Bad Reputation
Title: Bad Reputation
Fandom: Supernatural, Transformers (the general premise)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Impala (Metallicar)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1242
Spoilers: Season 2
Warning: Humour, crack, AU
Disclaimer: I own neither Transformers or Supernatural. (Originally posted on Archive of Our Own and ff.net)
Summary: Because the Impala has an Oscar coming its way.
Bad Reputation
As it was, Metallicar had been around the block more than a few times.
There was an interesting view of life to be had when you were a robot with no living organs. Back home, or what might have been home (it was hard to say what ‘home’ was when all she remembered prior to earth was cold metal, whispers and a false sense of security), Metallicar could faintly remember a discussion about life but the details were only murmurs she couldn’t quite hear in her blank memories.
And home was the open road in front of her anyway.
When she crashed landed on Earth some decades ago, and ended up combining with the coolest car ever, Metallicar was pretty sure she couldn’t die. That would require her to be alive, and apparently cars and robots weren’t considered alive. Or something. The lines got blurry when she considered the fact she was capable of independent thought and if she could think, didn’t that mean she was?
A Transformer she had met- the only Autobot thus far in person- had said she came from Cybertron, whatever that was. She'd killed him. (But in order to kill something it had to be alive in the first place, right?) And she'd died herself, once. At least, it had felt like it (the shock of an impact, screeching of metal and her passengers screaming. She didn't remember much of afterwards).
Being possessed had felt a little bit like that.
The Woman in White- Welch or something (Metallicar mostly remembers the case as “SAMMY’S BACK!!!!” and all other pertinent details were forgotten)- was to blame for this particular belief. It had been a while ago, but Metallicar could still recall it as if it was a very bad dream. The kind of dream that stuck with a human and probably would stick with a Transformer if Transformers could dream. Or sleep for that matter (Metallicar had actually tried sleeping once. It ‘Didn’t Ended Well’).
If she had to describe it, she would have to say it was like being a passenger only it felt… dirty. Like that one time John drove her through mud, three bushes and into a lake because she had been on fire from a hunt gone bad. John had to scrub for days before all the gritty lakebed sand, leaves and twigs were pulled from her grill and rims. She had never felt so clogged down before and if Dean ever did something like that she’d smack him and forever call him a ‘moron.’ The plus side of John dumping her in a lake was that he gave her a paint job afterwards. The possession felt exactly like that, only on her inside parts were dirty, clogged, choking her entire system, and no amount of scrubbing -or paint jobs- would ever make them clean again.
Her gears and bolts and axles that were hers suddenly weren’t. Metallicar could only watch and feel her body move without her consent. Her boys managed to survive that and all the anger Metallicar had ever felt was thrown at the spirit in a fit of pure rage. The spirit hadn’t expected a car to fight back and the shock was enough to throw Welch out.
That round had gone to Metallicar.
Or so she thought.
Then reality had come in, smacked her on the back side of her trunk, and she realized that Welch was the true winner of that fight. Because, with a moment of realization that had her oil turning to sludge in her engine, Metallicar could have killed her boys. She could have killed Dean; she could have killed Sammy.
Oh, she would never forgive Sammy for putting that dent in her when he was twelve (when he was angry and confused and really just needed a hug because he was a girl like that) and never bothered to apologize but Sammy was family. He was Dean’s brother and therefore one of her boys and responsibility because Dean was the oldest. And Dean spent a week buffing out that dent and polishing her until she shone like new, because he was the nice one at 16 and awesome and Metallicar may or may not said to herself that she would take no other driver than Dean.
But the truth of the matter was Metallicar was the eldest Winchester. John had chosen her to be the first; after all, she was the one he trusted to get his family from wherever they were to wherever they needed to be. To keep them safe on whatever roads they may travel. She was responsible for both the boys, because she was the oldest. She had been John’s baby long before she was Dean’s.
And on the night the house burned, when John huddled with both the boys on her trunk, Metallicar swore on her sparkplug she would protect them.
