then you realize that was it.

"O…kay," says Sam.

A glance in the rearview shows you the almost-smile fading from Cas's face.

"It… was funny when I heard it," he says. "Uriel tells it better. Perhaps something simpler… this one is kind of like yours with the domestic animals. It is a question which must be answered: What are archangels made of?"

He waits expectantly, for guesses, maybe, so you humor him and give it a shot. "Light. Arcs. Rainbows. Bunnies. Unicorns. Pie. Dirty Socks."

Okay, you're not really giving it a shot. Or humoring him.

Castiel looks affronted. "Certainly not." You can feel the angel's gaze burning the back of your neck. "Dean. You're not really trying, are you," he accuses.

"The same stuff regular angels are made of, only more of it?" Sam asks placatingly.

The burning stops. You feel the back of your neck to see if your hair is singed.

"You're not entirely wrong," Castiel tells Sam, "But that's not really the answer."

"All right, Cas, we give up," says Sam. "What are archangels made of?"

"It is of no import!" cries Castiel brightly.

After a few uncomfortable moments, Sam forces a laugh, and says, "Good one, Cas!" too heartily. Then he nudges you.

"Dean. He's trying. Be nice," he grits into your ear, forgetting that Cas can hear stuff humans can't.

"Uh, yeah, that's flippin' hilarious," you say as unconvincingly as possible.

Castiel is, appropriately, not convinced. "I may have translated that incorrectly from Enochian. Perhaps it should be more like, 'It does not matter'."

"…Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense," says Sam encouragingly.

"Or maybe, 'It is immaterial'."

"Right," says Sam. He's starting to look a little panicky now.

"Angels and archangels are not material beings," says Castiel sternly.

You decide you don't care. As far as you're concerned, none of the jokes are that funny on their own, yours or theirs. Cas' reactions to the ones he doesn't get, though? Or Sam trying desperately to include Cas by faking laughter at bizarre angel humor? Priceless. You could go on like this forever.