Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: For Your Convenience

For a long time I've wanted to write about Dean vs. The Automated Grocery Checkout Line, but your idea is way better...

Title: For Your Convenience
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - Gen - Humor
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Winchesters vs. The Hybrid.

Sam knew the physical absence of a key and ignition would be somewhat traumatizing.

There was the unspoken appraisal and professional disgust when Dean slid into the driver’s seat and saw the big black button that simply read: POWER. The engine started up undetectably, the anticipated roar and rumble of the frame replaced by a small musical chime that armed the duel airbags. The law forced their usual ride to take a vacation under a tarp in the long term parking of an airport one state away. The eco-friendly tourist franchise of the Pacific Northwest had made the rental options as limited as the neutral colors the vehicles came in.

Sam adjusted his seat with its equally silent motor into the far back position and took a good look at the future he’d heard so much about.

The spotless glove compartment was as barren of human wear and tear as the stunning uniformity of soft beige leather. The overhead cabin lights dimmed politely like a movie theater after Sam got enough room to get his legs inside and shut the door. The pristine carpet floor mats made him self conscious of the new dark smears of dirt under his muddy boots. Glancing into the side door he spotted some left over trash that the rental company had missed during their cleaning sweep between owners. It was oddly comforting to find the little piece of squalor in the immaculate interior. A greasy potato chip bag was a satisfying reminder that this thing hadn’t magically materialized in the parking lot with the swipe of a valid credit card.

His brother put the sleek hybrid in reverse and backed out of the space. Sam shifted uncomfortably as the engine made no noticeable change in sound whatsoever.

“It’s like driving a UFO,” Dean said uneasily. “I wonder how many people I could back over in this thing.”

Sam considered how the lack of misfiring pistons and clouds of black exhaust could greatly increase a pedestrian’s chances of tragic mishap. However, running over the unwary at a crosswalk didn’t linger long on his mind. He was much too distracted by the most interesting feature of their borrowed wheels. It wasn’t the disturbingly unsoiled dashboard or its sickening factory plastic scent, it was the bright flat screen computer monitor that sat between their seats over the automatic shift.

He activated the touch screen and smiled as it quickly flashed to an overhead grid with a red marker arrow indicating their location.

“Fancy.” Dean said.

“Yup,” Sam answered in distraction. “It’s got a GPS and everything.”

“No kidding,” Dean yanked at the jammed seatbelt a few times before giving up. “For launching missiles?”


“Whatever,” Dean shrugged. “Whip out the map and let’s get this show on the road.”

“Wait a sec.”

Although the rental office had had a wall of neatly folded maps for sale, Sam hadn’t bought any while his brother was busy doing the paperwork. He tapped the monitor screen on the dash until a color coded menu popped up. A blinking cursor urged him to please enter his desired destination. Suddenly, an unexpected sound made them both jump in their seats. A clear and melodious female voice rang through the car as if some woman was riding invisible shotgun with a megaphone.

In ½ a mile turn right.

“What the—“

“Just listen to it.”

Please fasten your seatbelts.

A motivational but unpleasant high pitched dinging started to sound. Dean struggled with his jammed belt as the ding grew louder and more insistent.

Please fasten your seatbelts.

The harrowing ding abruptly stopped when the uncooperative seatbelt finally clicked into place.

In ½ a mile turn right.

Dean regarded the small screen doubtfully.

The turn is coming up on your right.

“Is this chick gonna be babbling all the way to the Interstate?”

“No,” Sam assured him. “It’ll just get us to 5 and then I’ll shut it off.”

Turn right.

Sam looked expectantly at the awaiting road as his brother let the car slow to a maddening crawl.


With a frown, Dean reluctantly followed the firm command.

“Good thing she sounds hot.”

It was nice to sit back and not play with a flashlight or phone to get directions.

Straining his eyes until he got a headache was a duty he was grateful not to perform. The steady composed voice dutifully directed them through each empty intersection and down every questionable street until the reflective green cast of the sign appeared in the headlights. Sam liked how every confirmation of the technology’s usefulness made his brother begrudgingly obey its word from behind the wheel. By the time they had passed a few exits Sam tapped the touch screen for recommendations for dinner. It helpfully pointed out that they were ¾ of a mile away from an IHOP and just a little further to a Denny’s.

Dean remained without comment when they reached the one mile mark and no timely exits presented themselves towards food. The automated voice continued to fill in their usual driving silence with suggestions, cautions and counsel on alternative routing.

When Sam counted the tenth time the recorded courtesy repeated the traffic advisory for the empty blacktop, his brother loudly cleared his throat.

“Sure would be nice to know where we are.”

“We’re on I-5.”

Sam frowned at a small sign that zipped past his window. He wasn’t sure but he could have sworn it said nothing about an Interstate and had some troublesome numbers he didn’t recognize. When another few mile markers went by and no more signs were forthcoming he looked at the animated map that insisted they were not only on the right path, but in the middle of the next city’s crowded downtown area. With no breaks in the road they had no choice but to keep going straight ahead. The dark mountain woods on either side of the deserted asphalt hadn’t even offered a suggested speed limit.

Sam gritted his teeth as the system sternly chided his brother for missing the turn off it had been continuously prepping him for a half an hour.

“Sure would be nice if we had a real life paper map,” Dean added. “At least we’d have something to eat—“

In ½ a mile turn right.

“Turn it off Sam.”

“It’s off.”

In ½ a mile turn right.

“Turn it off Sam.”

“I hit the thing that says off, I don’t know what else you want me to—“

“Would you like to know where my fist is?” Dean asked. “It’s coming up shortly in less than a mile. On your left.”

Turn right now.

Sam tried to ignore that their immediate right not only had no traffic light as previously promised, but lead directly off what looked like a steep cliff into the valley below.

You’ve missed your turn. Please proceed straight for another 23 miles and then take a left.

“This bitch is crazy,” Dean mumbled. “She’s trying to kill us.“

“Maybe I should reboot it or something—“

The car suddenly fish tailed as the brake was applied much too quickly. Sam raised his arms over his face when the airbag warnings started going off due to rapid deceleration. Peeling himself off the windshield, he breathlessly took in the now perpendicular yellow centerlines and his brother’s furious grip on the steering wheel.

In ½ a mile turn right.

Sam scrolled desperately through the jaunty menu for any hints on how to make it stop. His shaking hands were viciously slapped away.

“Get yer paws off!”

He watched apprehensively as his brother started stabbing at the touch pad as though sheer force alone would put an end to the relentless calm instruction. The system questioned their unexplained halt a few more times before the serene demand was abruptly cut off mid-sentence.

They both stared at the glowing screen in hesitant relief.

“There ya go,” Dean tentatively sat back. “See? All this thing needed was a—“


“Aw Jesus no.”

Dans ½ mille tournez à droite.

Sam looked grimly at his watch.

Without factoring in any unforeseen delays the trip to the coast was going to take them all night at best.

Alerte! Je suis en panne d'essence.*

“Panty essense?” Dean repeated in offense. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sam sank down into the comfy seat with perfectly adjusted lower lumbar support and sighed at the sight of a whole lot of roadside nothing.

“You’ll find out in a minute.”

*I have run out of fuel.
Tags: gen, sam pov, spn humor, spn one shot
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