And, spike it, she nearly failed.
Besides, if something happened to Sam, and she was at fault, Dean would do more than smash her trunk in. Like a one-way trip to the crusher or worse: Dean would sell her.
Her entire frame shuddered with the thought.
And, you know, under pain of denting, Metallicar might even say she… tolerated Sammy.
But, the thing was by default of someone needing to do it in this family, Metallicar had learned to look on the bright side of life. So while Welch sent her on a guilt trip that would last months, made her nearly kill her boys and made her feel like she was sunk in a lake bottom’s sludge, Metallicar could say she got something from the possession. She even practiced when she was bored, the whole acting possessed. There would be an Oscar coming her way, she just knew it.
Which was convenient knowledge to have on hand when three teenagers were stupid enough to try and take a joyride with her. Idiots. One was getting close to her driver side’s door, another was eyeing her rims while the last kept look out. Smart idea. She didn’t even want to think about what Dean would do if he caught any of them.
Not that Dean would get the chance.
With a mental grin- because boy-oh-boy this was going to be fun- Metallicar started her engine…
~*~*~
“Police baffled by demonic car.” Sam began, reading the local paper’s headline aloud and very clearly trying not to laugh. “Last night, three teenagers raced into police headquarters shouting that a car was chasing them. The teenagers, who by law cannot be named, claimed that they were attempting to steal a car when the car started and began chasing them. The chase began in a motel parking lot and ended in the downtown area. Eventually the teens sought refuge in the police station. The teenagers then confessed to stealing other vehicles in the area in return for police protection. For more on the story, turn to page 3.”
There was silence in the car for a moment.
Sam folded the paper and threw it into the backseat. “You know Dean, people are going to notice a car that can drive itself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about there Sammy.” Dean replied, starting the car, a smirk on his face, “I don’t know any car that can drive itself.”
The radio dial moved a bit on its own and Joan Jett’s voice came over the speakers, “Yeah, Sammy. Cars that drive themselves. Ha!”
Fandom: Supernatural, Transformers (the general premise)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Impala (Metallicar)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1242
Spoilers: Season 2
Warning: Humour, crack, AU
Disclaimer: I own neither Transformers or Supernatural. (Originally posted on Archive of Our Own and ff.net)
Summary: Because the Impala has an Oscar coming its way.
Bad Reputation
As it was, Metallicar had been around the block more than a few times.
There was an interesting view of life to be had when you were a robot with no living organs. Back home, or what might have been home (it was hard to say what ‘home’ was when all she remembered prior to earth was cold metal, whispers and a false sense of security), Metallicar could faintly remember a discussion about life but the details were only murmurs she couldn’t quite hear in her blank memories.
And home was the open road in front of her anyway.
When she crashed landed on Earth some decades ago, and ended up combining with the coolest car ever, Metallicar was pretty sure she couldn’t die. That would require her to be alive, and apparently cars and robots weren’t considered alive. Or something. The lines got blurry when she considered the fact she was capable of independent thought and if she could think, didn’t that mean she was?
A Transformer she had met- the only Autobot thus far in person- had said she came from Cybertron, whatever that was. She'd killed him. (But in order to kill something it had to be alive in the first place, right?) And she'd died herself, once. At least, it had felt like it (the shock of an impact, screeching of metal and her passengers screaming. She didn't remember much of afterwards).
Being possessed had felt a little bit like that.
The Woman in White- Welch or something (Metallicar mostly remembers the case as “SAMMY’S BACK!!!!” and all other pertinent details were forgotten)- was to blame for this particular belief. It had been a while ago, but Metallicar could still recall it as if it was a very bad dream. The kind of dream that stuck with a human and probably would stick with a Transformer if Transformers could dream. Or sleep for that matter (Metallicar had actually tried sleeping once. It ‘Didn’t Ended Well’).
