:D Oh wow! Thanks so much for all the reviews, guys! I wish people would give me this much love for my serious stories…

Well, I have DivaDaddyGoGirl to thank for the idea for this chapter. Vince gets the brilliant idea to take the children to Toys-R-Us, and this is what happened on the way. Hopefully you find it amusing, and think them as adorable as I had when I wrote this. Maybe I won't get anyone rolling on the floor laughing their asses off, but I'll get a few snorts out of you, and maybe an "Awwwwww..." or two. :)

I took out most of the wrestlers and all the divas for these two chapters. I'm going to give the divas their own chapter later on, and get to the other wrestlers, too. I wanted to reserve these two for my favorite wrestlers.

Enjoy!

Jonathan Coachman silently thanked any and all gods there were that he had decided to drive to work today in a rental van instead of the usual limo. Had he not, things would have been much more difficult.

A while ago, Mr. McMahon had snatched a bewildered employee at random, and ordered him to watch over the children. Then he had barked at Coach and Shane to move their asses, and stormed up the ramp and out of the arena, his son and Executive Assistant not far behind. It hadn't been until they had reached the Chairman's office that they realized they had been followed; Shawn Michaels, Triple H, John Cena, Randy Orton, Undertaker, Matt Hardy, Rey Mysterio, Batista, Edge, and Rob Van Dam were right behind them, looking up at them with curious, excited eyes.

Coach had time to briefly wonder why Edge was alone, and not with Lita, when Mr. McMahon had brusquely announced they would be taking a little road trip—and Coach had forgotten all about Edge and turned to his boss, surprised and confused.

There had been moment of utter silence, and then all the wrestlers turned five-year-olds had begun to cheer at once, in perfect unison. Randy, Undertaker, Shawn, Triple H, and Cena all slapped their hands together. Rey jumped up and down and clapped, Batista and Matt slapped their palms together, and Edge and RVD also exchanged high fives, too excited to fully realize who the other was.

Out in the parking lot, Vince had taken both Coach and Shane aside, and informed them they would be driving to Toys-R-Us. Both were fairly surprised to hear this, and when Shane asked why, Vince had replied gruffly, "They wanted to go, didn't they? Well, we'll bring them…and maybe they'll leave me alone."

Mr. McMahon had outright refused to ride with any of the children, leaving Shane and Coach to take them in their cars. Shane, unfortunately, had rode with his father, and so he had to 'borrow without asking', as he put it, one of the employees' cars. Coach had asked how he had gotten the keys to the car, and Shane had replied inexplicably: "I have my ways…" Then he cheerfully recounted to Coach that the car belonged to a woman who was a least twenty years his senior.

Coach decided he didn't need the details.

Shane's 'borrowed' car could only carry four people besides the driver, so Coach had been left with the other six. Thankfully, that was exactly how many passengers his rented van could carry.

Shawn, Triple H, and Cena were in the backseat, Shawn seated in between his two friends. Currently, Cena and H were arguing about something or other, glaring at each other over Shawn, who was hunched over, his elbow resting on his knee, his chin in his palm, evidently annoyed.

Randy and Undertaker sat beside each other in the middle seats. Randy watched the battle between Cena and The Game, amused, while Undertaker leaned back in his seat, gazing out the window. He had his hat back; he was absently tossing it into the air, where it spun sideways, and fell back into his lap. He picked it up again, throwing it up into the air once more. It fell again, and the process repeated itself.

Coach glanced to the passenger's seat, where Edge was seated. He was strangely quiet, completely still. His head was up, and he stared out the windshield with alert, almost unblinking eyes, as though he were waiting for something to suddenly jump out onto the road before them. After a moment of regarding the blond boy closely, Coach realized he was not watching, but listening—presumably to Cena and Triple H. Coach frowned, his eyebrow cocking briefly, then he turned back to the road.

"Person?"

Coach looked around. Edge was now peering at him. There was a faint frown on his face. "Who are you?" the blond child Wrestler questioned, considering Coach closely.

Coach smiled a little. "You can call me Coach."

