Author: Kat Lee
Character/Pairing: Dean, Bobby
Challenge/Prompt: 1_million_words August Rush: Day 5:
Word Count: 417
Date Written: 15 August 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within except one belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission. That other one belongs to Stephen King, also not the author and also used without permission.
“Sam picked the truck,” Bobby reminds Dean as he lustfully eyes the bodies in his yard.
“I know,” Dean mutters darkly, “but . . . But I just don’t know why we can’t have something with some taste, Bobby, even if I can’t drive Baby right now!”
The right tip of Bobby’s mustache quirks; he grins. “‘Cause your brother picked out what he wanted.”
“But what about what I want?” Dean almost whines. “I don’t want to be driving around in that piece of junk!”
“That truck is not junk! She’s got a perfectly fine body and engine. She’s a good, old girl, reliable -- “
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“‘Old.’ You two have the taste of old men -- “
“Why, I oughta -- “
“Come on, Bobby! This is me we’re talking about here, not just Sammy! Can you really see me trying to pick up girls in that old -- “
“You’re not supposed to be picking up girls, Dean. You’re supposed to be saving the world!”
“Still,” Dean persists, pouting, “that doesn’t mean I can’t do it in style!”
“And what would you have picked?” Bobby demands.
“Anything’d be better’n that stupid truck Sammy chose, but . . . “ Dean scans the yard again. “What about that baby?” he asks, pointing at an old car all the way against the fence. “I could clean her up, give her a smooth paint job, maybe cherry red for her instead of black . . . “
“But -- “
“Your brother got to choose fair and square.”
“But -- “
Bobby’s mustache twitches. “No. You told Sam he could pick since you’re always driving your ‘Baby’, as you call her.”
“But -- “
“But why not?” Dean manages to blurt out before Bobby can stop him.
“You ever heard of Christine?”
Dean stares at him. “Yeah,” he says slowly.
“Meet the original.”
“Damn!” Dean stops talking, stops whining, for a whole minute before finally asking, “But if you’ve got the car here, doesn’t that mean you got the spirit out of her?”
“I did, but we ain’t taking any chances. We crank that baby up, the old bitch might come back. It’s not happening on my watch.”
With a heavy sigh, Dean eyes the other “junk cars” in Bobby’s lot, but he now realizes why Bobby’s let them go to rust. “Fine,” he mutters, defeated. “The truck it is.”
Bobby slaps his shoulder. “It ain’t that bad, kid. You’ll be back in your baby before you know it.”
“I better be,” Dean grouses, shoving his hands deep into his jacket’s pockets. Bobby just lets him pout.