Author: Kat Lee
Character/Pairing: Baby, Dean, Sam, and one other
Word Count: 2,211
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Dean drums his fingers on Baby's wheel, eager to get going again. He glances at her clock as he sings along to one of his all-time, favorite, terrifying tunes. Sam's taking forever for this bathroom break, and they really need to get going. It's Halloween, and as always, Halloween is busy for them. They've bagged ten monsters and stopped an apocalypse already tonight, and the way Dean's itching tells him there's more to come.
He knew time would be of the essence this evening. That's exactly why he made sure to fuel Baby up last night and pack plenty of snacks and beer for them. He's stepped out of her for something other than a hunt exactly one time tonight, even passing by a billboard advertising the state's best pie. He made himself a promise they'll return to that exit tomorrow, but tonight, they've got to keep moving. They've got to keep killing monsters or God only knows how many kids will do their last trick-or-treat rounds tonight.
Laughter spills into the air. Dean glances up as a couple of teens exit the store, carrying bags of chips and beer for which he's pretty certain they're not old enough. He dismisses that fact, though, as his gaze shifts back to what he can see of inside the small store. "Come on, Sammy," he mutters, drumming his fingers and growing impatient by the second.
A car engine revs. He dismisses it as the teens peel out of the gas station. They're just having a little harmless fun, after all, but as his gaze returns to the to of Sammy's head, the hairs on Dean's arm and the back of his neck stand up again in warning. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to cool his nerves, telling himself that's all it is -- and then he hears the revving of an engine again.
This time, he glances in Baby's rearview mirror. There's a red classic one pump away on the opposite aisle. Dean doesn't usually park at pumps unless he's fueling, but time is of the essence tonight. He glances back into the store again. Sammy's finally made it to the front of the line, but he's taking time gabbing with the clerk. Dean shakes his head. All this, and supposedly all his brother had done in for was to use the bathroom.
Dean's considering blowing Baby's horn when the Plymouth's motor guns again. "All right, show off," he mutters, glancing back in Baby's mirror. The car's moved. Dean's just beginning to think that it's left when he hears its engine revving again. This time when he looks in the mirror, his gaze goes to immediately behind them.
The Plymouth's reflection in Baby's mirror shines a bright, almost cherry red. "Dude," Dean mutters, feeling not only himself but Baby as well beginning to itch, "you do not want a piece of me. Of us."
Baby's wheel moves underneath Dean's relaxed fingers. The Plymouth guns yet again, but this time, when Dean looks up, he realizes something that makes his blood run cold: There's nobody sitting in the Plymouth.
Before he can react, his cassette pops out of his tape deck, and the radio flips on. Fifties music comes over the speakers. "Oh crap," Dean says, suddenly putting two and two together. Again, he looks at the other car's reflection. "No way."
The Plymouth's headlights snap on as its motor revs again. Baby's wheel spins underneath Dean's hands, but she doesn't move -- not yet, any way. Dean swallows hard. "B-Baby?" he asks uncertainly.
The radio changes again, still without Dean ever touching it. It flips to a new channel. This time, it's a woman's voice that comes over his speakers. "Oh, I wanna," she sings. "Yeah, I wanna -- "
Dean swallows once again. His gaze darts from Baby to the Plymouth to Sam still talking in the store to the Plymouth again and finally back to Baby. He swallows hard, and although his hands are on the wheel, he doesn't grip her or try to guide her. He's always sensed a presence inside of Baby, but until tonight, he's always told himself that she isn't haunted. He just has a bond with his car. He's not the first guy like that, and he won't be the last.
But tonight, something's vastly different. Sam looks up from within the store as Baby's motor revs. The Plymouth guns behind her. The radio wails, "Oh, I wanna! Yes, I wanna!"
"Go," Dean hisses between clenched teeth, telling himself nothing is going to happy.
Baby slams her adrenaline pedal down all by herself and peels out of the gas station. Dean's hands clutch her wheel, but she's guiding herself underneath this Halloween moon. She zooms down the highway, the riderless Plymouth right behind her.
Dean's stomach lurches. He shouldn't have had that last bag of Doritos, or maybe it was the hog hides. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the fact that his car, his cherished Baby, is evidently possessed. She zips down the highway as fast as a bullet, cutting curves on two wheels, but the Plymouth keeps steadily upon her.
"Shit," Dean mutters, looking up again in Baby's mirror and recognizing the Plymouth from the tales written about her. Not only is his Baby alive, but they've got Christine gaining on them! "Go!" spills out of his mouth before he can stop it, but once the word is out, Dean keeps urging Baby forward, "Go! Go! Go!"
And go she does. His car has always been able to fly. He's won almost every race in which he's ever been in, and he's rebuilt this car from almost scratch so many times. He knows every part of her by heart, and deep down inside, as she flies for their lives tonight, he knows a part of him already knew his Baby was alive. This changes nothing except that he can no longer lie to himself.
His fingers curl around her wheel, but he isn't trying to guide her tonight. He's letting her do the driving, and his own heart seems to speed with the sound of her racing motor. They eat up the miles together, but Christine's still on them. She follows them fast as lightning down the highways and up into the mountains. She zips around curves just behind them.
