headcanon: chad adds -1 trunk space in your vehicle in Salt and Burn

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It was a dark and stormy night, and stormy was the weather, and dark was the night, and also it was stormy and dark. At least, that was how it was on the crappy black-and-white motelevision. Deanna was half-awake, her hand draped lazily around a mason jar of tea fungus (better known as tea mushroom (better known as Manchurian mushroom))). The stormy and dark and nightly night on the television belonged to an old episode of Scooby-Dooby-Doo from the 1850s, back when Mesmerism was big. Scooby-Dooby-Doo was Mesermeseing a man who had been killed by the ghost of a corrupt real estate developer. This was back in the days when Scooby-Dooby-Doo was a little more violent.

"DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa," a voice called out of nowhere in French. Deanna, being half-unconsciously-conscious, did not care. Or maybe she just didn't notice.

"DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa," called the voice again, French as ever. Deanna's consciousness was still only semi-permeable, but she was a little more awake now. Her incompletely-watchful state made her limbs feel like Pb-164, and, though she felt momentarily protected from gamma radiation, this was problematic, as her lack of control caused her to knock over her tea fungus.

"Aw, cats," she said, not cursing but rather referring to the properties of felines. "Anyone there?"

"DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDEEEAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNa," said the voice, emphasizing the Dean. "DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEana..."

"WHOTHEHELLISIT?" she yelled blearily.

"C'est moi, Fork," said Fourchette, barging into her room. "Whassup?" They knocked on the motel room mirror three times, and it spiraled out into a secret radioactive-safe nuclear capsule of doom, containing five bags of trail mix.

"Why is this in Motel A-Go-Go?!" asked Deanna.

"Les gens avaient vraiment peur des Russes," Fourchette said francophonically, grabbing a bag of trail mix. "C'est l'heure pour un road trip!"

"Oooh, road trips?" Deanna slurred, drinking the last remnants of her spilled tea mushroom. "I love road trips."

"Ouais," Fourchette ouaised in.

"Way," Deanna agreed anglophonically. "Word." She then stubbed her toe on the nightstand. "SON OF A-"

"T'est toi," said Fourchette. "Pas des gros mots dans ma maison."

"Whatever that means," said Deanna. "Road trips!"

"J'adore les road trips."

"Me too," said Deanna.

"Allons-y." The two humans left the hotel room with a complete disregard for all the luggage that was left to be packed. They ran down the stairs and jumped into Deanna's car, both of them oblivious to the other's motivations. Deanna-she wanted to get away from her sister. To protect her. Fourchette? They were just really bored, and really liked trail mix.

The two of them drove for what might have been hours, days, even, or just a few minutes. Deanna drove, Fourchette sat in the passenger seat, their short Francophone frame occupying the space that usually belonged to Samantha. The night was cold and crisp, and it smelled, in a vague sort of way, like Axe body spray and autumn nights. The sky was cloudless, the stars shone, and the road felt almost like home, almost like those summer nights back in high school when Deanna and her younger-by-four-minutes sister went off on hunts at the spur of the moment, Fredi Merqueeri blasting on the radio and the moon hanging overhead like a sliver of a toenail. It was all very nostalgic, and Deanna was suddenly overcome by the urge to cut off eight inches of her hair. She pulled over to the shoulder of the road and got out her first-aid kit. Scissors.

"Scissors," she repeated, this time out loud, pulling the scissors out of the bag. She chopped off her hair with an unsteady hand, all while Fourchette watched bemusedly.

"Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" asked Fourchette, an eyebrow raised half in condescension.

"So nobody can recognize me," misinterpreted Deanna, chopping off the remainder of her newly-cut rat's tail with the sewing scissors. "Duh."

"Mon dieu," said Fourchette. "Prends mon miroir. C'est mieux comme ca." They tossed the mirror at Deanna, who surprisingly caught it, no matter how tired she was.

She stared into the mirror for a few seconds, and then shrieked. "LA VACHE!"

"Mon dieu, Deana. Je vais l'ameliorer," they said, confiscating the scissors. "C'est horrible. Tsk tsk." They snipped at Deanna's failed haircut for about thirty seconds, and when they handed the mirror back to Deanna, the world's prospects were much brighter. Well, not really, but her hair was freakin' awesome.

It'd have to do.

The two of them drove for metaphorical days and nights and days and nights, some of them darker and stormier than others. They pulled up on the tail winds of a hunt as soon as Deanna was sure she'd lost her sister's trail, and Fourchette went to go and get weapons out of the trunk. Deanna was angsting on the side of the road when she heard some Francophone confusion emanating from by the car, followed by some nice manly stupidity. She spun around to find Chad launching himself from the trunk, brandishing a Cheeto like a sword.

"How the Hell did you even get in there?!" Deanna asked.

"I was board," said Chad. "Really, really board."

"I think...I think you spelled that wrong," bemused Deanna bemusingly.

"Ouais, elle a raison," Fourchette agreed.

"How did you even get here?" Deanna asked.

"Dunno. I was in the trunk. It was a cool trunk. Like, I dunno, I think it was, like, a Chevy Malibu or something." Deanna paled. Not a Malibu. NOT A MALIBU! "Anyways, I was writing the whole time. Not really paying attention. I might have slept, but I don't think I did."

"Ca va?" Fourchette asked.

"Yeah, savannah," said Chad, not understanding what they were talking about. "What's up with you, Deanna? Where's Samantha?"

"Huh," huhed Deanna. "Now that is a long story."

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A/N YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO! IT's YA GURl CHrysT MALIBU! I TIOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THE FACT THATTT im SJUPEINSD to WRITE HAPTERS everyTHURS so AT LEAST HI HAD THIS ONE SAAAVED! wow i planed ahed for 1nce! GOT RLY DRUNK AT A COLEG PARTY 2NITE! I DUN EVEN NO IF IM IN COLEG. DUNNO. :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

LUV YAL'L

-JESUS67-