This was written for Spellbound as part of the Summer Secret Santa Fic Exchange: Round One over at SFTCOL(AR)S. Happy Hiatus!
The prompt was "the Metalicar gets possessed."
Thanks to geminigrl11, who is as always an excellent BETA. Not a BEAT.
I own nothing, reviews welcomed.
It had all been going so well.
They'd gone in on the notion that it was a simple, clear-cut haunting. A poltergeist had been terrorizing a mechanic's garage in Springfield. The owner, a burly, no-nonsense man taller than Sam, had heard about the boys and what they did through a mutual friend of John's. He'd called, they'd come, and had a plan before nightfall.
Dean had watched Sam's back, while the younger man set up the ingredients for a banishing ritual and then read the incantation. Aside from a few thrown tire-irons, everything had gone well. And that had been it.
They left. Job over. Please drive around. Next!
"Hmm," Dean mumbled, half to himself, "That's funny."
Sam stirred sleepily in the passenger seat, lifting one disinterested eyelid to look over at his older brother, "What's funny?"
Dean tapped the dashboard, but nothing changed. "The gauges. They're going crazy."
Sam's eye closed, unimpressed by the revelation. "Car's old..."
Suppressing a frown at his little brother's unintended---or was it?---disrespect for their steel, two-ton family member, Dean tapped the dash a little harder, trying to knock the gauges back to normal. It was a time-honored method of repairing things. The American way. But, it didn't work this time---nothing changed.
Suddenly, the headlights began flickering and the radio went crazy with static and surges. But that was a sign of---
That tone woke Sam up instantly. He sat up and glanced between Dean and the dash. "What? What is it?"
Dean glanced warily at him, then went back to watching the dash lights blink and crackle. "I think we have a problem."
As if to drive the point home, the radio changed to a channel filled with white noise, and a booming laugh came from the speakers.
The same laugh they'd heard when they were cleansing the garage.
Sam blinked, comprehension dawning on his face. "The poltergeist?"
Dean glared at him, then jerked the steering wheel. Nothing happened. "I thought you banished it!"
Sam returned the glare. "I thought I did, too! Pull the car over!"
"I've been trying, genius!" Dean shouted, yanking the wheel again, "The wheel won't turn!"
"Wait," Sam said, searching his pockets, "I think I still have...yeah, I do!"
He withdrew a flask of holy water from his jacket pocket, and splashed it on the dash board. The dash sizzled and smoked where the blessed liquid hit. Dean scowled.
"That's. Just. Great."
Sam splashed another stream of water along the dash and floorboards, filling the car with steam. The horn blared, sounding like a scream of pain. "Try the wheel again!"
Dean instantly tried, but nothing happened. "Nothing," The doors locked and the car sped up, passing 90 miles-per-hour in mere seconds. "I think you just pissed it off..."
Without warning, the Impala veered into the oncoming lane. Unlike their usual back road routes, tonight, Dean had chosen the more direct route to their next job, the Interstate. That meant there were plenty of other cars nearby.
The Impala began weaving erratically in and out of traffic, slamming the brothers back and forth inside. A particularly hard turn caused Sam to crack his head on the passenger window. His gasp of pain drew Dean's attention off the road and panicked, honking horns.
He reached over and pulled Sam away from the door, preventing him from making the injury worse through repetition. "You okay?"
Sam nodded, holding his head, then turned toward him. "We gotta stop the car. You got any ideas?"
Dean thought for a moment, but then shook his head. The only way to exorcise this thing was by banishing spell or those mystical pouches Missouri Mosely had taught them how to make. Unfortunately, all of the material they needed was in the trunk.
Sam was apparently thinking along the same lines. "Is all that exorcism stuff in the trunk?"
"Yeah. All we have up here is the weapons bag," Dean replied. And that was only because they'd forgotten to move the bag when they pulled out of the garage.
But it seemed to give his little brother an idea. Sam reached back---his freakishly long arms allowed him to reach the bag without unbuckling his seatbelt---and rummaged for a moment, then brought out a carton of salt. The gleam in his eye told Dean that Sam had a plan.
