Crowley grimaces, rolling his numb shoulder tentatively-- the chain clinks, hanging loosely beneath his clasped hands.
--his head is heavy (must be the antlers).
Still, he does not move; he bides his time, gaze flicking to the window of their ridiculously ostentatious car.
The demon doesn't have to wait for long. They come to a corner, and he shifts just so--
and the plaid-wrapped buffoon slides to the other end of the back seat, his head hitting the door with a satisfying thunk.
Crowley smirks-- his eyes remained focused on the road to his left, and he basks in the sound of the Winchester's muffled, irritated curse as his hands find his head.