The Kandy Kolored Aubergine-flake Streamline Baby
A/N: Title lifted from Tom Wolfe's "Kandy Kolored Tangerine-flake Streamline Baby
They'd been driving for hours along a lonely back road in the middle of some farming state, nothing but fields and barns for miles. They'd seen two cars coming from the other direction earlier that morning, but the rearview mirror stayed had empty the entire time.
They heard it before they saw it, blazing up from behind them and overtaking them in a matter of seconds. It swerved past, cutting in front of them briefly before the driver hit the accelerator again, the car disappearing from view in a blur of purple and white, the sun glittering off the sparkly metallic paint job.
"Guess they're in a rush to get nowhere," Sam said, glancing up momentarily from the papers he was reading.
Dean spotted it immediately when they stopped for drinks that evening, parked right out front of the local roadhouse. Smaller and more compact than the Impala, it glittered like a jewel in the sodium light of the street lamps. The body was painted a deep purple hue, metal flakes embedded in an inch of lacquer. She bore two white racing stripes that extended from the hood to the trunk. She was trimmed with chrome, polished clean, her original hubcaps reflecting like mirrors.
"The 1970 Chevelle SS 454. 450 horsepower and over 500 pounds of torque," Dean said reverently, his adoration evident. "This baby can hit over 100 miles per hour over a quarter mile, in only 13 seconds." He glanced at his brother who appeared nonplussed. "That's damned fast for a street car," he elaborated for Sam's benefit.
"Shit, Sammy," he said. "This is some serious machine."
Performance-wise, it could easily kick the Impala's butt. Still, you'd never get him to trade his baby for one, not for the world. Besides, the Chevelle trunk wouldn't fit all their gear, though Dean was able to appreciate that it was a beautiful specimen of American muscle.
He shook his head and let out a low whistle as he skimmed his fingers over her. He slowly circled the vehicle, stopping at the rear window with a soft chuckle. It had been tinted dark, the words "Sweet Emotion" emblazoned across it.
Sam watched with a bemused expression as his brother assessed the car. Notice a sticker on the rear bumper, he pointed it out to Dean. "Hey, check it out," he said. "Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill."
"Tura Satana," Dean replied with a grin, imagining the dark haired glamazon in his head. "Sam, I'm telling you… this car definitely belongs to a chick."
Sam rolled his eyes and told his brother to wipe the saliva off his chin.
It was a Friday night and the place was packed. The boys sat down at a table across from the bar, getting a feel for the place. It was filled with burly men, cheap women and even cheaper liquor: just how Dean liked it. However, none of them looked like they'd be the one to own 'Sweet Emotion.'
Over in the corner, Sam noticed a young woman wearing a cardigan over a white blouse, her hair pulled back from her face with barrettes. The look screamed librarian, making her appear especially out of place. She seemed blissfully unaware of anything happening around her, sipping her water and flipping through a newspaper.
"Whatchoo lookin' at, Sammy?" Dean inquired, turning to see at what or who had caught his brother's attention. "Find yourself a friend?"
Sam shook his head and took a long swallow of his beer.
"Dude, I know I call you a geek, but come on," Dean teased. "I get you've been out of the game for a while, but trust me, you can do better. I mean, I've seen some of the chicks you've scored - and Lord knows how - you've bagged some sweet pieces of a—"
"Dean!" Sam interrupted with a glare.
"What?" Dean asked sardonically. "She's just mousy, even for you. She actually manages to make a dork like you seem really cool, which is practically impossible.
"Although, she could be one of those really wild ones who're all sweet on the surface," he continued, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Then you get in the bedroom and break into some seriously freaky shit?! Like this minister's daughter, in Tulsa, who tied me up and then brought out this huge—"
"Enough!" Sam yelped, hoping to avoid any further discussion of his brother's sordid sex life.
"That's okay Sam," Dean smirked playfully. "You're thinking maybe she'd be a bit too much for you to handle, huh?"
"You are a jerk," Sam stated emphatically.
Dean shrugged and finished his drink with a grin. As a young woman with short spiky hair stalked past, he turned to admire the view. She wore tight jeans, motorcycle boots, a black tank top that showed off sinewy arms and accentuated the curve of her breasts, topped off with a silver wallet-chain. She carried herself with a confidence reserved for tomboys. A tad butch for Dean's taste, but with an ass like that, he could get over it.