"Coach? Like a…a…so…soc…"

Coach's smile widened. "Soccer coach?"

"Yeah."

Coach nodded. "Yeah. Like a soccer coach."

"Are you a soccer coach?" Edge inquired, his gaze curious now.

Coach chuckled, and he shook his head. "No. No, I'm not. I couldn't teach soccer if I tried."

"Oh." Edge, seeming satisfied, sat back, and resumed looking out the window. Coach's eyebrow went up again, and he regarded the blond boy with slight curiosity. What, no snide remarks? But Edge didn't say anything more, only looked out the window, silent and still as a statue, making Coach wonder.

"Who's Big Oily Guy?" Shawn asked suddenly, speaking over the arguing voices of his friends. Both Cena and H fell silent in unison.

Coach glanced at him briefly in the rearview mirror. "My boss, Mr. McMahon."

"Mr. Mc-who?"

Coach chuckled softly. "Mr. McMahon."

Randy turned to Undertaker, looking suddenly serious. "I think he's…he's…" His brow furrowed, and he twirled a finger around his ear.

"Lost his sanitary?" Shawn suggested.

Randy turned to him, thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Lost his sanitary."

Triple H frowned, confused. "What's losing your sanitary?" he inquired.

"It's when you lose your brain," Shawn responded solemnly, tapping his head.

Cena's eyes widened. "Did zombies take it?" he asked quietly, looking simultaneously fearful and enthralled.

"Must be," Undertaker mused. "How else could he have lost his sanitary?"

"It could have been the Evil Chickens from Mars," Edge spoke up suddenly, looking thoughtful.

Shawn looked up and blinked. "The what?"

Edge turned to him, his expression grave. "The evil chickens that came from Mars. They eat brains."

Randy looked at him with wide eyes, fascinated in spite of himself. "Are they zombie chickens?"

Edge shook his head. "No. They're alien chickens." He paused, then added gravely, "Evil alien chickens."

Cena scoffed. "That's stupid. There are no such things as chickens that came from Mars."

"Yes there are!" Edge retorted. "I seen one with my own two eyes!" He circled two fingers around his eyes and widened them for dramatic effect.

Now Undertaker looked curious. "You did?"

Edge nodded. "Yup. It was running around headless."

Undertaker, Randy, Shawn, and Triple H all gasped simultaneously. Cena only rolled his eyes. "Stupid," he said, wrinkling his nose at Edge, "you're making that up."

"No I'm not!" Edge insisted, glaring at Cena.

"Yes you are!"

Coach looked thoughtfully at Edge. "Maybe not, Cena," he said slowly. "Chickens do that…but only for a few seconds after their heads are cut off."

Shawn gasped again. "Really?"

Coach nodded. "Yep."

"Whoa," Randy remarked, enthralled. Coach nodded again, smiling now.

Triple H looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he leaned over, looking around the seat at Undertaker. "Hey, aren't you a zombie, 'Taker?"

Undertaker wrinkled his nose. "No, I'm not brainless, and I don't eat brains, either. I'm just dead."

"He's a special kind of undead," Randy recounted, entirely serious. "Kind of like a ghost, only he has a real body."

Edge regarded Undertaker, looking tremendously engrossed. "Like a Po-lesson?" he inquired.

"Po-lesson?" Shawn echoed, looking enquiringly at Edge.

Edge glanced at him. "When a ghost takes over a persons body," he explained.

Undertaker frowned, considering this. "Well…it could be, I guess…I don't really remember…" He shrugged, looking slightly troubled. Randy patted his shoulder.

"Wow. Cool," Triple H remarked approvingly.

Coach considered them all momentarily in the rearview mirror, smiling. He could see they were all entirely serious, and he couldn't help but be highly amused. He shook his head, chuckling softly, and wondered how Shane was doing.

…

The one and only Shane O' Mac was doing fine. Just fine. Oh yes, he was having a field day. There was absolutely nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

Except, of course, for one tiny, over-excited five year old in a mask who apparently had never been in a car before.

