I Spy

Author's Note: This is the final chapter of this story. Also, my apologies for once again not posting when I had intended. I have been in the process of relocation, which has caused disruption in my internet access. I do not anticipate that this disruption will continue.

Chapter Summary: Castiel, it turns out, is both absurdly literal and really useful.

You haven't been on the road very long when Sam follows the 'Food and Gas' signs to a town called Maudeville. He pulls into the parking lot of a pharmacy.

"Excedrin," he tells you with an apologetic half-shrug. He looks kind of miserable.

You get out and climb into the driver's seat. Oh, yes, it's good to be back!

Cas is being all awkward and silent, so you blast some music to see if you can make him jump. He doesn't. Sam comes out of the pharmacy, digs a water bottle out of the trunk, and chugs it with one of the pills he just bought.

"Noise. Off," he says flatly. You comply; if he's not arguing about you driving, it must be pretty bad.

"You wanna lay down in the back and sleep?" you suggest. "Cas can sit up here, so you have the whole seat to yourself."

"God, yes," agrees Sam. "That way, when you get bored and start poking each other and get in a crash that kills us all, I won't see it coming, and will die blissfully unaware."

"Don't worry, Sam," you comfort him. "Cas is pretty much indestructible. He'd survive the crash, and then he'd patch us both back up or bring us back to life or something – wouldn't you, Cas?"

"I would do my utmost," says the angel mildly.

Sam flops into the back seat with such abandon that only Castiel's ability to teleport saves him from getting a lap full of half-conscious giant.

Castiel appears in the front passenger spot with the usual flapping sound. He looks vaguely unsettled. "I think Sam doesn't share your standards of 'personal space'," he informs you.

Sam doesn't respond; he's too busy settling his old hoodie over his face.

You get back on the road, wondering what other entertainment you might be able to get out of Cas without bugging Sam too much. "Hey, Cas. I spy with my little eye something that starts with the letter 'S'."

He scans you waaay too intensely. Just when you're about to say something, he beats you to it. "You have only two eyes, and they are both the same size. Also, they are no smaller than seems to be typical for humans."

It takes you a moment to realize that he fixated on the 'little eye' part. "No, Cas – "

"Oh," he interrupts. "This is an example of sarcasm, isn't it."

"Not really," you tell him. "But it wasn't supposed to be literal, either. It's just part of the game. You're supposed to say it that way."

"Why?"

"I don't know! 'Cause it rhymes, probably?" It's not like you invented the game. "It's a time-honored tradition."

Castiel looks thoughtful. He frowns. "Your other games didn't involve rhyming words. I find humans very inconsistent."

You can't really argue with that. "Come on, Cas, just guess. It's a guessing game. I spy something that starts with 'S'."

"Am I supposed to ask questions this time?"

"No, just guess."

"Stars."

Angels, man. Total morons. "You remember how I said 'I spy'? Yeah, that means we're talking something you can see."

"Stars can be seen."

"Yeah, in the dark. In case you hadn't noticed, it's daytime."

Cas looks up through the windshield, then over at you. "You mean you can't see them?" he says, wide-eyed. Apparently, angels can see stars in the daytime.

You don't like being pitied, and that's definitely the Poor-Pathetic-Humans-How-Do-You-Survive?™ expression. "Just guess again," you growl.

"Sam?" he guesses.

"Nooooo," moans your brother from the back seat.

"Thanks a bunch, Cas. You woke him up. And no, it's not Sam."

"That was sarcasm," says Castiel. "No. I am not guessing 'sarcasm.' Sarcasm is invisible. I mean that your remark employed sarcasm. Do you spy the sky?"

"No, I do not spy the sky," you say, planning a remark about how this is starting to sound like Dr. Seuss and then remembering that Angel Face probably doesn't know about Dr. Seuss, and if you mention it you'll end up tangled up in a long, tangential explanation of kid books.

"Do you spy snow?"

"Nope."

"Do you spy salt?"

"No, that's in the trunk."

"Shoes?"

"Nope."

"A sandwich?"

"I wish."

Castiel turns to look at you earnestly. "If you are truly in need of sustenance, I can, just this once, procure something for you."

