To say that Evan was a bit travel-dazed would be a massive understatement. For some reason, he had trailed Sam and Dean all the way to the Ozarks, back through the Mississippi Delta, down the coast to Florida, and now they were on their way to Oregon in the Impala. That poor car had seen enough shit to turn it white, and yet it was still chugging along. Why was he on this ride again? Oh yeah. Because Dean said so. Well, it was less the whole 'saying so' part, and more the 'demanding with wild gestures and threats of "exorcising your ass" that got the job done. Evan was not a happy camper, and they had been camping a few times. He was a pretty terrible camper, actually. Making s'mores was the extent of his outdoorsy-type knowledge, and even then he'd managed to fry his marshmallow to a crisp the first two times.
Castiel popped in and out. Like he had a tendency to do at any annoying-ass time he damn well felt. Last time, he had been in the shower in a hotel room washing off the road-smell when the stupid angel had poofed himself right into the shower with him. ... Sometimes the things Evan's human body did fascinated him no end - like hitting a high-C with a scream that woke up the neighbors. Castiel generally tended to avoid shower-time now, thanks to that fiasco. Granted, Evan would really prefer he avoided coming around all-together, since he and the angel never really did get to have that 'man-to-man' chat Sam kept on about, and opposites never attract. Never. Seriously.
"So what are we doing on the way to Oregon again? And when are we freaking going to hit a damn Waffle House?! I'm starving!"
Sam was off in his own world, or asleep, Evan couldn't tell from the back seat. Dean was obviously not, as he was driving, and answered his question with his usual bright, cheery, sunny manner.
"Shut the hell up. You're not here to sight-see. You want me to put you in the safe-room? Because that's where you're headed if you keep opening your damn mouth."
That did, in fact, shut him up. He'd been locked into the special safe-room once or twice before, and didn't care to do it again. The fact that he was even here meant that Sam or Dean had suspicions about his loyalties... again. It was the only reason he was ever allowed on these trips. To 'keep an eye' on him. It rankled somewhere deep in his soul that he couldn't quite reach. Well.. both their souls. The other Evan just tended to be a little bit more shy, and quite a bit less vocal. Which would explain why his usually-sea-blue eyes were black to the sclera right now. The petulant, 'irritated teen' look, however - that was a bit on the out of place side.
The other Winchester stirred after Dean's outburst, and stretched, his arms behind the seat. Evan batted at them with a deadpan expression. "Hungry." he complained. "Hungry. And thirsty. And I need to take a piss."
Dean grumbled something along the lines of 'goddamn demons' under his breath, and turned the wheel to the side, hopping off the highway, and up a ramp toward a town that said Salt Lake City. Fantastic. Evan had been here before, but not often. Also not real welcome. It had been a demon-type bender. Lots of alcohol. Lots of drugs. Lots of very scantily-clad underage men. ... Suffice it to say it had been a wilder time in his life.
They pulled into a Waffle House that was alongside the exit, and Sam got out of the car, standing around with his hands in his pockets. Dean put the car into park, turned off the gas, and turned around. "Okay, look. This is gonna be a long drive. So you're going to eat here, take a piss, and shut your mouth for the rest of the ride, or I WILL call Cas to come cart your ass home, you understand?"
The meek, mild part of Evan... was not at home today. "Yeah, whatever." he muttered, blowing his black bangs out of his face. "Let's just get some fucking food already, yeah?"
Dean shot him a 'watching you' gesture, and got out of the car, Evan following. The place was a dump... but for a dump it seemed pretty lively. There were already several patrons inside, chatting with the servers as they broke eggs and grilled hashbrowns. Just the very idea of a hashbrown pile smothered, covered, and country made his stomach start to growl. Not to mention his bill was being footed by Sam and Dean, so he was going to order whatever he fucking wanted. They had the big bucks.
"I'll get us a table." Sam said quietly, starting inside.
Before Evan could follow, Dean put a hand on Evan's shoulder. "No magic tricks. No... mumbo jumbo, whatever you demons do. No damn hypnosis or whatever. You play by the rules, or I call Cas."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Evan said, shrugging off his hand, and headed into the place to sit with Sam, licking his lips. "Three words." he said as he slid into the booth. "Hash. Brown. Bowl."
"That's two words, dipshit." Dean grumbled, sitting beside Sam on the other side. "This place is... cozy." Dean talk for 'a dump'. Honestly, Evan had to kind of agree.