Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.

I know some people want longer chapters, but I'm trying for shorter chapters with more frequent updates with this story as opposed to my previous ones…I'm probably going to try and finish it in this format, although that's not definite at the moment.

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As soon as he had his powers back, he was going to smite them both. Father would understand.

After the decision had been made to go to Detroit instead of Phoenix, Sam had hit a few buttons on a white box that looked somewhat similar to their miniature phones, albeit with fewer buttons, and music had begun to play out of the speakers. Castiel would have admitted—if, of course, someone had asked—that he hadn't spent a great deal of his time analyzing mortal music, but he hadn't found the sound unpleasant. A bit odd, but that was basically consistent with the rest of his mortal experiences. Unfortunately Dean hadn't agreed with his assessment so rather than actually listening to the music, he had gotten to listen to Winchester boys argue about it. An amusing situation for the first five minutes, but only the first five minutes.

Fortunately, Dean had fallen back asleep on fairly short order, his jacket thrown over his face, and Sam and Castiel were able to listen in relative peace. Of course, since Sam had turned the music he preferred back on while Dean was napping, when he awoke the same argument had been repeated. Almost verbatim. And then they'd moved on to arguing about Dean's preferred music—something about five repeating albums and mullet rock. Castiel hadn't been able to determine what, precisely, a mullet rock was, but he'd been afraid to inquire for fear that it would prolong the argument. Of course, they had then progressed to arguing about arguing, and were showing no signs of ceasing at any point in the near future; hardly an improvement.

Castiel nodded to himself. Father would definitely understand. If he and his siblings squabbled like this, they would all have been done away with two thousand years ago.

"—ou hadn't been such a bitch," Dean was saying, "then maybe it would have been easier."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, well, coming from the world's biggest jerk…you know, if it weren't for the fact that we were never in one place for more than—"

"Oh, please," Dean interrupted. "I would totally have ruled the—"

"Enough!"

There was a long moment of silence as Dean cut off the rest of his sentence and the two of them stared at him as though they'd forgotten he was even there.

"Uh…what's wrong?" Dean finally asked.

"By my calculations, the two of you have been arguing for nearly an hour. I have had enough."

Sam looked back at Dean and then the two of them shrugged. "Uh…okay," Sam agreed.

There was silence for several minutes, and then Dean reached over the seat and slapped Sam's shoulder. "I'm getting hungry; let's find a pizza place or something."

"Yeah, all right. I figure if we stop for food now, we can keep going maybe into Albuquerque and get a room there for the night."

"Albuquerque? That'll only take us…what? Four or five more hours?"

"Something like that, yeah. So?"

"So I thought that you were the one that was in such a hurry to get us to Detroit. I mean come on, it's not like we've never driven all night before."

"Sure, when we were both in decent shape. But I'm not trading off driving with you the day after you woke up from a concussion—I'm not, Dean, so don't even say it—and I'm still running on aspirin. And Castiel can't drive."

Dean forward between the seats to grin at Castiel. "Hey, Cas, haven't you always wanted to learn to drive?"

"No. And my—"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Let me guess…your name is Castiel? Dude, chill, we know."

"Then why do you continually insist on mangling it?"

"It's not mangling, it's just…easier. Like Sam instead of Samuel." He jerked his head at his brother and then winced and reached into his pocket, pulling the dark glasses back out and settling them on his nose.

Castiel frowned. Sam was 'Sam' simply because that was how Dean thought of and referred to him, and he hadn't considered the younger Winchester a great deal except as it related to his brother. Even the demon blood was…ancillary…at least from his point of view, although no doubt some of his brothers would disagree. "I don't understand."

"It's a nickname," Dean said. "In this case just a shortened version of your real name. I mean, it could be worse—we could be calling you obnoxious-pain-in-the-ass-who's-allergic-to-straight-answers-and-doesn't-know-how-to-knock."

"Dean," Sam began.

"Well, I'm not saying we would, just that it could be worse."

"Dude…." Sam trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Although, honestly, Cas—Castiel—it's probably safer if we do just stick to Cas. I mean, if you tell someone your name is Cas, they'll assume it's a nickname, like we've been using it as, and forget about it. That's generally what we're going for when we're working; the whole not standing out thing. It doesn't always work, but it leaves less of a trail. If you go around telling people your name is Castiel, though, that they'll remember. There's just not a lot of little Castiels running around."

Castiel made a noncommittal noise. He hadn't had a nickname in two thousand years, and he really had no desire for one now.

"Hey. There. Pizza." Dean slapped Sam's arm and gestured at one of the blue roadside signs, seemingly forgetting about the entire subject of nicknames.

"All right, works for me." Sam swung the car off the road and a moment later into the parking lot of a rather dilapidated building with a sign claiming that said building was actually Mama Lucia's Famous Pizza. Dean groaned a little getting out of the car, bringing his arm up to shield his eyes even with the dark glasses still on his face, but other than that he seemed all right.

A woman at the entrance got them seated and brought out three listings of all the offered food, although after a cursory flip through Sam and Dean put the listings aside and began arguing about various types of meats and vegetables.

"You want to get something from the menu, or just split and extra large with me and Sam?" Dean asked.

"Extra large?"

"Pizza. You know, since we're in a pizza place? We're getting triple cheese with sausage and pepperoni, and then he's insisting on putting a bunch of vegetable crap on there too."

"I…pizza is fine." He had a vague notion of what pizza was.

"Cool."

"Hello, gentlemen, are you ready to order or would you like a few more minutes?" a woman—girl, really—with features strikingly similar to those of the woman who'd shown them to a table, asked.

"I think we're ready," Dean said, smiling up at her.

"All right, well, let's start off with drinks. What'll it be?"

"I'll have a coke," Dean said.

"Same for me," Sam agreed.

She looked to him, and Castiel glanced at the two boys. "Same for me?"

"All right, three cokes." She smiled again and scribbled something on a tiny pad of paper. "And to eat?"

She was still looking at him, but fortunately Dean spoke before he actually had to place the order.

When he finished, she scribbled something else in the little pad of paper and then nodded. "Okay, I'll go get your drinks now, and the pizza will be ready in about twenty minutes."

"Dude, jailbait," Sam muttered as Dean watched her walk away.

"Oh, come on, I don't always…shut up."

Sam was still snickering under his breath when the girl brought three glasses to the table. This liquid was even odder than the orange juice had been…dark, with an oddly sweet smell—although no bits of anything, which Castiel appreciated—but did have bubbles. Even though it was cold. He took a tentative sip and then began to cough as the bubbles flowed into his mouth and down his throat, popping as they went.

Dean slapped his back. "Cas? What's wrong?"