Fic: Grandcars (SPN)
Title: Grandcars
Pairing: Metallicar/Truckzilla (What??? Don't look at me like that!)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Crack. So cracky that I didn't bother getting it American-checked.
Also, phantomas bears a lot of the blame.
Dean gets woken up at ass o'clock by his cell shrilling some bimbo pop tune. He glares at Sam, sprawled practically off the edge of his bed, and swears to get his own back as he fumbles the cell to his ear. "What?"
"We need to talk."
Dean blinks a few times and sits up. "Dad?"
"About the car."
Oh, fuck. "You're not having it back."
"It's not that." There's a long pause. "My truck."
"You wrote off the truck?"
The pause is even longer and Dean starts to think they've got cut off by the time Dad speaks again. "Your car got my truck pregnant."
Okay. "Dad? Have you been hitting the booze? Because you're the one who told me to stay away from the bathtub gin and I think that was probably good advice."
Sam's awake now and staring at him. "What's up with Dad?" he mouths.
All Dean can do is shrug.
"My truck just gave birth to a litter," Dad says.
Right. Dad's hallucinating. Which means he's probably been hit by some kind of nasty. "Where are you?"
Dad doesn't say anything.
"I know, we need to keep separate." Don't argue with the hallucination. "But shouldn't my car get to see its kids?"
Sam's mouth drops open. "What the fuck?"
Dad's breath is almost a laugh. "I'm not hallucinating, son. I'm in Gandy, Nebraska."
Dean does the calculations quickly. "We'll leave now and be there by morning."
Dad hangs up before he's finished talking.
Sam's already out of bed and throwing his kit into his bag. "Where are we going?"
"Nebraska. Dad's…" Dean has trouble saying it. "Dad thinks his truck's given birth. And my car's the dad."
Give Sam credit, he only gapes for a few moments before he starts thinking about it. "So he's been hit by something that causes hallucinations. Did he say what he was hunting?"
"He was kind of distracted by the baby trucks."
Sam shrugs. "I'll research as we go."
That's Dean's boy.
Sam's got quite a few ideas by the time they hit Gandy and then head east on a dirt track. Dad's holed up in a shack that would be on the outskirts if Gandy wasn't all outskirts.
Considering the hallucination, Dean isn't surprised by the outbuildings. Gotta have somewhere to coral the baby trucks, after all.
Dad's waiting by the door, holding a mug of coffee. He nods a brief greeting. "Come and see the kids."
Dean and Sam share a look and follow him to the biggest of the outbuildings. Dad hauls open the door and, yeah, there's the truck. Just the truck.
"So where are the babies?" Sam asks.
Dad looks pained as he puts his fingers to his lips and lets out a shrill whistle.
And then.
Dean has trouble staying upright because there's three of them.
Three baby trucks.
"Holy fuck," he says.
"I just don't get why you're so sure my car's the dad," Dean says. He's sitting on the bed of Dad's truck, clutching a mug of extremely strong coffee and wishing it had twenty or so shots of extremely strong whisky in it.
Dad picks up one of the babies and raises an eyebrow. This particular baby does, admittedly, look like a jacked-up miniature Impala with huge wheels.
"Like mine's the only Impala your truck's ever met."
The baby revs its engine and Dad puts it down again. "My truck's not a slut," he growls. "She's not going to sleep with a car she doesn't know."
"She'd better not have given my car any STDs."
"Your car had better not have given my truck anything!"
"Okay," Sam says. "So it looks like the hallucination is related to the location. I'm going to head into Gandy and Stapleton and see if I can find any stories about this place."
"It's not a hallucination," Dad says. He rubs the bridge of his nose. "I tangled with a bunch of Unsere worshippers on the second of May."
Sam makes a noise of recognition. "A fertility goddess on the day of the Rite of Leviathan." He slumps against the truck's side, paying no attention to the miniature truck butting at his knee. "You mean they're real?"
The miniature truck revs. It's possible it's meant to be menacing but it just sounds like an angry lawnmower.
Dad checks his watch. "If they weren't real, they wouldn't be guzzling as much gas as they are. It's time to feed them."
"So… the truck isn't breastfeeding?" Dean says. "I think it would be better for them if it did."
Dad's manhandling a gas can but he looks up to glare at Dean. "It's a truck, Dean. She doesn't have breasts."
"I'd have said she didn't have a uterus but that obviously wasn't a problem." Dean rubs the back of his head. "I don't even want to think how it happened. My car would've needed a ramp."
"Give me a hand, here." Dad tosses over a length of hosepipe with a funnel attached. "Try to hold one of them down and get that in its tank."
Dean grabs the baby that's pretty much like the truck but with a strong hint of Impala around the front end and wrestles the hosepipe into place. "This one's got its dad's nose," he says, with an obscure sense of pride.