"Let's try this," Sam said, turning back around in the seat as he raised a handful of salt and hurled it at the dashboard. For the briefest of moments, the car slowed, and Dean was able to hold on to the wheel, then the car began accelerating again.
"I think it worked, Sammy! Do it again!"
Sam threw another handful of salt, this time at the floorboard, near the gas pedals. Dean felt the car lurch again as the poltergeist temporarily lost control. If they could disrupt it enough, they could get the car off the road before it killed them. He was about to say as much to Sam, when the younger man was thrown back as if punched.
Sam hit the back of the seat bench so hard that it broke, sprawling them both flat, their heads in the back seat. Sam's nose broke along with the bench, and blood gushed down his face. Before they could react, their seatbelts tightened around their waists, crushing them. Dean felt like he was going to be cut in half.
The Impala veered wildly again, and Dean's head collided with the back door handle. Dazed, he was still trying to get his bearings when he heard a snap, and then a warm hand on his leg. Another snap, and he was free of the crushing seatbelt. He looked up, seeing Sam closing his pocketknife.
"Thanks," he murmured, taking a moment to look at Sam's nose, "you okay?"
"Depends, got any ice for my nose?"
"Well, then I'm not okay." Sam quipped.
Dean looked around. The Impala was weaving in and out of traffic again, and they had to brace themselves against the doors to keep from being thrown around. "You got any more ideas?"
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. "The salt worked. But this thing will probably kill us if we try it again."
Dean nodded. "So, what does that leave us?"
Sam shrugged. "Break the windows, then shoot out the tires?"
"And hope this thing doesn't steer us into another car and decapitate us?"
Sam grinned. "I didn't say it was a good idea."
The grin was infectious, and Dean found himself smiling despite himself. If he had to be trapped in a possessed car, he was in good company.
The appearance of blue lights behind them wasn't a good sign. Dean looked back, seeing the Highway Patrol cruiser racing up from behind. They were about a mile distant and closing in fast. "Great...can this get any worse?"
"Don't say that," Sam warned, "it can always get worse."
The patrolman was getting close; they could hear the sirens over the roar of the muscle car's engine. The poltergeist must have somehow sensed the police car's presence too, since the Impala accelerated again, to its maximum speed, and began swerving through onrushing cars that were themselves evading the black metal menace as best they could.
Dean and Sam held on tight, trying to minimize how much they were thrown around. The police cruiser managed to stay with them throughout the wild ride. The car settled on a straight course up the outside lane...heading directly at an eighteen-wheeler that was rushing down the dark highway.
"What did I tell ya?" Sam muttered, cursing.
The truck's headlights flooded the inside of the Impala, and Dean was sure that the police behind them could see them too. That didn't stop their pursuers from joining in the insane game of chicken that was developing. That thought didn't give Dean any kind of comfort. The Impala didn't do well with semis, historically.
The truck couldn't be more than a few seconds away by now, and the Impala wasn't turning. Dean turned to Sam, an unspoken thought in his eyes. We're gonna die.
Sam just nodded, strangely not indulging in the obvious lead-in to a chick-flick moment. "I know. Me too."
Dean had no more time to wonder why Sam was being so calm about the whole thing, as the truck was now filling the view out of the front windshield. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact that was sure to accompany the rising noise of the approaching truck.
The car lurched, throwing him to the side, and he expected to hear rending steel and shattering glass any moment.
Except that he didn't.
He cautiously opened his eyes and peered out the windows, in time to see the truck pass with a rush of wind to the left of the car. He followed the passing metal behemoth with his eyes as it blasted past them, and the police car turned so hard it spun out and careened off onto the shoulder.
Once the car settled onto its new direction, Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He looked over at Sam, who was peering out the rear windshield, trying to see the wrecked police car.
"You think they're okay back there, Dean?"
Dean shook his head, helplessly. "I hope so. Sam, we gotta stop this car before it kills somebody."
