~*~My former roommate and I argued long and hard over this. She (the Supernatural fan who got me into the series) said Dean would win. I (the Good Omens fan who got her into the book) said Crowley would win. Our argument ended in a stalemate, but I went ahead and wrote my version anyway.
Ignore anything that even remotely resembles a plot.
Warnings: Few harsh words.
Musical Muse: Supernatural episodes.
Disclaimer: I am neither Neil Gaiman nor Sir Terry Pratchett. Nor am I Erik Kripke. I'm not nearly as good as they are.
~*~ The Bentley VS. The Metallicar ~*~
It should go without saying that supernatural entities should not be subjected to boredom. It tends to cause many many problems.
"I'm boooooored!" Adam Young wailed from the backseat of Crowley's Bentley. Crowley and Aziraphale rolled their eyes at one another. It was true that they had just driven through a town, giving a change from the eternal endless fields, but it should also be noted that they were driving through Nebraska. Nebraska, in Crowley's opinion, was more boring than Siberia, and far more torturous.
"Just a few more hours Adam" Aziraphale tried to console the Antichrist, but the huff he got in answer told him that "a few more hours" was not going to be soon enough.
"What are we doing here anyway?" Adam sat up and leaned forward, sticking his head between the front seats. "I thought America would be less…boring."
"What, you mean you don't like all the ice cream?" Crowley teased the boy. Adam smiled wistfully at the thought of all the flavors America had to offer. "Yeah, that's good, but…" A frown crossed his angelic face. "I really wish we could get this over with so we can go home!"
Aziraphale sighed. "So do we Adam. So do we…" he trailed off unhappily. Crowley and the angel exchanged Significant Looks. They both knew the reason they were here was far more serious than sampling ice cream. Apparently even though Heaven and Hell decided to put the Apocalypse off, the angels and demons in America hadn't picked up on it yet and were still trying to make it go. So they had picked up Adam, left Dog and Crowley's houseplants in the care of Newt and Anathema, and shipped (begged, bribed, ordered) the Bentley to America in order to put a stop to it all…again.
But it would be so easy for things to go wrong. Aziraphale and Crowley knew that. Adam could die, and the world would fall into chaos. And no one wanted that. Especially them, as they had grown so fond of the young Antichrist. And the world in general, of course.
But even the impending doom couldn't take away from the enjoyable experience of driving across America eating ice cream and listening to Queen. The Bohemian Rhapsody sounded infinitely better with a human, an angel, and a demon singing their respective parts. And everyone usually enjoyed each other's company very much. Usually, except when they were trapped in a vehicle for far too long a time. That could make even the closest friends want to murder one another.
Adam flopped back into the backseat. "I just wish something interesting would happen! I thought I'd be seeing cowboys and Indians riding around! Not pig farms and Semis!" He glared out the window. At the tender age of 12, he still held his childish beliefs and naivety. He really had wanted America to be the amazing place of his dreams. In reality, it was much like England.
Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances once more. Then knew that if Adam wasn't entertained, he would do something to entertain himself. Which might involve using his powers. Which would call all sorts of heavenly and hell-bent shit down upon them.
Crowley coasted to a stop at a red light. He thought about pulling over and letting Adam drive, but quickly sent that thought away. No way in Hea- He- Manchester was the kid going to drive the Bentley. Over his discorperated body.
Crowley cast his gaze to the right. Being English, and driving an English car in America, he was looking right at the driver of the vehicle next to him. It was a nice car, for an American model. It was old- but nowhere near as old as the Bentley- compared to the rest of the machines on the road. The man behind the wheel looked as young as Crowley's corporation, and staring out the windshield like he wanted to run something over. He glanced over at Crowley, and then sized up his car. The smirk that passed over his face poked Crowley in exactly the wrong way. No one laughed at his Bentley. The driver looked up, and saw Crowley's angry expression. The smirk on the other driver's face became challenging, and he shifted his car into gear—the international signal for a race.
Crowley shifted gears as well. "Angel, Adam… buckle up."
Adam cheered, and sat forward. "Are you going to race that guy?" he asked, completely ignoring the order to put his seatbelt on.
"Crowley please, don't do this!" Aziraphale begged. He was already buckled in, and grabbed at the straps tightly.
"Angel, he challenged me. It'sss ON!" Crowley snarled. The engine revved in agreement.
The sound of revving engines jerked Sam from his reading, and he looked up from their father's journal to see what was happening. "Dean, what are you doing?" He asked, looking past his brother to see the car opposite them was also revving threateningly.
"Oh, nothing." Dean replied, devious smirk still in place. "Just a little race." Dean felt his adrenaline shoot through him, erasing the tension he had been carrying for too long. That's what the Apocalypse did to you. A car race is just what he needed. And that smug-looking prick in that antique of a car looked just as ready for a race as he was. Dean would guess he would feel the same way if he was trapped in a car with that prissy-looking blonde and a kid. Sam was bad enough, especially when he got all angsty and mopey like he'd been for the last few days.
The light changed, and Dean floored it. The Impala roared into action, shooting forward like a bullet. Dean laughed uproariously, already much farther ahead than his challenger. He felt better already. He knew there was no way in hell that grandpa of a car could ever catch him.
Sam sighed. Dean knew what was coming, and prepared to tune it out. "Dean, you really shou-" Sam stopped mid-lecture, looking past Dean out the window. Dean looked to the left, and swore heatedly. "What the fu-!"
The Bentley may not be fast at initial acceleration, but it had been driving at top speeds for most of its existence. It was no problem for it to catch up to the Impala. Crowley drove with a leisurely grin, as Adam cheered from the backseat and Aziraphale cringed in the passenger seat. It zoomed past the Impala before Dean knew what hit him.
"Shit!" Dean swore, trying to catch up with the old car. But they were no match for the demon behind the wheel. The last they saw of the car was a face in the rear window, pulling faces as they roared away into the distance.
~*~Of course this is how I imagine it'll turn out. Anyone want to write one where Dean wins? Go ahead!