License Plates

Chapter Summary: Dean should have hung on to that particular unfair advantage.

The road has never gone by so slowly. You quit playing Twenty Questions a while back; Cas doesn't seem to get that it's not really fair for him to be thinking of things like the Celestial Body of Inquiries, which you'd never heard of until he told you because 'it is known only to those who inhabit Heaven, and its mission only to its members.'

Now, though, Sam is dead asleep, and you're deathly bored. Nobody has said anything for miles. You consider blasting some tunes so you can watch Sam wake up and flip out, but… nah. He needs the sleep.

Still, you're about to go out of your skull with boredom. You use the mirror again to look at Cas, and even he looks bored. He's sitting back against the seat, gazing dully out the window – you bet if he were human, his eyes would be glazed and he'd be drooling all over his trenchcoat.

"Doin' all right back there, Cas?"

"Of course," he says shortly. "But I do not understand why you insisted that I accompany you."

Yeah, you're pretty sure that's angel-speak for 'dying of boredom, please resuscitate.'

"Ok, then. Time for License Plates."

"License plates?" inquires the angel. Based on the tone, that one should probably be translated as 'What new devilry is this?' Wait, isn't that from Lord of the Rings? You're pretty sure it is…

"…Dean?"

"Right. The License Plate Game. It's easy. All you have to do is watch for cars with license plates from different states. First person to see a license plate from a new state yells it out, and then they get a point. Whoever has the most points by our next stop wins. Winner buys the loser a beer."

"…Okay."

You spot Idaho almost immediately, and shout it out. Then there's a crummy little Escape with Nebraska plates, and a truck in for the long haul from Virginia. By the time you've ticked off Wyoming and Oklahoma and Cas hasn't said a thing, though, you figure something's wrong. You may have almost thirty years of human experience, and Cas may not be that good at noticing human stuff yet, but you'd expected him to get at least one.

"Cas? You decide not to play or something?"

He's frowning out the window. There's an unsettled feeling coming off him. Finally, he admits, "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be looking for."

"License plates, Cas, I told you," you remind him.

"What is a license plate?" he demands with sudden intensity, his eyes flashing wide and blue in your rearview mirror.

"Oh. Okay, that makes sense now," you say. You're not above having a little fun with him, but you don't wanna be a total asshole. "You know, I actually get why you wouldn't know that, or notice it. I mean, it's not like you normally spend a lot of time around cars, do you?"

"Not except yours," he says, seeming appeased.

You point out the license plates on several passing cars to him.

"I see," he acknowledges comprehendingly. "In that case, I see one for the state of 694-AHZ."

You allow yourself a little private chuckle over that before pointing out the difference between license plate numbers and the state they're from.

Too bad, because from then on out, he wallops you. Apparently, his angelic eyesight is waaaaay better than yours, even if he doesn't use any extra senses, and he make out details on the plates when your eyes still just see rectangles on the bumpers.

"Florida," he calls out, for a car that's still about two city blocks away.

You sigh and pull onto the exit ramp toward a rest stop.

"You win," you inform him, as Baby rolls to a stop next to the gas pump. "I owe you a beer. C'mon, Sammy, wake up. 'S your last chance to pee for a while."

Sam half mumbles and half growls something that sounds vaguely threatening, but he drags himself out of the seat and sort of slumps off towards the convenience store with his eyes half-closed. You follow him in and take a leak yourself before perusing the store aisles. A few minutes later, you're on your way out with a six-pack, some beef jerky, jalepeño cheetos, two Hostess pies (cherry and apple), and a banana for your brother who is confused and thinks he's a rabbit or a chimpanzee or something that only eats fruit and vegetables and stuff. You deposit the goods on the front seat, then head back to put the beers in the trunk. You muse that it's a good thing Cas won, anyway, because even if he has money on him, he probably has no clue how to use it.

You open his door and invite him out of the car. "Here ya go, Cas," you say, slapping a beer into his hand. "You gotta drink it now, or wait 'til later, 'cause we'll get busted if a cop sees alcohol open in the car while we're driving."

Cas stares at the bottle in his hand like he thinks it might eat him. "I do not drink," he finally says, as if just realizing it.

Of course he doesn't, because angels are stuffy, snobby dicks. "Fine. I'll pick you up a soda or something," you say, rolling your eyes.

"No, I mean I do not drink… anything. Nor do I eat. Consumption of food and drink is unnecessary." He fixes you in one of his wide-eyed, waaay-too-intense gazes. "The thought is appreciated, but perhaps you should drink this instead." And he hands the beer back to you.

You know, this particular angel ain't half bad.