One of the men at the bar clearly agreed with him, loudly expressing his appreciation of her "nice tits." The woman flipped him the finger and continued on her way to the jukebox in the corner. Dean laughed.
"Bitch!" the man spat after her.
She stopped in her tracks, spun on her heel, and was quickly standing in front of her detractor. She smiled wide, cocked her head to one side, and slid close to him, positioning a hip between his thighs.
"There's no need to be calling names," she said, wrapping her hand around his drink and looking up at him seductively. His friends chuckled around him as his anger eased away. She took a long sip from the bottle. "A little girl like me just has to be careful s'all."
"Well sweetheart, you don't need to careful of me, I ain't gonna hurt ya," the man leered.
She took another sip and smiled, using her free hand to tuck a loose lock behind his ear. "You're right, you're not gonna hurt me." She curled her fingers into his hair, turning so that she faced him, and licked her lips. "But I still need to be careful."
"Oh yeah," the man asked drunkenly. "Why'sat?"
She smiled sweetly then rolled her eyes before snarling, "So that Idon't hurt you!"
A look of confusion passed over the man's features as she tightened her grip in his hair, yanking his head forward and down. At the same time, she raised the beer bottle up and smashed it across the back of his head. Stunned by the hit, his head reeled back and she let go; his body pitching forward. She stepped backward, letting him fall to the ground.
His friends rose off their seats and were moving toward her, but the bouncer already had her by the scruff of her shirt and was dragging her away.
"Who's the bitch now?" she sneered as she wrestled to get free.
Both Sam and Dean watched in amazement as the librarian girl quickly approached the beefy doorman, evidently pleading the other woman's case. After a few moments, the bouncer released his grip on the feisty one, letting her off with a stern warning.
--
The two women walked back to their table, having a heated conversation about what had just gone down.
"Do you always have to do that?" the mousy one asked.
"Do what? I didn't make that guy scream obscenities at me."
"No, but you don't have to get into it with every good old boy out there, either!"
"So I should just let them get away with it?"
"I'm not saying that, it's just, do you have to hit them?"
"I could kick them, I guess."
"Funny. Couldn't you just spit in their drink and hand it back to them or something?"
"Oh sweetie," the short-haired one laughed. "You are way too nice. Can't I at least pour their drinks over their heads?"
The other girl frowned and opened her mouth to protest.
"Fine, next time I'll try to just let it go, alright?"
"You promise?"
"I promise to try." She shook her head and laughed. "So, spit in their drink, huh?"
The mousy girl blushed. "I don't know…"
"No, no, I like it. It's tame, but still pretty twisted from you."
"I'm not tame. I can defend myself as well as you can!"
"Yes, you can honey," the tough one smiled and smoothed the other's hair. "I just hope you never have to."
"Did you see that?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam answered.
"That was fucking hot!"
Sam rolled his eyes.
"I'll bet that car belongs to her," Dean said as he watched the two women interact. When one started stroking the other's hair he turned back to Sam with a leer. "Think they're lesbians?"
"Jesus Dean," Sam groaned in response to the words Dean had said loud enough for the women to hear.
"Lesbians?" The short-haired girl asked, turning their way. "This coming from one half of the homo couple?"
"Brandy!" the long haired one said, seeking to shush her companion.
"You have to forgive my brother," Sam apologized. "He can be a bit…"
"Stupid?" Brandy supplied.
Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but Sam shot him a glare and he shut up.
"I'm Katie," the other woman jumped in, getting up to shake Sam's hand, "and this is my sister Brandy."
"I'm Sam," he said.
"And you're Richard?" Brandy turned to Dean with a smug smirk.
"No, I'm Dean," he corrected.
"Oh, sorry about that," Brandy sniffed. "Guess you just act like a Dick then." Sam and Katie snickered while Dean stood there dumbfounded for a moment.
"Sweetheart, you'd know from dicks wouldn't you?" Dean muttered under his breath. "I'll bet yours is bigger than mine."
"Pardon me?" Brandy asked, cocking her head.
