Author's Note: This is an idea that I have wanted to write for a while, but had a really hard time with. After a bunch of re-writes and a lot of writer's block, here it is. The basic idea is that the Impala was a soul that got reincarnated as the car the Winchesters know and love. She turns into semi-human form when they're asleep (outside of the Impala). Because Dean only ever calls her 'baby' she's under the impression that it's her name. This was not intended to fit into any particular Supernatural timeline or plot. It's just a thing… I plan on this being a sort-of-multi chapter fic made up of three one-shots that can either stand alone or be considered 'chapters'.

Part One: She's a Backseat Driver, A Drama Provider

Baby woke up curled in a ball in the parking lot of a cheap motel with 'Carry on My Wayward Son' stuck in her head. Cursing, the young woman sat up and stretched. Checking her watch she noted that it was well after midnight and that her jacket was splattered with… was that blood? And internal organs…? Goddammit, Dean, did you have to run over the zombie? Really?

Grumbling about irresponsible car owners and their stupid-ass decisions, Baby climbed to her feet, checking herself over for injuries as she did so. Most of it seemed pretty superficial, bruises and a scrape or two. Her hair was a snarled mass of silver and black, but that was fixable. It wouldn't be the first time she had stolen Sam's conditioner. Honestly, that boy was like a walking salon, if Dean knew what Sam had hidden with her over the years, the littlest Winchester would never live it down.

A quick glance at her clothes reassured her that no lasting damage had been done. Her black jeans still hugged her legs comfortably, with nary a rip in sight, her black lace-trimmed sleeveless shirt was all in one piece, and her silver-studded black leather jacket still hung from her shoulders comfortably. Every stitch of the embroidery spelling out her license plate number on her shirt was still in place. If she had lifted the fabric up to expose her stomach she would have seen an identical pristine tattoo sprawling once across her abs and a second one on her back.

Good. The boys hadn't screwed anything up too terribly. Despite Dean using her as a battering ram and zombie-mulcher. That was just degrading. Baby sighed. There were worse ways to be reincarnated than as the Chevrolet Impala owned by a pair of young male hunters, one of whom insisted on referring to her exclusively as 'Baby'. Then again, maybe not, she was picking zombie guts from her hair after all.

Sighing and shaking her head at the boys and their antics, Baby crept toward their motel room, digging the key Dean had carelessly left on her dashboard out of a jacket pocket. Quiet as a cat and reveling at the rare chance to actually possess stealth now that she was in human form (it was hard to be sneaky when you had an engine as loud as hers), Baby slipped the key into the lock and carefully eased the door open with only a quiet squeak. Peering around the room, Baby scanned the two sleeping figures within. Dean was crashed out on one of the beds, a half-eaten big mac slowly congealing on the wrapper beside him, the TV still playing the tail end of a Dr. Sexy M.D marathon. Sam looked like he had been a bit more industrious before the lure of sleep claimed him. He was lightly dozing, head resting square on his laptop's keyboard, notes spread all around him in an untidy mess.

Apparently Baby's entrance was not quite silent enough. With a jerk Dean sat bolt upright in bed, sending his half-finished dinner falling to the floor along with the remote and several clips of ammunition. Still groggy, he pointed a handgun vaguely in her direction. "What the hell you evil son of a bitch!" he slurred.

"Sher-ermf, Derm." Sam grumbled, still mostly asleep, waving a hand in Dean's direction before rolling his head off the keyboard and into the pages of an open textbook.

Apparently placated by his brother's string of gibberish (Baby guessed that a rough translation would be 'Shut up, Dean'), Dean returned the gun to its place beside him and went back to sleep. Rolling her eyes at them, Baby rescued the big mac's remains from the carpet, giving them the burial they deserved (in the bottom of the nearest trash can, she hated McDonald's, it was just one more way people could get disgusting crap all over her seats). The ammunition and remote were placed on the nightstand, along with the firearm. Screw the idea of sleeping with a gun under your pillow for safety; they were all safer if Dean Winchester refrained from sleep-shooting for the time being.

Baby gently extracted the laptop from the death-grip Sam had on it. The boy was hugging it like a security blanket, a difficult feat considering his nose was wedged in the binding of an enormous mythology textbook. The removal of the laptop drew a quiet whine of protest from the snoozing man. A small smile tugged at her lips as she remembered all the times the boys had crashed in the backseat when their father once again drove across the country in search of leads on yellow-eyes. They had been so sweet.

And now they were hunters too. It was almost disappointing, really. But she was proud of them, all the same. If she had to be reincarnated as a car, at least it was this car. And no matter what Sam said, she was the badassest thing on four wheels and he knew it. Or he'd better know it. She cast a short baleful look at the unconscious man. Silly boy, thinking he could get away with buying a new car just because he had had no soul. It had been so sweet of Castiel to help her let Sam's new car get 'accidentally' destroyed.

But now Sam's soul was back and they were all back together. Almost like a family. Not really thinking about it, Baby realized that she had been smoothing Sam's hair as he slept. Ugh, since when was she their mom? Feeling extremely weirded out and unsure where to go from here, Baby decided the best option was to get the boy in bed before he could wake up and wonder why a strange woman was standing there, stroking him like a cat.

Grimacing (he smelled like zombie guts, obviously these two needed a lesson in hygiene) Baby grabbed him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. Slinging one of his arms over her shoulder; she half-dragged, half-carried him out of his chair. She paused and gazed at the two beds, a mischievous thought tugging at her imagination. Opting not to listen to her conscience, Baby hauled the younger Winchester over to his brother's bed and dumped him next to Dean. Smirking she rearranged the boys so Sam's head was cushioned on Dean's shoulder and Dean's arm was splayed across Sam's chest.

Let them figure that out in the morning. Happy to have enacted her revenge for being used as a zombie lawn-mower, Baby shut down Sam's laptop (research on the pagan god Morpheus, interesting and ironic), grabbed his shampoo and conditioner (ooh, appletini scent, that was new) and went to go scrub the stench of zombie from her skin.

Baby was sitting back in the parking lot in time for Dean and Sam to wake up, triggering her transformation back into a car. Three, two, one, she counted off in her, head…

"WHAT THE FRIGGING HELL?!"

"DUDE GET OFF ME!"

"YOU WERE THE ONE SNUGGLING WITH ME!"

"No, no, no, there was no snuggling, I do NOT SNUGGLE!"

"Cuddling? What other words are there for that?"

"Awkward as frigging hell?"

"YES! AWKWARD!"

"If this is some weird-ass angel prank I am freaking killing Cas!"

Neither Winchester noticed the rapid change in radio stations in the Impala as she laughed her ass off at the two idiots she looked after. It was good to have a family. Albeit, a dysfunctional one that now seemed intent on murdering each other if there was any more physical contact, but a family.

And Baby won every prank war. She just did.