"I'm open to suggestions...it's not gonna let us use the salt without fighting back," Sam replied. Dean could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice. This was bad.
They racked their brains, trying to think of something they could do from inside a possessed car. Dean decided that his beloved car might be beyond saving. An idea finally came to him. "See if you can get to the trunk through the back seat."
Sam was feeling the seat cushion to see if it would pull down even as he protested. "I don't think we can..." He pulled vainly on the seat back for a moment, regardless.
"Cut through it," Dean suggested soberly.
Sam looked at him, questioning, and Dean nodded. He watched as his brother began sawing through the seat with his pocket knife. It took a few minutes, but the late-night traffic had thinned out, and the car was fairly steady. The poltergeist didn't seem to notice them.
The cushion finally came loose, and Sam pulled it back. Dean's hopes were dashed when he saw the metal plate that the seat rested against. They both sighed a little in defeat, but Sam recovered first. He flipped over onto his back and started kicking the metal with his boot. He looked over at Dean in apology.
He kicked again.
"...if we can beat this..."
Another kick. The metal echoed dully with each blow.
"...sheet metal down..."
The air temperature in the car suddenly dropped. The poltergeist was on to them. The side windows and the back frosted over, and before long, both of them were doubled over, shivering and teeth chattering.
Dean tried to reach the windows. Maybe if they could break the glass, they could try Sam's idea of shooting out the tires. Or, at least, jump for it. When his hand neared the frosted glass, he was violently pushed back, landing in a heap next to his brother, who had also been repelled from his attempt to break into the trunk.
"Christ, Dean...it's got us penned in."
Dean thought for a moment, then took out his phone and dialed. It rang twice. "Bobby? It's me. We're in trouble...the car's been possessed. Yeah. Yeah...I know how it sounds. We tried that. No. We can't get through..."
"Does he have any ideas?" Sam asked quietly.
Dean shook his head. "Not yet," he turned his attention back to the phone, "Yeah? Well, maybe, but it's gonna try and kill us if we--- Yeah. Okay. Hurry."
He closed the phone. "He's gonna call back."
The car swerved again, narrowly missing a parked construction vehicle. Dean heard metal grinding metal as they passed, and the lurching tossed him and Sam around again. He felt the car tilting as the road changed to an incline. The highway was curving up into a high bridge. Dean could just make out the edge of the bridge in the darkness.
When did it get so dark? he wondered idly.
"Well," Sam said as he tried to balance himself on the seats, "i hope he calls back soon, bec---"
"Sam..." Dean interrupted, looking out the front window, "I think we have a problem. Look!"
Sam followed where he was pointing, and Dean watched the realization sink in. They were speeding toward a curved guardrail, but they weren't turning to stay on the road. Instead, the car was headed directly for it.
Before either of them could say anything more, the Impala blasted through the guardrail as if it was made of paper. They seemed to hang in mid-air for a few long moments, as the laughter erupted from the radio again.
Dean and Sam grabbed on to each other and screamed as the car plummeted down into the abyss---
Sam shook his brother's shoulders again, and finally, the older hunter stopped thrashing and opened his eyes. Dean blinked at him a few times, obviously confused, then settled.
"You were having a nightmare," Sam said quietly.
Dean rubbed his eyes. "Man, that was so weird..."
"You have the car dream again?"
Dean nodded. "What a nightmare...watching you tearing my baby apart..."
Sam smirked. "Did we scream like little girls again when we went over the cliff?"
"You did, you big baby."
Sam glared at him, waiting. Dean held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. "Yes...both of us did. Happy now?"
Sam sat on the edge of Dean's bed. "You know, you have that dream every time you eat pizza late at night. You should stop doing that."
"'You should stop doing that' I'm Sammy, blah, blah, blah..." Dean mocked.
Sam picked up one of the pillows Dean had knocked out of the bed and hit his brother with it as he returned to his own bed. "Shut up, Jerk."
Dean laughed while Sam settled back into his bed. He was almost back to sleep when he heard his brother ask, "Hey, Sam?"
"Is there any pizza left?"