Fic: You Say Rolls, I Say Royce
Title: You Say Rolls, I Say Royce
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Supernatural/Good Omens
Pairing: Crackish gen.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 529 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Car talk.
Notes: Sh-shut up, it had to be written! I'll stop, I swear. I swear.
Dean nearly cries when he sees the Bentley.
They've just asked -- well, summoned a pretty damn powerful (and thankfully somewhat benevolent) demon for a little help with the problem Down Under, and all Dean can do is slobber when the demon snaps his fingers and a Bentley appears out of nowhere outside of Bobby's house.
Apparently that's all it takes to get Dean to trust a demon.
A nice car.
So Sam stands there with a Look on his face, mouth a little open in horror at the way his brother is fawning over the thing. Somewhere between alarm and confusion, he watches as Dean approaches the vehicle with something akin to deep awe. Sam will never understand what it's like to love a piece of machinery so much that you'd whisper sweet nothings at it ever time its engine so much as burps, but he's pretty much gotten used to it since the second Dean came up to Standford with his beloved Impala and made him suffer through hours and hours of old music and smartass remarks and -- and --
And Sam knows that if Dean spots so much as a Zeppelin or Metallica or CCR tape in the Bentley's interior, he's gonna have a conniption fit.
And, because he's somehow missed the memo: since when did demons get to have such sweet rides anyway?
"1926," Crowley grins, all British or whatever. "I've had it from new. Walter Owen Bentley was a friend of mine, he let me have this one for free when it came out of production. One of his first."
Yeah, right.
"Wanted me to race in Le Mans in France," Crowley continues, nostalgic look on his face. "Wish I hadn't said no."
"Oh man," Dean breathes. Grins. Runs his hands all over shiny black paintjob, and Sam thinks vaguely it's crossing over into just creepy territory now. He also thinks he can see Crowley twitch a little over in his periphery.
"Hey, Dean," Sam says dryly, aiming to end the disturbing scene as quickly as possible, "I don't think the Impala likes you cheating on her."
"She can deal," Dean muffles out. "Can't you, baby?"
He doesn't even look over his shoulder at the Impala, parked a few meters away in Bobby's gritty dusty rusty car park. Sam rolls his eyes in as big and exaggerated a circle as he can, but Dean's still flipping out and hasn't even spared him a glance either, the dick.
"Dude, Queen?" Dean says loudly, pulling out a cassette labeled Beethoven's Greatest Best of Queen #4.
Crowley shrugs.
Apparently Dean's so infatuated with the Bentley that he keeps his opinion of Queen to himself. He's probably afraid that Crowley will smack him upside the head if he disses the demon's music choices. Sam watches as Dean tosses the cassette back into the passenger's side idly and, when he's done with scanning the interior, goes to duck under the driver's side door.
From under the car comes a low whistle of appreciation.
Sam narrows, then rubs his eyes. He's pretty sure every fingerprint Dean had left on the outside of the Bentley are now erasing themselves.
He looks suspiciously over to Crowley, who smiles with all his teeth.
"Your brother likes cars," the demon says.
"Understatement," Sam sighs.
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Supernatural/Good Omens
Pairing: Crackish gen.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 529 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Car talk.
Notes: Sh-shut up, it had to be written! I'll stop, I swear. I swear.
Dean nearly cries when he sees the Bentley.
They've just asked -- well, summoned a pretty damn powerful (and thankfully somewhat benevolent) demon for a little help with the problem Down Under, and all Dean can do is slobber when the demon snaps his fingers and a Bentley appears out of nowhere outside of Bobby's house.
Apparently that's all it takes to get Dean to trust a demon.
A nice car.
So Sam stands there with a Look on his face, mouth a little open in horror at the way his brother is fawning over the thing. Somewhere between alarm and confusion, he watches as Dean approaches the vehicle with something akin to deep awe. Sam will never understand what it's like to love a piece of machinery so much that you'd whisper sweet nothings at it ever time its engine so much as burps, but he's pretty much gotten used to it since the second Dean came up to Standford with his beloved Impala and made him suffer through hours and hours of old music and smartass remarks and -- and --
And Sam knows that if Dean spots so much as a Zeppelin or Metallica or CCR tape in the Bentley's interior, he's gonna have a conniption fit.
And, because he's somehow missed the memo: since when did demons get to have such sweet rides anyway?
"1926," Crowley grins, all British or whatever. "I've had it from new. Walter Owen Bentley was a friend of mine, he let me have this one for free when it came out of production. One of his first."
Yeah, right.
"Wanted me to race in Le Mans in France," Crowley continues, nostalgic look on his face. "Wish I hadn't said no."
"Oh man," Dean breathes. Grins. Runs his hands all over shiny black paintjob, and Sam thinks vaguely it's crossing over into just creepy territory now. He also thinks he can see Crowley twitch a little over in his periphery.
"Hey, Dean," Sam says dryly, aiming to end the disturbing scene as quickly as possible, "I don't think the Impala likes you cheating on her."
"She can deal," Dean muffles out. "Can't you, baby?"
He doesn't even look over his shoulder at the Impala, parked a few meters away in Bobby's gritty dusty rusty car park. Sam rolls his eyes in as big and exaggerated a circle as he can, but Dean's still flipping out and hasn't even spared him a glance either, the dick.
"Dude, Queen?" Dean says loudly, pulling out a cassette labeled Beethoven's Greatest Best of Queen #4.
Crowley shrugs.
Apparently Dean's so infatuated with the Bentley that he keeps his opinion of Queen to himself. He's probably afraid that Crowley will smack him upside the head if he disses the demon's music choices. Sam watches as Dean tosses the cassette back into the passenger's side idly and, when he's done with scanning the interior, goes to duck under the driver's side door.
From under the car comes a low whistle of appreciation.
Sam narrows, then rubs his eyes. He's pretty sure every fingerprint Dean had left on the outside of the Bentley are now erasing themselves.
He looks suspiciously over to Crowley, who smiles with all his teeth.
"Your brother likes cars," the demon says.
"Understatement," Sam sighs.