Sam and Dean mk II
SAM AND DEAN mk II
Rating: K+
Genre: Humour
Characters: Baby's POV
Spoilers/Warnings: Whole fic is a spoiler for 15:13 - Destiny's Child
Word Count: 550
Disclaimer: I don't own them
Baby's thoughts from her drive with AU Sam and Dean...
xxxxx
Who the hell are this pair of absolute douchenuts?
I mean, they look like my boys. They sound like my boys. They smell like my … well, maybe not. They smell like they’ve never done a hard days’ work in their lives. And what the hell kind of cologne is that tall one wearing? It’s making my headlamps water - give me Sam after a burrito any day.
So, following my latest jaunt with Dean and Sam, this pair came flouncing down to the garage with my keys. Dean had left them on the table unattended, so it seems, and while him and Sam were regrouping after the hunt, Tweedledum and Tweedledummer here went snooping.
And they found me. Aren’t I a lucky duck?
So, they’re used to driving some ultra-modern European Dinky toy, and it shows. Dean … not-Dean … whatever, he said I corner like a Supertanker… freaking cheek! Listen sugar, I might not be some small, compact fart in a tincan like that thing you drive, but my long-ass chassis has saved my boys more times than I care to remember.
Cornering be damned; it doesn’t stop not-Dean whooping like a howler monkey every time he dares to take me over 70. Alright, actually he’s kinda cute in an oblivious, frat-boy sort of way that makes me want to mother him and slap him all at the same time.
Not a word to anyone, okay?
Speaking of slapping people; if not-Sam doesn’t stop bitching about my lack of headrests…
My boys have been driving me for over 20 years, and they’ve never ‘damaged their cervical vertebrae.’ Not once. A headrest might damage your precious manbun, Florence. Ever think of that???
No, I don’t have a freaking satnav, so stop asking - and stop looking. It’s not in my glovebox, my door pouch, under my seat, in my … what? Why the hell would it be in THERE??
My satnav is in Dean’s head; that boy could find his way to the ends of the earth and back. I don’t reckon this pair of yahoos could find their way out of a room with one door!
xxxxx
Now they’ve got coffee.
We stopped off at some douchey place so they could get coffee; well, if you can call it that. Some half-caff, soy, sugar-free macchiato concoction that looks like something Dean would polish my alloys with.
Probably tastes like it too.
Well, apparently they both think I’m awesome and badass. Good to know … but if I hear one more comment about the lack of cupholders… seriously? I’ve carried my boys into war, and out of it, I’ve been the catalyst to beat Lucifer, I’ve been destroyed and rebuilt from the ground upwards in the cause of battle, and I’ve been home and family to my boys when they’ve needed it most. And you’re worried about cupholders???
Look guys, you want somewhere to keep your drinks? Let me help.
WHOOPS! My gears jammed. Sorry about the jolt …
Your laps.
Yes, now your drinks are in your laps.
Now can we please go home?
Xxxxx
end
Rating: K+
Genre: Humour
Characters: Baby's POV
Spoilers/Warnings: Whole fic is a spoiler for 15:13 - Destiny's Child
Word Count: 550
Disclaimer: I don't own them
Baby's thoughts from her drive with AU Sam and Dean...
xxxxx
Who the hell are this pair of absolute douchenuts?
I mean, they look like my boys. They sound like my boys. They smell like my … well, maybe not. They smell like they’ve never done a hard days’ work in their lives. And what the hell kind of cologne is that tall one wearing? It’s making my headlamps water - give me Sam after a burrito any day.
So, following my latest jaunt with Dean and Sam, this pair came flouncing down to the garage with my keys. Dean had left them on the table unattended, so it seems, and while him and Sam were regrouping after the hunt, Tweedledum and Tweedledummer here went snooping.
And they found me. Aren’t I a lucky duck?
So, they’re used to driving some ultra-modern European Dinky toy, and it shows. Dean … not-Dean … whatever, he said I corner like a Supertanker… freaking cheek! Listen sugar, I might not be some small, compact fart in a tincan like that thing you drive, but my long-ass chassis has saved my boys more times than I care to remember.
Cornering be damned; it doesn’t stop not-Dean whooping like a howler monkey every time he dares to take me over 70. Alright, actually he’s kinda cute in an oblivious, frat-boy sort of way that makes me want to mother him and slap him all at the same time.
Not a word to anyone, okay?
Speaking of slapping people; if not-Sam doesn’t stop bitching about my lack of headrests…
My boys have been driving me for over 20 years, and they’ve never ‘damaged their cervical vertebrae.’ Not once. A headrest might damage your precious manbun, Florence. Ever think of that???
No, I don’t have a freaking satnav, so stop asking - and stop looking. It’s not in my glovebox, my door pouch, under my seat, in my … what? Why the hell would it be in THERE??
My satnav is in Dean’s head; that boy could find his way to the ends of the earth and back. I don’t reckon this pair of yahoos could find their way out of a room with one door!
xxxxx
Now they’ve got coffee.
We stopped off at some douchey place so they could get coffee; well, if you can call it that. Some half-caff, soy, sugar-free macchiato concoction that looks like something Dean would polish my alloys with.
Probably tastes like it too.
Well, apparently they both think I’m awesome and badass. Good to know … but if I hear one more comment about the lack of cupholders… seriously? I’ve carried my boys into war, and out of it, I’ve been the catalyst to beat Lucifer, I’ve been destroyed and rebuilt from the ground upwards in the cause of battle, and I’ve been home and family to my boys when they’ve needed it most. And you’re worried about cupholders???
Look guys, you want somewhere to keep your drinks? Let me help.
WHOOPS! My gears jammed. Sorry about the jolt …
Your laps.
Yes, now your drinks are in your laps.
Now can we please go home?
Xxxxx
end