Part 2: And Ladies Shouldn't Be Messed With

Author's Note: I didn't originally intend to write more of this fic, but the ideas kept coming and so, here it is. There will probably be another short chapter after this one, and who knows, if people are interested enough I might continue to write fics about Baby and company.

P.S: Bonus points for anyone who can guess what song I'm referencing with the chapter titles. Hint, the fic's title is also reference. (This song was stuck in my head when I wrote this, hence the chapter titles.)

"Caffiene?"

"Check."

"Adrenaline shots?"

"Probably illegal, but check."

"Tazer?"

"No, Dean, you are not allowed to pack a tazer."

"Aw Sam, come on, it'll be fun!"

"No! No more tazering Dean!"

"Crybaby."

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his appletini-scented hair (he needed to change his shampoo/conditioner scent, Dean had started to pick up on the fruity aroma). "Dean, we are hunting a pagan god, I don't think tazers are a good idea."

Dean groaned comically, "Come on, dude, the last time I hit you was when I was what, eleven? My aim's much better now."

"No, no tazers."

"Whiny bitch," Dean insulted his sibling without much venom in the words.

"Masochistic jerk," Sam shot back, slinging a heavy backpack full of gear over his shoulder and tugging on his shoes.

Dean snorted, a smile tugging at his mouth, "Ready to go kick some Greek god ass?"

"Without tazers," Sam reminded him.

"Fine, no tazers. But no bitching about how packing adrenaline shots is illegal," Dean demanded, pointing a commanding finger in Sam's face as he breezed through the motel room's door, his brother trailing after him.

Sam rolled his eyes heavenward. He considered praying for guidance, but thought better of it. These days prayer's best case result was an irritable angel in a trenchcoat, worst case involved a bit more smiting and a lot less 'let the nice human live' than Sam was comfortable with. Instead he not-so-gently reminded Dean, "A tazer is not valid method for waking someone up."

Dean tossed his bag of gear in the trunk, Sam following suit. As he slid into the driver's seat, Sam strapped into the passenger seat. Dean glowered over the Impala's dashboard at his brother as they pulled out of the parking lot, onto the highway, "Anything goes when we're fighting the god of sleep, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes once again, and reconsidered the prayer option. Maybe if he was lucky, Cas would show up and smite the sleep god for them and they could all go home and take naps… wait, why was he sleepy? Yeah he had dozed off researching last night and hadn't gotten much rest, but this was ridiculous… His thoughts went fuzzy as his eyes slid shut. Distantly, as if it weren't really all that important compared to his now urgent need to snooze, he hoped that Dean wasn't affected and that they weren't about to crash. Sam barely had enough presence of mind as he drifted off to mumble a foggy, "Hey, Dean, I think Morpheus is…" before passing out completely.

…..

It was hard to describe exactly what it felt like being a car. Baby liked it, although her new form had taken some getting used to, after almost fifty years as a car, she enjoyed the feeling of roaring down the highway, off to a new hunt. However, being in car form was the closest thing Baby had to sleep. Her awareness of the world around her drifted in and out, occasionally she would catch snatches of Sam and Dean's conversations, and sometimes she would listen attentively until the brothers fell silent once more. However, most of the time she would simply drift into a state of semi-consciousness as she let the sweet sound of Dean's classic rock tapes blaring through her speakers lull her into the closest thing she had to rest.

She was not resting now. With a stinging crackle of static through her speakers, Baby felt the presence of the supernatural. A god, she would guess, from the heavy, self-important weight of his presence as he pushed his power through her air vents, despite her efforts to keep them sealed. Somehow, without the benefit of a sense of smell in this form, Baby could feel the heady scent of poppies filtering through the vehicle.

Thunk. Dean had face-planted into the steering wheel. Sam was snoring beside him. Already Baby could feel her tires twisting and jerking every which way as a groggy Dean twisted the steering wheel in his sleeping hands. This was NOT GOOD. With a wrenching jerk of her soul, Baby exerted all the energy she had in stopping the damn car. Or stopping her damn self… the implications of what it meant to be a soul in the body of a car still turned her brain (not that she had one anymore…) into a pretzel.

Finally they skidded to a stop, just inches away from hitting a man in a long dark coat who had just appeared in the middle of the highway. The sun, which had been shining brightly outside, seemed to dim as the man's presence extended outward. Shadows spread out from him, dripping from the hem of his dark leather duster to slink across the pavement, oozing outward like a malignant stain.

