DISCLAIMER: Nope. I checked and I still don't own these guys. Rats.
A/N: Just a bit of silliness (the boys could use more of that!). Please read and review.ONCE A MONTH
Sam slammed the door of the car with perhaps a tad more force than was absolutely required. Not that he was really ticked with the Impala. Just his idiot brother's totally insane fanatical devotion to what was essentially a hunk of metal, rubber and upholstery.
It was just a fucking scratch, for God's sake! It couldn't even be seen without an electron microscope! Unless, of course, you were Dean Winchester, born with a superhuman ability to detect mars, dings, miniscule dents, mud spots on the freaking undercarriage and eentsy, teensy totally invisible scratches in your sleep and from a distance of one hundred miles.
It's not as if he did on purpose. Was it his fault that some stupid bird decided to commit suicide just while he was driving the car?
He stopped at the motel room door, searching his back pocket for the key. He resolutely refused to look back but he could hear his brother murmuring endearments to his poor wounded baby.
It was probably a good thing for Cassie she had decided there was no way a relationship with Dean would work out, because there was no question she would always come in second to Dean's One True Love. Hell, everyone came in second! Sam just hoped the day never came when Dean had to choose between the Impala and him. He didn't have his life insurance paid up.
A few minutes later, Dean tramped into the room, thunder still trailing along behind him. He gave Sam a trademark Dean-is-thoroughly-pissed-off glare, proven in blind field tests to send Dark Things screaming for their mommies. Sam, being a Winchester, was made of sterner stuff, but even he was not completely proof against the power of the glare.
He decided the best defense was a good offense. "Dean, I'm sorry about the scratch, but it's a car! You have to learn to chill about this stuff."
"Chill? Chill? A scratch can expose the metal to rust and erosion; the beginning of the end, Dude."
Sam slapped a hand to his forehead in disbelief. "You're right, of course. What was I thinking? 'All for the want of a horseshoe nail' and all that. You're crazy, you know that?" He gave a disgusted snort. "We've been driving all day and half the night, and I'm exhausted. I'm going into the bathroom, cleaning up and getting into bed. And I don't want to hear anything more about the damn Impala tonight!"
When he finally came out, Dean passed him without a comment and slammed the bathroom door. Fifteen minutes later, Dean returned, slipped into the second bed and turned on his stomach, still without saying a word.
Sam just sighed and gave up. "You're obsessed, and I refuse to pander to your illness. It's still just a scratch, and I'll touch it up in the morning." With that, he rolled over, pulled the blanket up and drifted off to sleep.
Unfortunately, he spent most of the night dreaming of being chased around the parking lot by a pissed-off Impala.
Dean checked his watch. 11:40 PM. Twenty minutes to the witching hour. He listened intently, but all he heard from the other side of the room was the even breathing and slight snoring that told him his younger brother was deep in Dreamland. Good.
He slipped out of bed silently and began to dress quickly. Stumbling slightly over Sam's duffle bag—why his usually neat brother had chosen tonight to just dump the thing on the floor was beyond him—and froze, glancing over at the occupied bed. Sam shifted slightly, then the snoring resumed its regular cadence and Dean breathed again.
He opened the door quietly and left the room. He smiled when he saw the empty spot where the Impala had been parked and headed across the lot toward the wooded area to the left of the motel. A dirt road started at the edge of the paved lot and wound out of sight through the trees. After a few minutes, it began to climb. Another few minutes walk and the dirt road ended in an open glade.
The Impala stood in the grassy area, the full moon bringing a glow to the shiny black finish. Dean smiled again then checked his watch. 11:59 PM. Only one minute to go.
Mentally, he counted down the seconds. As he reached "one", the glow began to change. It no longer appeared to be a mere reflection of the moon, but instead seemed to be coming from within the car. The glow became a cascade of sparkling lights that grew brighter and brighter until Dean had to turn his head to avoid being blinded. Then, abruptly, the light vanished and Dean looked back.
The car was gone. In its place, smiling at him, stood a stunning woman, raven-haired, silver-eyed, clothed in a tight black leather one-piece jumpsuit. She closed the distance between them and placed a hand on each of Dean's shoulders.
"Hello, Dean." Her voice had a hint of the smooth growl of the Impala's engines.
He pulled her in and kissed her soundly. "Hello yourself, sweetheart," he said when he came up for air. "It seems like more than a month. Damn lunar cycle doesn't come fast enough."
She laughed, a purring sound, and hooked her arm through his. Talking softly, laughing, they strolled across the glade and onto the narrow path that continued to climb through the woods and disappeared into the dark.
Dean sat with his back against a tree trunk, near the edge of an outcrop that overlooked the valley below, which was shrouded in darkness. The night was brilliantly clear, the stars blazing like diamonds, the air crisp and cool. She leaned back against him, his arms around her, and glanced up at him, still smiling. "That was fun," she said throatily.
"It always is," he replied, laughing. For a moment, he buried his face in her dark hair, then he reached up and began to pick out pine needles and bits of leaves from the silky strands. "These will make a real mess on the upholstery."
She began to laugh then she sighed and looked over at his watch. "Time?"
His smile faded. "2:45."
She pulled away from him reluctantly and stood up, brushing off the jumpsuit. She gave him a rueful smile.
"Almost the hour of the wolf. Time to go." She gestured to the narrow path. "I'll never get down that if I change here."
They reached the glade far too soon to suit Dean. She touched his cheek and gave him a gentle, almost chaste kiss.
"Until next month, lover." A gleam came into her silver eyes. "Oh, and tell that brother of yours that if he spills anymore chocolate mocha latte with extra cream on my dashboard again, he's going to be running after us from town to town!"
Smiling, she began to back away. The sparkling lights encircled her again, followed by the brilliant blaze and then the Impala stood there, still shining in the reflected light of the moon. Her engine roared to life and she made a slow ninety-degree turn to head across the glade and back onto the dirt road. Dean waited for her and then, side by side, they crossed the parking lot back to the room. She stopped in the marked stall in front of the room. Dean sighed and reached out one hand to touch a silvery headlight.
"See you in the morning, sweetheart," he whispered.
He let himself into the room as quietly as he could. Shutting the door, he turned to find Sam sitting up in the dark, watching Dean enter the room.
"I woke up a few minutes ago and you weren't there," Sam remarked conversationally, though there was a bit of an edge to his voice. "Strolling around alone in the wee small hours of the morning isn't the smartest move. You may not believe this, but there really are things that go bump in the night."
Dean laughed, touched by Sam's concern. Totally truthfully, he said, "I was just out there with the Impala."
Not his fault if Sam thought that meant he was standing in the parking lot studying the scratch again.
Sam rolled his eyes heavenward. "You are hopeless." He stretched out on the bed and cocooned himself in the blanket again. "I swear, you probably would rather sleep with it than in a bed."
Dean laughed again, softly this time. Shrugging out of his jacket, he gave his brother an unseen wicked grin.
"Only once a month, Sammy," he whispered. "Only once a month."