DEW: The Garage Gang
Genre: Humour
Rating: K+
Character: Baby
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: I don't own her
Baby reflects on the MoL garage, and it’s other occupants
I love when Dean parks me in the bunker’s garage. Not being stuck outside exposed to the elements is heaven.
There are other cars in here, and they’re okay I guess; bit annoying sometimes, though.
There’s a red 1929 Studebaker President, and doesn’t he think he’s something special?
There’s also a 1941 Buick Roadmaster, she’s black like me. Harmless, but not the sharpest tack, if you know what I mean...
Dean parks me in the space beside the grey 1952 Cadillac Eldorado. She’s seen better days, but she was the Men of Letters’ official transport right up until the time they, well you know... Like me, she’s earned every dent and scratch; gotta respect her for that.
The other car in here is a black 1942 Chevrolet Fleetline. He’s the one I have the closest bond with, being a Chevy and all.
Of course, Dean loves having all these cars to fuss over. I mean, I know he loves me more than the rest of them put together - obviously - but the fact is, Dean just enjoys cars generally. When he’s not spoiling me, he’ll be working on them, running their engines, or polishing them, even when they don’t need to be polished.
I don’t get jealous, not even when the Buick flutters her headlamps at Dean. As if he’d be interested in a simpering floozy like her.
It’s clear that he feels the most connection to the Chevy. And I understand that; Dean and Chevys go back a long way. I don’t mind that; in fact I feel that just reinforces the connection he has with me.
But I can’t deny it’s a little awkward. When Dean’s washing and waxing the Chevy, it just feels a little bit too much like he’s getting up close and personal with my Dad!
Ewwww…
Headlamp bleach, anyone?
xxxxx
end
Rating: K+
Character: Baby
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: I don't own her
Baby reflects on the MoL garage, and it’s other occupants
I love when Dean parks me in the bunker’s garage. Not being stuck outside exposed to the elements is heaven.
There are other cars in here, and they’re okay I guess; bit annoying sometimes, though.
There’s a red 1929 Studebaker President, and doesn’t he think he’s something special?
There’s also a 1941 Buick Roadmaster, she’s black like me. Harmless, but not the sharpest tack, if you know what I mean...
Dean parks me in the space beside the grey 1952 Cadillac Eldorado. She’s seen better days, but she was the Men of Letters’ official transport right up until the time they, well you know... Like me, she’s earned every dent and scratch; gotta respect her for that.
The other car in here is a black 1942 Chevrolet Fleetline. He’s the one I have the closest bond with, being a Chevy and all.
Of course, Dean loves having all these cars to fuss over. I mean, I know he loves me more than the rest of them put together - obviously - but the fact is, Dean just enjoys cars generally. When he’s not spoiling me, he’ll be working on them, running their engines, or polishing them, even when they don’t need to be polished.
I don’t get jealous, not even when the Buick flutters her headlamps at Dean. As if he’d be interested in a simpering floozy like her.
It’s clear that he feels the most connection to the Chevy. And I understand that; Dean and Chevys go back a long way. I don’t mind that; in fact I feel that just reinforces the connection he has with me.
But I can’t deny it’s a little awkward. When Dean’s washing and waxing the Chevy, it just feels a little bit too much like he’s getting up close and personal with my Dad!
Ewwww…
Headlamp bleach, anyone?
xxxxx
end