"I said, 'Sweetheart, that Chevelle outside must belong to you'," he smiled, affecting a spurious grin.
"As a matter of fact, she does," Brandy admitted and crossed her arms defensively. "What kind of car do you drive, a Pinto?"
"Ha, ha, good one," Dean scoffed. This chick was a smart-mouth bitch. He didn't need to take crap from her, no matter how hot she was.
"What do you ladies say we call a truce, let me buy a round?" Sam offered.
"Sounds great," Katie said.
"I'll get it," Dean announced, thinking about the curvy bartender that had served him earlier, and made his escape. As Dean turned away, Brandy rolled her eyes, and Sam chuckled.
"You'll join us, won't you?" Katie asked.
"Sure," Sam said as he moved over to their table.
"So, he's your brother?" Brandy asked as once Dean was out of earshot.
"Allegedly."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Brandy!"
"It's okay Katie, Dean's not everybody's taste," Sam chuckled. "He says stupid things, makes an ass of himself, gets in fights, and makes my life miserable." He glanced at Katie and smiled. "But, he's my big bro, and when he's not being an idiot, he's really a great guy. He's just a little… intense sometimes."
"Wow, I couldn't imagine what that's like," Katie said sarcastically, glancing at her sister.
Brandy snorted, drumming her fingers against the table. "What the heck is taking him so long? Is he banging the waitress back there?" she demanded after a few minutes.
"Possibly," Sam deadpanned. "It's a tight fit in a Pinto, maybe they got stuck."
Brandy grinned in spite of herself. Sam certainly seemed swifter on the uptake than Dean, and didn't rattle easily. If he dealt regularly with a guy like Dean without throttling him, she had to respect that.
She grabbed the newspaper off the table and skimmed over the page her sister had been reading earlier. She looked at the photo on the page, and then looked over at the bar. Huh, the female bartender was the same woman from the article. "Since it looks like Dean's not coming back, I'm going to go get us some drinks," she announced.
Dean walked out of the washroom and meandered up to the bar. He tried to catch the eye of the hot bartender, but she was busy talking with someone. He moved over to where she was standing and discovered she was speaking to Brandy, laughing and giggling. Flirting like teenagers. Noticing his presence, Brandy straightened up and said, "Thanks Kimmy, we'll talk some more later." She took the matchbook Kimmy offered and pushed it into her back pocket, ignoring the look Dean was giving her.
"Can I get you something?" Kimmy asked Dean.
"Yeah, a pitcher please, with four glasses." While the bartender went to get his order, Dean turned to Brandy with a shit-eating grin on his face. "So, you scored her number huh?"
"Looks like," Brandy smirked.
"That'll be fifteen dollars, please," Kim said, returning with the drinks.
Dean dropped a twenty on the bar and flashed a bright grin. "Keep the change."
"Thanks," Kimmy smiled and went off to serve another patron.
"Big tip," Brandy noted.
"Yeah, well, if she's giving you her number, I figure she needs all the help she can get," Dean sighed.
"Help with what?"
"Buying herself some taste."
Brandy shoved him. "Get back to the table before Sam and Katie conspire together to use their powers of nice to make this place even less fun, okay?"
Dean laughed and returned to the table with the beer. Brandy joined them a few minutes later with a bottle of Jack Daniels.
"What's that for?" Dean asked.
"Present from Kimmy," she winked.
After the beer was finished, Katie and Sam busied themselves with talk of school and other interests that both Dean and Brandy dismissed as geeky.
Twisting the cap off the JD, she offered Dean a drink. She poured him a double, and then poured herself twice as much.
"That's quite a drink," he commented.
"You want more?" she asked, tilting the bottle back towards him.
"Sure," he said, topping up his glass. "So…."
"So, what?" Brandy responded idly.
"Was I right?"
"About what?"
"The lesbian thing?"
"What?!"
"Well, you got that chick's number."
"So I must be a dyke?"
"Hey, it's cool. I like lesbians."
"I'll bet you do," Brandy replied. "But I'm not."
"No?"
"Nope. Kimmy's just helping me out with something."
"I'll bet."
"Not that kind of help, jackass."
"Enlighten me."