Matt Hardy, Rob Van Dam, and Batista weren't causing him any problems. Hardy only stared out the window with a bored expression, his head resting on the car door. Rob Van Dam was quiet, his hands in his lap, also gazing out the window, although his eyes were excited. Batista, who seemed to be the most mature of the lot, sat patiently, not talking.

Rey Mysterio, however, could not remain still for more than five seconds—at most. He fidgeted in his seat, and inquired at the top of his lungs what something was that he had seen which interested him—such as a random telephone-pole or tree, or another car, or a building, or a person who passed them on the sidewalk. Batista answered him each time, and mildly told him to be quiet, and Rey would…until he saw something else. Then, once more, he would point at the object of his interest and shout: "What dat, Batistwa?"

Shane was beginning to get the headache his father had experienced a while before, and mentally berated said father for making him do this.

After a few miles, Rey seemed to get bored of wondering at the top of his voice what random objects he saw out the window were, and decided to play with the buttons on his door. He soon discovered if he pressed down on either of the white arrows drawn on the black button, the glass on his window would move in the direction the arrow indicated. This immediately became his new object of fascination.

He pressed the down arrow first, and giggled excitedly as the glass lowered, disappearing into the door. When it was half-way down, he switched and pressed the up arrow, and the window immediately began to ascend. When it was up as far as it could go, he switched again, and the window once more began its descent into the door. Rey tried this a few more times, giggling delightedly.

Shane's fingers tightened over the steering wheel. "Will you make him stop that?" he snapped at Batista.

Batista reach over, and gently lifted Rey's hands away from the button. "C'mon, Rey," he said. "Just sit still, OK?"

"Otway!" Rey replied, agreeably enough, and sat back. His eyes were alight, his smile never faltering.

He stayed that way for a while—gazing out the window with fascinated eyes, but not making any noise, and Shane began to relax, sure he'd have peace for the rest of the way.

Then Hardy seemed to have had enough of not causing Shane any trouble, and so he spoke up, his voice bored and impatient, asking the age-old question: "Are we there yet?"

Shane struggled to keep his voice calm. "No."

There was a moment of silence, then, "How about now?"

"No," Shane repeated as patiently as he could.

This time a few moments of silence followed his reply, and then once more, "What about now?"

"No." Patience was becoming more and more difficult to hold on to.

"Now?"

"No."

Silence again. This time it lasted much longer, and Shane began to relax once more, when: "…Now?"

Shane's patience finally ran out. "No!" he snapped, turning momentarily to glare at Hardy. Matt was still gazing out the window, looking bored, but not at all deterred.

"Are we there now?"

Shane by now had the steering wheel in a death grip. "Yes," he breathed.

Matt's head jerked up, his expression one of actual excitement for the first time. "Really?" he questioned eagerly.

"No!"

"Oh." He frowned, disappointed, and leaned back on the door, shifting his gaze back to the window.

They passed another car. A small bulldog's head stuck out the open window of this one, its tongue out, its ears flapping around it in the wind. Rey leaned over and pressed his masked face to the window, his large eyes sparkling with delight. He watched the dog as they passed, observed how it hung out the window, how its ears flapped around it, and decided he wanted to try that.

He slipped out of his seatbelt easily—it was loose, and he was tiny—and stood, pressing the down arrow on the button which controlled the window. When it was half-way down, he gripped the edge, and proceeded to pull himself up.

The moment before he stuck his head out into the wind, Batista saw what he was doing, and cried out to him. Shane looked up, startled, and the car swerved towards the side of the road. He got control of it just in time, even as Batista grabbed Rey's legs and pulled him down. He scolded the smaller boy while he slipped the seatbelt around Rey, this time tightening it.

Rey looked at him, and giggled. "Siwy," was his only comment.

Batista shook his head and rolled up the window. Shane, whose heart was racing as a result of the momentary loss of control of the car, hastily locked it.

Meanwhile, Rey kept on giggling and saying, "Siwy, siwy, siwy…"

Shane had a sudden urge to slam his head repeatedly into the steering wheel.

He began to dread what would happen when they arrived at their destination: Toys-R-Us.

I'm making Coach a little too nice...-.-;;

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