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Baby tried to decide if she’d ever been more miserable in her life.
Sure, she’d been possessed, T-boned by a semi, flipped on her roof by a demon cloud, and crashed through a big sign, but that was all part of the job. She was saving people and hunting things, so there was a certain satisfaction in it.
Then there were the many months she spent hiding in a barn when those Leviathan dicks were hunting Sam and Dean. It had been necessary… and boring as hell. But she had attained a comforting level of zen at the time, so… silver lining, right?
But this? This was just pathetic.
First there was the indignity of receiving a parking ticket. Seriously? Didn’t that idiot in the neon vest know who she was? OK, he probably didn’t, but still. Who would do that to a sexy number like her? Dean was as upset as she was.
Then breaking down on the way to Garth’s. Thank goodness he had some spark plugs! She knew she liked that boy ever since he spent so much time locked in her trunk. Sweet kid for a powered-up werewolf.
The highlight of that trip was watching the boys getting their asses kicked by that wall-of-muscle vamp. Thank goodness for Garth! She knew she shouldn’t find it funny, but Dean was singing soprano for hours! It was friggin’ hilarious. Sammy was giggling like a schoolboy.
Next thing she knew the guys were talking about being “normal” and heading to Alaska. ALASKA?! What’s normal about Alaska? Well, at least the scenery would be new. And since she had no intention of ever crossing water on anything but a nice solid, STABLE bridge, she was never going to see Hawaii. So this would mean she had driven across every US state on the continent. Cool. Maybe this would be fun.
And that’s when things went from bad to worse. They didn’t even make it out of the driveway! Her engine started knocking like a Jehovah’s Witness out to spread the word. Dean’s “son of a bitch!” was an echo of her own. Turns out it was a clogged fuel line. It took hours to clean it out, but now she was ready to hit the road like thunder and lightning!
Or so she thought.
Two hours into the Land of 10,000 Lakes, her engine overheated. The irony did not escape her. Luckily, once she cooled down, it was a quick fix. Halfway through North Dakota her heater died. She could feel the inside of her windows icing up. Sam and Dean had to pull over to layer on more clothes. It was like driving around with two giant Stay Puft marshmallow men in the front seat. There were white clouds from every breath they took, and her windows were fogging up like crazy. Every few minutes one or the other of them had to use a sleeve to clear them so they could see. Dean was muttering and grumbling the whole time.
At the next exit, Dean made a quick trip to an auto parts store and fixed her up. They found a motel and stopped for the night to give everyone a chance to warm up. Hopefully tomorrow would be better.
****
The sun was shining bright off the snow in the morning and it seemed like their luck had changed.
Sam and Dean spent their time cheerfully debating who was funnier, the Three Stooges or the Marx Brothers, as they wound their way through the backroads of Montana, trying to find a good place to sneak across the border into Canada.
On a stretch of highway that was more potholes than asphalt, an old Ford pickup passed them going the opposite direction, its tires throwing dirty slush up over her hood and onto her windshield. Dean bit off a quick “Motherfu..” and switched the wipers on. When he tried to spray some cleaner to clear the streaks of mud… nothing.
Damn! She couldn’t ever remember running out of wiper fluid! And judging by the string of curses Dean was spouting, neither could he.
Another stop, another auto shop, and they were ready to go. Again. Sam took over driving, not trusting Dean’s temper, while his big brother sat in the passenger seat with his arms crossed, pouting like a 6-year-old.
“Don’t worry, Dean. I’m sure everything will be fine now.”
“Oh, you think so, do ya, Sammy? Why would our luck change now?”
“Just relax.”
Twenty minutes later, snow began to fall. Sam calmly flipped the wipers on, but after the third swipe the left wiper started screeching like a banshee as the rubber disintegrated. Dean let out a vindictive “Hah!” as Sam slowed down.
During the next 16 miles to the closest town, Baby and Dean were regaled with just how creatively a Stanford education and years of extensive reading could assist with cussing. Some of it was in different languages, but the ideas came through. It really was impressive. Even Dean looked a little shocked at times. When he wasn’t smiling, that is.
A new set of blades and an hour later, they were finally in Alberta. Dean was back behind the wheel, and Sam was furiously converting kilometers into miles and plotting their course to avoid any big cities. As the sun began to set, they looked for a place to stop for the night. Thankfully, motels in Canada were just as frequent as in America. And just as run-down, apparently. At dinner, Dean discovered the messy wonder of poutine. He waxed poetic about the taste and texture, the finger-licking delight of it all. Sam was disgusted.
In the morning, after a quick stop at an ATM for some local cash, Dean was in a much better mood as he kept a running commentary on the funny-looking currency of the Great White North. The different colors, the pictures, the fact that parts of the bills were transparent, all left him highly amused -- which left Sam rolling his eyes.
Dean was far less amused, however, when they stopped for breakfast and he discovered what Canadians thought was bacon.
“It’s ham, Sammy! That is NOT bacon!”
“Yes, Dean. I know, Dean. It’s shocking, Dean.”
The rest of the drive through Canada consisted of problems with her timing, her tail lights shorting out, and needing more brake fluid. She was ready to pop a gasket in frustration. Needless to say, all their nerves were on edge.
They all breathed a sigh of relief when they finally entered Alaska and were back in the good old U S of A. More or less.
It took two days of endless empty landscapes, minor engine adjustments, replacing the fan belt twice, dodging the occasional wandering moose, bad moose jokes by Dean and extreme bitch faces by Sam until they stopped at a diner where the boys at last found out the location of the place they were looking for. As they headed up the road, Baby’s tape deck ate one of Dean’s Metallica cassettes. Shit.
They finally pulled into the parking lot of a quaint little bar called Lurlene’s. The fact that it was in the middle of nowhere, and nothing, was mildly disturbing. As the boys eyed the place warily, they discussed their strategy.
“How are we doing this, Dean?”
“We go in, we do what it takes to get our mojo back, and we hightail it to civilization.”
“That’s it?”
“And don’t get dead.”
Well, at least they had a plan.
As the guys climbed out and slowly walked through the doors of their last hope, Baby started praying to Chip Foose and every other automotive god she could think of that this would work. She knew what the stakes were. If they had the slightest chance of taking down Chuck, they would need all the luck they could get.
She had every confidence in her boys, but this was G-O-D. The Big Enchilada. Not their usual gig, if you know what I mean. But she had faith. Not in Him, but definitely in Team Free Will.
When Dean came bouncing happily out of the pool hall, Baby dared to think her prayers had been answered. He jumped into the driver’s seat and started her up with a mighty roar. As her engine settled into a purr like a contented tiger’s, they both breathed a sigh of relief.
Just as Dean let out a whoop of joy, Baby felt herself slowly tilting to the right as her front tire deflated like a pumpkin two weeks after Halloween.
Dean let out a groan. “You gotta be kidding me!”
Shit.
Normal sucks.