You laugh a little. "Aww, that's sweet, Cas, but I'm not really hungry. My mouth is just bored. Guess again."

"Do you spy sheep?"

"Cas, remember, we covered this already. It has to be something you can see, so unless you're going to tell me angels can see sheep in the sky…"

"We passed a flock of sheep two minutes ago," he says primly.

"Yeah, and we started playing longer ago than that. You can't use stuff that goes out of view when you drive by," you tell him.

"You have such complex rules for such trivial tasks," Castiel marvels. He is silent for moment. "I can see nothing that fits the criteria. I do not know what you spy," he finally admits, defeatedly.

"Speedometer!" you cry triumphantly. "That's one for me, and zip for you, Cas."

There's definitely annoyance in the look he gives you. "What is a speedometer?" he asks, with the same intensity as he uses to tell you it's God's will that you do something or other.

"Whoa, dude, chill," you say. "It's no big deal. Thought you knew, but I'll show you now." You point out the different features of the car – speedometer, odometer, thermometer, gas gauge. You figure he knows nothing, so you tell him about the dash, the windshield, the glove compartment, the pedals, the steering wheel, anything you can think of. He listens attentively, nodding here and there like he's committing it all to memory. Which he probably is, which is good because you're not planning on repeating it and because Baby is so totally loving the attention. It's about time someone (besides you, of course) showed her the interest she deserves.

"Thank you. That was very informative," he says when you're finished.

"Good, 'cause it's your turn to spy something," you say.

He looks nervous, but plunges ahead. "I spy… with my little eye… something beginning with radio."

You blink.

"Oh," he says. Is he blushing? He's not, but you're pretty sure he would be if angels did. "I did that incorrectly. Perhaps I should try again?"

"Yeah, 'perhaps'," you snigger.

"I'll choose something different," he says.

"Good thinking." Seriously. Angels. Morons.

He's gazing outside the car this time. "I spy… is the rhyming part really necessary? I spy something beginning with the letter 'T'."

"Trees," you guess.

"No," he says uncertainly.

"Telephone poles."

"No."

"Traffic."

"No." He's sounding less and less sure with each answer.

"Trunks?"

"No?"

You shoot him a look. "What, don't tell me you forgot what you spied?"

"No." His expression is sheepish. "I may have been thinking of it in Enochian."

"Enochian." Fantastic. "Which I don't know. Yeah, that's really helpful."

"It was a mistake," he hisses. "If you want, I will make a third attempt."

You shrug. "Third time's the charm," you say dryly.

He gives you the Does-Not-Compute™ look, but doesn't ask about it. "I spy something beginning with the letter 'D'." He stares intensely at the dashboard.

"Dumbass," you quip.

He glares at you. "That was uncalled for."

You smirk, and protest, "No, dude, that was my guess. The dumbass in the car in front of us." You nod at the red Sonata that just snaked into the spot in front of you and is now going five miles under the speed limit.

"I don't think I believe you," he says, eyes narrowing distrustfully. You laugh, and he turns away from you to look at the car ahead.

"Whatever," you tell him. Time to show him how this guessing thing is done. You're pretty sure you know what it is, since he was staring at it so obviously. "D-"

"Demons!" he interrupts

You roll your eyes. "We've been over this. You're not supposed to tell the other person what you spy; they're supposed to guess, which is why it is called a guessing game."

"No!" he growls. "They are demons!"

"What?" Something about this ain't right. Since when do demons drive douchey Korean-made cars miles under the speed limit?

"Fear not," says Castiel ferociously. "I will deal with them." He vanishes from the passenger seat, and you actually see his silhouette in the car ahead before it fills with flickering light and goes careening off the shoulder.

Cas reappears in the seat next to you just in time to grab the wheel and keep you from driving Baby right into the ditch after them while you gawk.

"I believe they hoped to cause you to drive into the back of their vehicle," he says calmly. "They will not trouble you again." He looks at you expectantly.

"Uh… thanks?" you venture. You're feeling kinda shell-shocked, actually.

Castiel, apparently, is not. "I spy something that begins with the letter 'D', he says, as if nothing had happened.

So, yeah. Angels. They're not totally useless.

Author's Note: This is the end. Thank you to all those who rode along.