If she had to describe it, she would have to say it was like being a passenger only it felt… dirty. Like that one time John drove her through mud, three bushes and into a lake because she had been on fire from a hunt gone bad. John had to scrub for days before all the gritty lakebed sand, leaves and twigs were pulled from her grill and rims. She had never felt so clogged down before and if Dean ever did something like that she’d smack him and forever call him a ‘moron.’ The plus side of John dumping her in a lake was that he gave her a paint job afterwards. The possession felt exactly like that, only on her inside parts were dirty, clogged, choking her entire system, and no amount of scrubbing -or paint jobs- would ever make them clean again.
Her gears and bolts and axles that were hers suddenly weren’t. Metallicar could only watch and feel her body move without her consent. Her boys managed to survive that and all the anger Metallicar had ever felt was thrown at the spirit in a fit of pure rage. The spirit hadn’t expected a car to fight back and the shock was enough to throw Welch out.
That round had gone to Metallicar.
Or so she thought.
Then reality had come in, smacked her on the back side of her trunk, and she realized that Welch was the true winner of that fight. Because, with a moment of realization that had her oil turning to sludge in her engine, Metallicar could have killed her boys. She could have killed Dean; she could have killed Sammy.
Oh, she would never forgive Sammy for putting that dent in her when he was twelve (when he was angry and confused and really just needed a hug because he was a girl like that) and never bothered to apologize but Sammy was family. He was Dean’s brother and therefore one of her boys and responsibility because Dean was the oldest. And Dean spent a week buffing out that dent and polishing her until she shone like new, because he was the nice one at 16 and awesome and Metallicar may or may not said to herself that she would take no other driver than Dean.
But the truth of the matter was Metallicar was the eldest Winchester. John had chosen her to be the first; after all, she was the one he trusted to get his family from wherever they were to wherever they needed to be. To keep them safe on whatever roads they may travel. She was responsible for both the boys, because she was the oldest. She had been John’s baby long before she was Dean’s.
And on the night the house burned, when John huddled with both the boys on her trunk, Metallicar swore on her sparkplug she would protect them.
And, spike it, she nearly failed.
Besides, if something happened to Sam, and she was at fault, Dean would do more than smash her trunk in. Like a one-way trip to the crusher or worse: Dean would sell her.
Her entire frame shuddered with the thought.
And, you know, under pain of denting, Metallicar might even say she… tolerated Sammy.
But, the thing was by default of someone needing to do it in this family, Metallicar had learned to look on the bright side of life. So while Welch sent her on a guilt trip that would last months, made her nearly kill her boys and made her feel like she was sunk in a lake bottom’s sludge, Metallicar could say she got something from the possession. She even practiced when she was bored, the whole acting possessed. There would be an Oscar coming her way, she just knew it.
Which was convenient knowledge to have on hand when three teenagers were stupid enough to try and take a joyride with her. Idiots. One was getting close to her driver side’s door, another was eyeing her rims while the last kept look out. Smart idea. She didn’t even want to think about what Dean would do if he caught any of them.
Not that Dean would get the chance.
With a mental grin- because boy-oh-boy this was going to be fun- Metallicar started her engine…
~*~*~
“Police baffled by demonic car.” Sam began, reading the local paper’s headline aloud and very clearly trying not to laugh. “Last night, three teenagers raced into police headquarters shouting that a car was chasing them. The teenagers, who by law cannot be named, claimed that they were attempting to steal a car when the car started and began chasing them. The chase began in a motel parking lot and ended in the downtown area. Eventually the teens sought refuge in the police station. The teenagers then confessed to stealing other vehicles in the area in return for police protection. For more on the story, turn to page 3.”
There was silence in the car for a moment.
Sam folded the paper and threw it into the backseat. “You know Dean, people are going to notice a car that can drive itself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about there Sammy.” Dean replied, starting the car, a smirk on his face, “I don’t know any car that can drive itself.”
The radio dial moved a bit on its own and Joan Jett’s voice came over the speakers, “Yeah, Sammy. Cars that drive themselves. Ha!”