Dean lets go of the wheel and slips across the seat. He opens Baby's glove box and takes out a pistol. Leaving the driving to her, he pushes himself out of her open window and begins firing at the Plymouth. Bullets smash her windshield but seem to bounce off of her tires. She keeps coming right through the assault of Dean's bullets. Her grill pops off, and she roars even louder.
Baby keeps flying around and around the curves and from one mountain to the next. There's a cop up ahead. Dean wishes he had a chance to warn the officer even as he moves to his next gun. The cop's lights flash on, but as he pulls out after them, Christine speeds suddenly backwards. She rams into the cop car, sending it spiraling off of the side of the mountain and then charges back again after Baby.
"Damn!" he says. The Plymouth seems every bit as determined as she was in the movie and every tale he's ever heard of her. He keeps shooting, and Baby keeps running, but Christine stays right on top of her rear bumper. She slams into her suddenly. The impact causes Dean to lose his balance. The last gun he has outside of what Baby's trunk holds, and which he can't possibly reach, clatters onto the pavement below. There's no time to go back for it and no way he can reach Baby's trunk.
He realizes her radio has changed again, this time, aptly, to a song about a high speed chase. He slumps back into her seat, wishing he had some other weapon he could use. "I'm out," he mutters and then looks to her controls. She's going wide open. What arrows aren't spinning in crazy circles are all the way across her board. "It's up to you now."
He hadn't thought it possible, but somehow she seems to pick up even more speed. She cuts around so many swift turns that Dean's stomach roils again. He presses a hand to his gut, determined not to throw up on Baby's upholstery. And all the time, Christine keeps coming.
They speed out of the state. Troopers try to intercept them, but Christine slams them all out of her path the moment they slip out after Baby. Baby takes to the mountains again. Realizing the pathway they're taking, Dean pats her wheel. "That a girl," he says encouragingly. "Take her."
Sure enough, Baby speeds into Blind Man's Bluff. She doesn't slow this time and barely makes the turn. Raging behind her, Christine is a second too late making the turn. Baby's ready when the Plymouth's back tires slip off of the mountain. She charges backwards, ramming her with all she's got and sending Christine crashing down the side of the cliff.
Then she speeds on, taking Dean all the way back to the gas station where it all began. When she finally comes to a stop, Dean's shaking. He pops open her door, manages to get out, and almost falls. Sam rushes to his side, but Dean waves him away. Dropping his hands onto his knees, he wretches all the way across the parking lot.
"Dude," Sam asks when Dean's finally done emptying his stomach, "what happened?"
Dean looks up into his little brother's wide eyes, his own still full of disbelief. He reaches behind him and pats a shaky hand against Baby's hood. "She saved our asses, man, from Christine."
Dean nods and pats her again. He then takes the few shaky steps it requires to reach the nearest gas pump. He picks up the nozzle, opens Baby, and slides it in. She drinks the gas thirstily as he pats her again.
"Dude, are you saying -- ?"
Dean meets Sammy's eyes, a silent warning passing between them. "I'm saying she saved us. Now I'm going to fuel her up, and then we're going to find a nice, quiet hotel to crash in for the rest of the night."
"I thought you were all about the monster hunting tonight."
"I was," Dean admits, "but I've had enough for one Halloween."
It takes all Dean can do to drive them to the nearest hotel, but when Sam gets out of the car, Dean lingers. Sammy looks back. "Go ahead," Dean tells him. "I'll be in in a minute." He makes sure his brother gets safely into their hotel room, then looks back to Baby's controls. The moonlight reflects on her wheel, and he swears he can see a grin right beyond it.
He shakes his head wearily and pats her wheel one more time. "That's my girl," he acknowledges, and when Sam steps out, much later, into the bright light of day and stretches, he finds his brother never made it into their hotel room. He's sound asleep behind Baby's wheel, his seat leaning back and his hands still clasping her wheel. Sam shakes his head, knowing that last night just put a new spin on the old warning to never get behind a man and his ride.
It's a new day, a new year for some, and Halloween is over yet again. He eyes the Impala, hoping that whatever spirit possessed her last night is gone. He touches the handle of his brother's door, about to wake him. The radio flips on. "Don't wake me; I'm not dreaming," comes across the Impala's speakers, low but clear.
Sam releases her handle and steps back. He runs a quivering hand through his shaggy, brown hair. "Have you always been there?" he mutters aloud.
The radio seems to answer him. "All my past lives, they got nothing on me. Golden eagle, you're the one and only."
And she is the one and only, Sam realizes with sudden clarity. She's been there for them all this time. She's more of a home to them than any place they've ever stayed, including the bunker. She was there for them when they were kids. She was there for them when they lost their father and again when they lost Bobby. She was there for them when he had to put aside his old life and any hopes he'd ever truly held for a normal one. She was there for Dean when he had to tell Lisa and Ben goodbye. She's been there every time the world's ended, and she'll be there for them still as long as they let her.
He pats her roof, gazing at his brother inside and knowing he's safe in no small part due to Baby. "Good girl," he acknowledges, turns his back on the sun, and goes back to the hotel. He shuts the door as the Impala's radio changes once more to one of ACDC's softer tunes, knowing his brother is safe. He can still hear her radio playing as he lays down and drifts off to sleep with a contented smile, knowing they're safe and loved for another day.