Dad's pouring in the gas when Sam says, "Couldn't you just let them run out of gas? It'd be easier."
"It'd damage their engines," Dean and Dad say in unison.
Sam clears his throat. "Have you not thought about the fact it's kind of weird for them to be pulling a Herbie? I mean, their-" He pulls a pained expression. "Their parents don't. And with a demon being involved…"
Dad finishes feeding the baby before looking up at Sam. "They aren't possessed."
"No offence," Sam says, which means he's guaranteed to be offensive. "But why are you so sure?"
"I put holy water in with their gas."
Dean stares at Dad. "You watered their gas?" He absently pats the mini-Impala. "Do you want them to grow up deformed?"
"Dean," Sam says. "They're cars. They aren't going to grow up."
"Look at the size of this one's wheels," Dean says. "Of course he's going to grow into them."
"They're lumps of metal. How on earth are they going to grow?"
"They're growing," Dad says, and Dean figures he's allowed to look smug.
"Of course," Sam tells the roof. "Of course they're growing. They're the offspring of a car and a truck, so of course they're going to grow up. Can you not see how weird this is?"
Dean shrugs. "I don't know why you're getting so worked up, dude. It's not like we don't see weird every day."
"We've got to split up again," Dad says. "You need to take the babies."
"Okay," Dean says, at the exact moment Sam says, "No way."
Dean looks at Sam. "Scuse us," he says to Dad, and pushes Sam outside. "What the fuck's wrong with you? How's Dad meant to hunt this demon with three babies to look after?"
"And how the hell are we meant to hunt with them?"
"There's two of us," Dean says. "We can take turns."
"And do you really want to take them away from their mother?"
"We did okay with just our dad!"
Sam looks like he's going to argue but all he says is, "Where are we going to put them? They might fit on the back seat for now but not if they're growing. Besides, they'll rip up the upholstery."
Dean frowns as he thinks about what muddy wheels would do. "Shit. Yeah."
The end result is that Dean and Sam drive off with the mini-Impala tucked into the backseat and Dad is left with the mini-truck and the truck-with-the-Impala's-nose.
"We need to get some tarps to protect the seat," Dean says. "And some premium gas. And some wax."
There's a sleepy 'parp' from the back seat, and Dean leans back to pat the mini-Impala.
"Hey," he says, and nudges Sam. "If he grows into his wheels, he'll be big enough for you. When you need your own car."
Dean isn't quite sure why Sam starts slamming his head against the window.
Pairing: Metallicar/Truckzilla (What??? Don't look at me like that!)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Crack. So cracky that I didn't bother getting it American-checked.
Also, phantomas bears a lot of the blame.
Dean gets woken up at ass o'clock by his cell shrilling some bimbo pop tune. He glares at Sam, sprawled practically off the edge of his bed, and swears to get his own back as he fumbles the cell to his ear. "What?"
"We need to talk."
Dean blinks a few times and sits up. "Dad?"
"About the car."
Oh, fuck. "You're not having it back."
"It's not that." There's a long pause. "My truck."
"You wrote off the truck?"
The pause is even longer and Dean starts to think they've got cut off by the time Dad speaks again. "Your car got my truck pregnant."
Okay. "Dad? Have you been hitting the booze? Because you're the one who told me to stay away from the bathtub gin and I think that was probably good advice."
Sam's awake now and staring at him. "What's up with Dad?" he mouths.
All Dean can do is shrug.
"My truck just gave birth to a litter," Dad says.
Right. Dad's hallucinating. Which means he's probably been hit by some kind of nasty. "Where are you?"
Dad doesn't say anything.
"I know, we need to keep separate." Don't argue with the hallucination. "But shouldn't my car get to see its kids?"
Sam's mouth drops open. "What the fuck?"
Dad's breath is almost a laugh. "I'm not hallucinating, son. I'm in Gandy, Nebraska."
Dean does the calculations quickly. "We'll leave now and be there by morning."
Dad hangs up before he's finished talking.
Sam's already out of bed and throwing his kit into his bag. "Where are we going?"
"Nebraska. Dad's…" Dean has trouble saying it. "Dad thinks his truck's given birth. And my car's the dad."
Give Sam credit, he only gapes for a few moments before he starts thinking about it. "So he's been hit by something that causes hallucinations. Did he say what he was hunting?"
"He was kind of distracted by the baby trucks."
Sam shrugs. "I'll research as we go."
That's Dean's boy.
Sam's got quite a few ideas by the time they hit Gandy and then head east on a dirt track. Dad's holed up in a shack that would be on the outskirts if Gandy wasn't all outskirts.
Considering the hallucination, Dean isn't surprised by the outbuildings. Gotta have somewhere to coral the baby trucks, after all.
Dad's waiting by the door, holding a mug of coffee. He nods a brief greeting. "Come and see the kids."