"Nothing really, just some business."
"What kind of business?"
"Definitely none of yours."
"Fine, as long as you don't try to sell me any Avon, we're good."
"I sell Mary Kay, actually," she said wryly as she sipped her drink.
"Okay. So you're not into chicks."
"Nope."
"Crap. I was going to ask Kimmy for her number, but I didn't because I thought you beat me to it," Dean said.
"So?"
"So, you owe me. I could be getting laid right now."
"That's a real shame. Dean's not getting laid. I'm cryin' over here."
"You could make it up to me," Dean winked.
"Are you always such a creep?"
"Do you always get numbers from random female bartenders?"
"Do you even have an upstairs brain?"
"Yeah, but I only use it when I have to."
"I couldn't tell."
"Enough about me, let's her more about you making it up to me," he leered.
Brandy laughed. They sat appraising each other for a moment, before she said, "even if I was that kind of girl Dean… you're not my type."
"Huh," he responded, and that was that.
After an hour or so, Sam noticed the bottle of Jack was half empty. "Been busy, I see."
"Dean here is pretty soused," Brandy pointed out. "He's a lightweight."
"M'not" Dean mumbled. "M'just tired s'all."
"Well sleepyhead, we should probably hit the road," Sam rose from his seat and gave Dean a gentle tug out of the chair. Dean swayed slightly, gripping Sam's shirt for support.
Sam chuckled and turned to Brandy. "Katie mentioned you guys needed to find a motel for the night."
"Yeah, all the places in town were full. Some sort of convention for plastic tubing or some shit," she groaned.
"The boys found a place a few miles out. Sam thought maybe we might want to try there," Katie suggested.
"Great," Dean and Brandy said at the same time, looking equally thrilled at the prospect of spending more time together.
"Why don't you two should just follow us there?" Sam suggested.
The girls walked the boys out to the parking lot, Dean still leaning on Sam for support. He suspected that Brandy had been pouring larger drinks for him or something, because there was no way that tiny girl could drink more than he could and not be drunk. He grumbled as much to Sam who just laughed and dragged him over to the car.
"So, which pathetic excuse for a car is yours?" Brandy called out as Dean and Sam crossed to the far side of the parking lot. "You're kidding me!" she exclaimed as they stopped at the Impala. "Wow, Winchester – a true classic. I'm impressed."
"I'm glad you approve," he jeered.
"Her chrome looks rubbed to shit, though."
Dean glared. Sam laughed. "I hope Katie's worth it," he muttered, but Sam didn't hear.
They pulled out of the lot in front of the Chevelle and led the way to the motel.
"How'd it go with the little vixen?" Dean joked.
"Katie is very nice." Sam replied.
"Don 't give me that 'Katie is very nice' crap!" Dean groans. "You gonna tap that?"
"No Dean, I'm not going to 'tap that'," Sam said tersely. "I'm not interested, and even if I was, I don't think she'd be interested in me."
"No? Did you somehow manage to out-nerd even her, Sammy?"
Sam chuckled, despite himself. He rarely got to see Dean drunk, and he decided it was rather amusing. "No, I didn't 'out-nerd' her, though I appreciate your confidence in my skills. Actually, we spent a long time talking about you and her sister."
"Oh yeah? You two dweebs couldn't come up with anything more exciting to discuss?" Dean continued. "I am pretty exciting."
"Yes Dean, that was exactly why we talked about you," Sam sighed. "It had absolutely nothing to do with how stupid you two could be and how much trouble we've had to get your asses out of."
"Ha. Ha," Dean muttered drunkenly. "You jealous of my fine ass there, Sammy?
Sam snorted and ignored the last comment. "How'd you hit it off with Brandy?"
"Apparently m'not her type," Dean mumbled.
"Really?"
"Nope," Dean replied. "S'okay though. She's li'l butch for my taste."
"I thought you liked strong women," Sam said.
"Strong yes," Dean admitted. "Able to kick my ass? Not so much."
XXX
A/N: There are a few details included in this story that don't seem to go anywhere. That's because this was part of a much longer story that got away from me, so I scrapped it. However, I loved this part and decided to salvage it. I hope it amused you somewhat. Thanks for reading.