He wore a black fedora, silver-rimmed black-lensed sunglasses perched on his nose. The only spot of color to be found anywhere on his body was an enormous blood-red poppy stuck in the lapel of his coat. His held a single pale hand extended toward the Impala, it hung lazily in the air in the universal sign for 'stop'. Once Baby had managed to come to a halt, no thanks to him or his stupid hand signal, he snapped his long, bony fingers. Much to her dismay and irritation, Baby felt her doors fly open and her seatbelts click and retract as Sam and Dean were expelled from their seats and unceremoniously dumped on the pavement, still sound asleep.

Apparently satisfied with his work, the man dropped his hand and said, in a voice just as lazy as the gesture, "You may assume your true form my dear. After all, there's no place like home."

An irritated rumble from her motor turned into an exasperated huff as Baby returned herself to human form. She folded her arms, trying ignore the fact that she and the jerk across from her seemed to have eerily similar fashion sense. Black and silver looked stylish and badass on her, on him it was just plain irritating. "What do you want, godling?" she demanded, not appreciating his rough treatment of her boys.

He shrugged loosely, "The same things everyone wants, power, money, women, sweet dreams," a wicked smile danced across his face at the last comment. "Why? What do you want, little one?"

"I want to know who the hell you are and what the hell you're doing to my boys." Baby's tone was flat and uncompromising.

The man shrugged once again, the movement seemed to be a personal tic. Combined with the coat, it made him look a bit raven-like. "I am Morpheus, god of dreams. I and my brothers have been, how do you say it these days? Ah, crashing in this little town. After that I suppose we'll make our way to Washington DC, wreak some havoc. And I played rough with the humans because they were going to play rough with me. I felt threatened." The smirk twisting itself onto his face as he spoke the words belied any genuine feelings he had felt regarding the Winchester's hunt for him.

Baby snorted at him, trying to ignore the soothing scent of poppy pouring from the flower on his lapel. "As if you care what a handful of hunters were going to do to you. You're a god."

He sighed wearily, half for effect and half out of true tiredness. "A pagan god, chickie. It's been a good while before I've been worshipped, or even really noticed. What do you expect of me when I finally get some time to run around Earth with my brothers? You want me to join a monastery or something? Hells no! I'll just sow some chaos here, some chaos there; screw with the humans' heads a bit." He paused, head cocked to the side as he listened to some sort of frequency Baby couldn't plug into. A delighted smile spread across Morpheus' face. It was as if he were five years old and someone told him that it was going to be Christmas day every single day for a year. "The boys seem to be waking up, quick, act busy!"

Baby slid her gaze over to where Dean had been curled up on the ground. He was beginning to twitch and mutter as if he were well and truly waking up. A quick glance at Sam revealed the same thing. Turning back to her opponent, Baby narrowed her eyes at him menacingly, "I'll be back for you," she promised, voice dripping with hostility even as she made the change back into car form.

….

Dean sat up with a jerk, shouting, "What the friggin' hell?"

Sam groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of his head, "Dean, did you crash the car again?"

"No, chickies, although it wasn't for lack of trying," Morpheus said with a self-satisfied smirk, "Really Dean? Falling asleep at the wheel? Then again, you can't be that bright, you thought a little thing like caffeine and adrenaline would keep me at bay. Really, quite sloppy boys."

"Morpheus, you sick bastard," Sam gritted out through clenched teeth as he and his brother staggered to their feet.

"Moi?" Morpheus' narrow face transformed into the very picture of wounded pride, "What have I done?"

"The dreams," Sam growled. Dean flicked him a look of mingled irritation and concern. The moron hadn't mentioned dreams. If Sam was keeping stuff from him again he may just have to kill the little twerp. After he killed whatever was messing with his head, of course. What else were big brothers for?

Morpheus chuckled, "A mortal not appreciating my gifts, how typical. Not enjoying the dreams, are you? You do realize that I am the god of prophetic dreams. I used to service kings and emperors, now I'm stuck with you. Not much of a consolation prize, chickie."

Dean had to voice the smart-ass comment that had floated to the top of his mind. It was too good to resist, "Y'know that kind of makes you sound like a prostitute."

"A what?" Morpheus looked pissed. Damn. Oh well, at least it would be interesting.

Dean decided to keep digging the hole he had dug for himself. "A prostitute. A call girl. Servicing people." Dean started to snicker. Sam punched him in the shoulder; face already screwed up into the expression Dean liked to call 'bitch-face number twelve'. The face that clearly said 'shut the hell up before the scary-ass creature you're mocking decides to rip out our internal organs and eat them'. Dean liked to ignore that face. It made life so much more interesting.

Morpheus did not take well to taunting. He extended his pale hands palms parallel to the ground, "Phobetor, Icelus, Phantasus, come." He looked up at the Winchestors, head tipped to the side, a twisted smile on his face, "My brothers are coming. Try to play nicely with them."

"Brothers?" Dean glanced at Sam, a gun already in his hand.