Dean and Sam share a look and follow him to the biggest of the outbuildings. Dad hauls open the door and, yeah, there's the truck. Just the truck.
"So where are the babies?" Sam asks.
Dad looks pained as he puts his fingers to his lips and lets out a shrill whistle.
And then.
Dean has trouble staying upright because there's three of them.
Three baby trucks.
"Holy fuck," he says.
"I just don't get why you're so sure my car's the dad," Dean says. He's sitting on the bed of Dad's truck, clutching a mug of extremely strong coffee and wishing it had twenty or so shots of extremely strong whisky in it.
Dad picks up one of the babies and raises an eyebrow. This particular baby does, admittedly, look like a jacked-up miniature Impala with huge wheels.
"Like mine's the only Impala your truck's ever met."
The baby revs its engine and Dad puts it down again. "My truck's not a slut," he growls. "She's not going to sleep with a car she doesn't know."
"She'd better not have given my car any STDs."
"Your car had better not have given my truck anything!"
"Okay," Sam says. "So it looks like the hallucination is related to the location. I'm going to head into Gandy and Stapleton and see if I can find any stories about this place."
"It's not a hallucination," Dad says. He rubs the bridge of his nose. "I tangled with a bunch of Unsere worshippers on the second of May."
Sam makes a noise of recognition. "A fertility goddess on the day of the Rite of Leviathan." He slumps against the truck's side, paying no attention to the miniature truck butting at his knee. "You mean they're real?"
The miniature truck revs. It's possible it's meant to be menacing but it just sounds like an angry lawnmower.
Dad checks his watch. "If they weren't real, they wouldn't be guzzling as much gas as they are. It's time to feed them."
"So… the truck isn't breastfeeding?" Dean says. "I think it would be better for them if it did."
Dad's manhandling a gas can but he looks up to glare at Dean. "It's a truck, Dean. She doesn't have breasts."
"I'd have said she didn't have a uterus but that obviously wasn't a problem." Dean rubs the back of his head. "I don't even want to think how it happened. My car would've needed a ramp."
"Give me a hand, here." Dad tosses over a length of hosepipe with a funnel attached. "Try to hold one of them down and get that in its tank."
Dean grabs the baby that's pretty much like the truck but with a strong hint of Impala around the front end and wrestles the hosepipe into place. "This one's got its dad's nose," he says, with an obscure sense of pride.
Dad's pouring in the gas when Sam says, "Couldn't you just let them run out of gas? It'd be easier."
"It'd damage their engines," Dean and Dad say in unison.
Sam clears his throat. "Have you not thought about the fact it's kind of weird for them to be pulling a Herbie? I mean, their-" He pulls a pained expression. "Their parents don't. And with a demon being involved…"
Dad finishes feeding the baby before looking up at Sam. "They aren't possessed."
"No offence," Sam says, which means he's guaranteed to be offensive. "But why are you so sure?"
"I put holy water in with their gas."
Dean stares at Dad. "You watered their gas?" He absently pats the mini-Impala. "Do you want them to grow up deformed?"
"Dean," Sam says. "They're cars. They aren't going to grow up."
"Look at the size of this one's wheels," Dean says. "Of course he's going to grow into them."
"They're lumps of metal. How on earth are they going to grow?"
"They're growing," Dad says, and Dean figures he's allowed to look smug.
"Of course," Sam tells the roof. "Of course they're growing. They're the offspring of a car and a truck, so of course they're going to grow up. Can you not see how weird this is?"
Dean shrugs. "I don't know why you're getting so worked up, dude. It's not like we don't see weird every day."
"We've got to split up again," Dad says. "You need to take the babies."
"Okay," Dean says, at the exact moment Sam says, "No way."
Dean looks at Sam. "Scuse us," he says to Dad, and pushes Sam outside. "What the fuck's wrong with you? How's Dad meant to hunt this demon with three babies to look after?"
"And how the hell are we meant to hunt with them?"
"There's two of us," Dean says. "We can take turns."
"And do you really want to take them away from their mother?"
"We did okay with just our dad!"
Sam looks like he's going to argue but all he says is, "Where are we going to put them? They might fit on the back seat for now but not if they're growing. Besides, they'll rip up the upholstery."
Dean frowns as he thinks about what muddy wheels would do. "Shit. Yeah."
The end result is that Dean and Sam drive off with the mini-Impala tucked into the backseat and Dad is left with the mini-truck and the truck-with-the-Impala's-nose.
"We need to get some tarps to protect the seat," Dean says. "And some premium gas. And some wax."
There's a sleepy 'parp' from the back seat, and Dean leans back to pat the mini-Impala.
"Hey," he says, and nudges Sam. "If he grows into his wheels, he'll be big enough for you. When you need your own car."
Dean isn't quite sure why Sam starts slamming his head against the window.