AN: There are other things I should be writing, really, including a 3000-word English Literature essay, but I've been seeing a lot of clips from Changing Channels lately, and this was my muse's response to them.
I own neither Supernatural nor Knight Rider, just an overactive imagination. Apologies for any errors I may have missed during proof-reading.
"Back soon, Sammy." Dean patted the roof of the sleek, black car affectionately; then straightened his tie and checked his fake FBI badge was safely ensconced in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
"It's Sam." The familiar layer of exasperation in the slightly tinny voice drew a smirk from Dean, and he nudged a front wheel gently with one foot in a strange approximation of a friendly shoulder-punch.
"Whatever you say, bitch."
"Jerk." The car shot back, almost fondly. Dean shook himself gently – he should really stop it with the whole 'assigning human emotions to an AI' thing. Because, really, who the heck banters with their car? He gave the Impala one last pat; then headed towards the office block he was supposed to be investigating. Well, Sam said there was the possibility there was something going on there, anyway, and that was good enough for him – for a car, Sammy was damn good at research.
Sam, for his part – he might be an AI, but he thought of himself as male, and Dean treated him as such – resigned himself to a long wait. It wasn't as if he couldn't connect himself up to the internet and do some cross-referencing against his own database, but he'd rather have someone to talk to than just sit there researching, with only the other cars in the lot for company. After all, he himself was the only exception he knew of to the 'cars don't talk' thing that Dean brought up whenever Sam asked why he called him 'little brother', so he wasn't likely to find any more interesting conversation than, say, a passing squirrel.
He was just starting to get together evidence of a possible wendigo in Iowa when the '82 Trans Am pulled up beside him. It didn't really seem all that unusual, except that it was another shiny, black classic muscle car. Sam suspected, given how well the car was evidently looked after, that Dean would probably get along quite well with its owner. Said owner, as he climbed out of the driver's seat, was revealed to have a hairstyle that Dean probably wouldn't be quite so quick to approve as he would the car. Sam suppressed the urge to snigger at the thought of how that conversation would go down, drawing on memories of Dean's occasional…play-fights, if you could call them that, over Ash's hair. Then again, they only tended to occur when Dean was fairly drunk, and he didn't tend to get too far gone except in the company of friends.
As far as behaviour went, the parallels with his 'brother' amused Sam no end – the man nudged the car's front pillar with a fist, and told it to
"Cheer up! It might never happen," before heading off in the direction of the building. The car itself managed to do a very good impression of sulking, for an inanimate object.
Sam finally allowed himself a quiet chuckle at the peculiarity of it all once he was sure the man was out of earshot.
"It's not that funny, you know." Sam immediately quieted, except for the gentle swish of his scanner-bar, which was slightly sped up out of nervousness. It sounded odd to his sensors, almost as if he had an echo, but that made no sense out in the open lot. There was quiet for a moment; then the voice came again, "I apologise: it was rude of me to startle you like that. I can't imagine you've come across many others like yourself." Though less accented, the voice of the other car – because that was, it seemed, who was talking – held the same slightly tinny quality as Sam's own, presumably as a result of having similarly bizarrely-placed speakers to avoid making any vulnerable spots in the bodywork.
"Um, no, not really… Guess I always thought Dad was the only one crazy enough to try making a sentient car." It was true – John Winchester built Sam into the Impala as backup for hunts, just in case, and Sam had never really seen why anyone else would want a car that could decide, of its own accord, where its driver needed to be and take them there without human intervention. Heck, half the time, he wasn't even sure why Dean put up with him, and he was the last thing Dean had left of his father.
"Equally, I had not realised that anyone outside of FLAG knew how to create a true artificial intelligence." The Trans Am paused for a moment; then added, "Why do you call him 'Dad'?"
"Eh…'cause he was, I guess, or the closest I was gonna get, any roads. He never seemed to mind." That was something of an understatement: whilst he'd never actively encouraged the name, he'd always managed a smile when Sam called him that, even when things were pretty dire. Sam had wondered, at times, if it was anything to do with the unborn child John had lost when his wife died, but he hadn't asked, because he knew it made both members of his little family unhappy to think about it.
"Was?" The other car sounded almost tentative.
"Yeah, he…died…a while back. It's just me and Dean, now." In some ways, it had been just Sam and Dean for longer than that, but he didn't really fancy going into all that with a stranger. Not just yet, at any rate.
"I'm sorry…uh…" It took Sam a moment to realise that the Trans Am was fishing for a name.
"Sam. Sam Winchester."
"Technically, I'm the Knight Industries Two Thousand, but most people just call me KITT." Sam wasn't entirely sure whether he'd imagined the slightly wry tone or not, and for once, he was glad not to be human, so that he wouldn't end up doing one of those awkward little half-smiles that always gave the game away when Dean was feeling a bit freaked out by someone.
"Nice to meet you, KITT. You said 'anyone outside of FLAG' – does that mean there are more like you around?" KITT's scanner-bar skipped a beat; then continued in its steady rhythm.
"There was one. He was…not fond of me."
"I'm sorry." He really was – he could still remember the time he'd had a blazing row with Dean and they hadn't spoken for nearly two weeks. It was not a pleasant memory. He didn't even want to imagine what he'd do if Dean ever decided to genuinely dislike him.
"I have Michael." KITT's tone was light enough that it could almost be construed as brushing off Sam's sympathy, but held an underlying sincerity that suggested both some kind of gratitude and that this 'Michael' was as important to KITT as Dean was to Sam.
The conversation went on for a few more minutes, lapsing mainly into small-talk, before Dean's appearance across the lot prompted KITT to drop suddenly into silence.
"Hey, Sammy! You were right – looks like a salt-and-burn. Nice job picking it up." Sam hummed a response, indicating that Dean needn't make it sound like it was such an unusual occurrence. Dean laughed and sat on Sam's hood, leaning back against the windshield. "You make a friend, Sammy?" he asked after a moment, twisting his body to get a better look at the shiny black bodywork of the Trans Am. Sam hummed an affirmative, enjoying the fact that they could just sit and spend time together for a while, like when Dean was younger. "I salute your taste, little brother: that is definitely a very sexy car."
"Thank you." Dean leapt to his feet, startled, at KITT's reply; then turned to glare at Sam.
"Son of a bitch…You planned this, didn't you?" Sam lasted about two-and-a-half seconds before he cracked up at the indignation in his brother's voice.