"The Oneiroi, the spirits of dreams. Nightmares, prophecy, and hallucinations," Sam clarified.

"Great," Dean groaned.

"Oh this won't do. You must be asleep to meet my brothers. Did I forget to mention that?" Morpheus giggled, and with a flick of his wrists, Dean and Sam were once again snoozing on the pavement.

Baby was jerked back to human form so fast it was dizzying. She stood still in the parking lot, getting her bearings for a moment as she tried to figure out what had happened. She glanced to the side and saw the bodies of the Winchesters once again passed out on the road. But then, why could she also see them up and fighting? She squinted, trying to figure out how she could see two Sams and two Deans, one set unconscious, the other grappling with shadowy figures. Morpheus' voice whispered in her ear, cold and unpleasant.

"Welcome to the dream-world, chickie. Those things your 'boys' are fighting are my brothers."

Snarling in rage, Baby spun around fist up and crashing into the god's nose before either of them had time to blink. She followed it up with a punch to the gut and a knee to the groin. And still Morpheus stood there, laughing. Smug bastard.

Gritting her teeth, glancing at the sight of Sam and Dean locked in combat with three shadowy figures, Baby charged Morpheus. She smashed a shoulder into his stomach, but opened herself up to him grabbing the back of her jacket and tossing her to the ground. She landed hard on her back, breath rushing out of her lungs. He moved to plant a foot on her stomach but she grabbed his heel before he could make contact. Bracing herself against the ground she threw him off-balance. Squawking in outrage Morpheus tumbled onto his back, smacking his head against the ground.

Pushing herself to her feet, Baby straddled Morpheus, grabbing him by the throat and digging her nails into his soft flesh. He scrabbled at her wrists futilely before reaching up and grabbing her ear, yanking her head down until they were nose-to-nose. His breath stank of dying poppies. Baby choked and gasped in pain as Morpheus used his grip on her ear to yank her off of him. She hit the ground once more, this time on her side. Morpheus struggled away from her, kicking her in the gut as he scrambled to his feet. Baby curled inward, tucking her knees against her chest as she rolled into his ankles, throwing the already-off-balance god off of his feet completely. Once he was again on her level, Baby pounced on him. She landed squarely on his chest, one of her knees pressing down into his windpipe.

Once again holding the upper hand of the fight, she scanned the area, checking on Sam and Dean. It didn't look good. Dean was corned by two of the 'brothers' while Sam hacked wildly with a machete at the third. Gritting her teeth, knowing they couldn't win this as they were, Baby began to chant.

"Adeste fidelis, laeti triumphantes," she began.

"Latin?" Morpheus choked, "I am a Greek god do you really think Latin would banish me?"

"No, but it does summon the faithful." A gravelly voice intoned from somewhere behind Baby.

"Welcome to the party Castiel," Baby grimaced.

Castiel's perplexed look as he attempted to interpret the human expression was so strong Baby could almost hear it. Finally, the angel seemed to decide to ignore the Impala's questionable sense of humor in favor of taking care of business. "We do not have much time." He intoned, before laying a hand on first Baby's forehead, then Morpheus'.

The next thing Baby knew they were in Greece and she was a car. Castiel sat in the driver's seat, they were parked outside of a small, derelict temple. Morpheus was hog-tied inside of it. "Can you even drive?" Baby's soul thought at Cas.

"Close enough." Cas told her.

If Baby were in human form she would have rolled her eyes at the angel. As it was she flickered her headlights and started her engine (as Cas hadn't been astute enough to remember to take Dean's keys). "I assume you want me to destroy the temple and seal him inside?" Baby asked, exasperated.

"That was the idea. Cutting off his access to the mortal world should send his brothers back to Hades as well."

"You are the one who gets to explain to Dean how I got wrecked."

"I will even help with repairs," Cas promised.

"No. Hands off, angel boy."

"Fine, just drive."

With another irritated headlight-flicker, Baby began to roll forward. This was going to hurt.

Author's Note: Of course Baby is fine. The Impala never stays wrecked long, and I plan on writing a short epilogue in which the boys and Cas are fixing up the car and Cas keeps getting heckled by Baby's spirit because he's the only one who can see her.

The Latin phrase that Baby uses to summon Castiel is actually a Latin translation of the Christmas song "Come All Ye Faithful", hence Cas's pun after she summons him.

Morpheus is one of the lesser known Greek gods, and has no listed weaknesses according to lore (he's realllyyy lesser known, which somehow manages to translate into invincible in Greek myths…) But, he's often depicted lying in a sealed cave, surrounded by oodles of poppy flowers, so I figured that if they trapped him in his own temple he'd be lulled into his own sort of sleep. (just roll with my logic, it's fun and interesting…)

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