"I've got the experience and he knew it," he shrugs, sliding a look over towards Castiel again, having taken to concentrating on the road for a minute there. Meeting an angel wasn't how he learned to write in Enochian, is the thing. That magic, like all the lore he knows, was what he dug up for himself in his youth spent devouring the occult, fascination and escapism and the electric thrill of having the power to tweak the Universe's nose all at once. Not many like you down here, was how Manny had put it. You know, some time after he called John a desperation move.

John pulls onto the highway, and finds himself slowly becoming less tense the farther they get out of town. It's not that he's afraid of getting arrested (again), exactly, it's just that it's Chas' weekend with his daughter, and as much as John is the worst friend in the world, even he knows what that means for his mate. Putting in a call for the man to come down to the middle-of-nowhere Mississippi and post bail would not make him a happy camper. Odd, though: he'd expected angels to trust each other.

Alright, it's fair enough to learn that most aren't terribly fond of humans: of all the things that don't shock John, that doesn't shock him the most. But Manny had been all about the rules and regulations, until John got into his hair. Even if they're not big on puny mortals, shouldn't they be on the same page?

Compartmentalized is one thing. Whatever's got Cas' feathers ruffled seems like another thing entirely.

"That makes you more suspicious, does it? What, exactly, is going on up there?"