jam_pony_fic

Title: “I’ve been flyin’, Ain’t no denyin’”

Author: ladyarcherfan3 ladyarcherfan3

Rating: PG-13 for some language, show level

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but the muse owns me.

Notes: Dark Angel/Supernatural crossover. From Two through Fuhgeddaboudit for Dark Angel and post The French Mistake for Supernatural

Summary: C-3. FIC or VID or ART: SPN/DA crossover; stalker!Impala. There's this car that keeps turning up: huge, black, beautiful. Everywhere he goes, Alec spots it, covets it, thinks about stealing it and taking to the open road for no good reason. It'd be real easy, too, given there never seems to be a driver. Title from Led Zepplin's Kashmir

The first time Alec noticed the car, it was just the throaty growl that rumbled to a stop as he turned his head. He was heading back to his apartment after a shift at Jam Pony, and there was a part of him that just wanted to crash, and another part that wanted to go out and wreak some havoc. Or just jump on his bike and cruise. But the deep engine roar stopped him.

Black and gleaming in the dull Seattle sun, a very Pre-Pulse muscle car sat across the street. It was in amazing condition, Alec could see that immediately. No rust, no visible dents, and only a light coating of road dust. This was no ordinary car.

“Nice,” he muttered, eyebrow arching. “Wonder how much I could get for that?” But he kept walking; there was too much daylight and too many people around for him to even attempt to even getting close, much less steal it.

Alec soon forgot about the car in the insanity that his life had become. Max’s long lost brother showed up, and almost killed him; a freaking mermaid of a transhuman turned up in a strip club and disappeared into the bay with her merman boyfriend, after Alec got shot helping them; and Joshua became something of a business partner for about five minutes with his paintings.

And he managed to get a motorcycle. The Jam Pony sector pass was a great thing, but pedaling around - not so much. He bought it with some of the money he made off of Joshua’s art deals, deciding not to steal it, because he was planning to keep it. He only stole what he could fence and fence fast. The lime green Duke was not quite as powerful as Max’s Ninja, and the color was probably a bit too much, but he liked it. And it was probably better not to be reminded of the sleek, black, rumbling beauty.

He blinked away from the fantasy of driving that car down a wide open road just before he had to turn a corner, the Duke’s engine revving. With a slight shake of his head he refocused on the road. There was no time or point to daydreaming. There were things to steal, deals to be made, money to be spent-

His phone rang, and he slowed down and he struggled to pull it out of his coat pocket. Max the caller ID declared without a hint of emotion. “Oh, come on.” He flipped open the phone and said, “Hey Max! How can I be of assistance this time? Rescue another mermaid stripper? Help you strip?”

“Shut up.” Her voice was blurred over the poor connection and the roar of his bike. “Where are you? You’re late for your shift.”

"Oh, I didn’t think you cared,” he shot back.

“Whatever. I don’t. But Normal is freaking out, and that makes life miserable for the rest of us.”

He smirked. “What did you do before me, huh? Normal doesn’t care if I’m late. I’ll feed him some line, and he’ll let his Golden Boy right by.”

“You are sick, you know that?”

He smirked. “Ah, you’re just jealous of my skills.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Did you call just to chew my ass, or did you actually have something to say.” He slowed down as he approached a sector check point.

“No, this time was just an ass chewing.”

“In that case, I’m hanging up.” He flipped the phone shut and let his boot drag along the pavement as he stopped. “Max,” he growled under his breath. “Just when I think she’s okay…”

...

“I haven’t gotten to crawl around in a stinking tunnel with you for about two weeks! It’s not like I didn’t have anything better to do tonight.”

“Sorry if this interrupts your evening,” Max sniped back, and their banter continued until Alec’s cell phone rang.

Why the hell was Logan calling him? Oh, yeah, to talk to Max, because she refused to get with the program and actually get a cell phone. He handed the device to her and turned away with a huff.

Not only was he pissed that the evening with Asha hadn’t quite gone the way he’d envisioned, the fact that Max was dragging him through a sewer after a nightmare creation of Manticore’s was worse. Because there might have been a chance with Asha, but that was out of the question now. And, if he was being honest, a lot of his peace had been stolen by that damn car.

It was beginning to feel like every time he turned around, it was there. Either he heard the roar of the engine, or caught a glimpse of the bumper as it turned a corner. He’d been hanging out at Joshua’s place a few days ago and swore he saw it in a news report, as the camera panned around some random parking lot. Just that morning, he’d heard the engine just outside his window well before his alarm had gone off, and a quick peek through the curtains had shown it driving off into the distance.

The continued glimpses and a bit of research had shown him that it was a 1967 Chevy Impala. This made the thing freakily Pre-Pulse, and was therefore worth a lot to the right people. How it was in such nice condition yet, he had no idea, but whoever took care of it was very good at what he did. That amount of care was certainly going to make stealing the damn thing harder; no way would the owner let the car out of his sight for long.

Yet, the Impala always appeared unattended.

“Alec! You planning to stand there day dreaming all night long?” Max’s voice cut through his thoughts.

He blinked a bit and pulled himself back to the present. “Only if it annoys you.”

“Shut up, and let’s go.”

“Ladies first into the nasty sewer.”

She climbed into the opening, and just as he clambered over the lip, she smirked up at him. “Then why aren’t you first?”

“Ha ha, you’re the queen of comedy, Max.” He reached for the cover to pull it shut again when the familiar growl filled the air.

His head snapped around to follow the sound, body tensed as he struggled to see it. Just down the street, the car pulled out of an alley and sped away.

“Alec! What the hell! Let’s go!” She had already descended the ladder; he could see the dirty water sloshing over her boots.

“Great,” he muttered and shook off the lingering call of the car. It was just a car. A very nice one, but a car.

Several weeks later, Alec found himself in Crash, nursing a glass of burbon. The start of something like a headache had settled behind his temples, which did nothing to help the strange feeling of what he could only describe as homesickness that sat in the pit of his stomach. The ache swelled whenever he thought about the car.

He sighed and tossed back the last mouthful of the liquor; the glass clicked against the bar and he gestured for a refill. Initially, he had passed off the unsettled mood as leftovers of Mia’s mind whammies. Even if he hadn’t been strapped to a chair in Manticore’s basement, anything Pys-Ops related was going to leave a bad taste in his mouth. But it didn’t leave, and it didn’t get better. And the car was everywhere.

It had invaded his dreams, and then his day dreams. It felt that no matter what he was thinking about, it all led back to the Impala.

The bourbon burned going down, the alcohol sending a lovely warm sensation through his belly. The beat of the music became a continuous thrum. Suddenly he was on the open road, the Impala purring across the pavement, the wind and sun pouring through the open windows.

Alec pulled himself out of the daydream and tossed a handful of bills on the bar. Max was due to meet him soon for some minor heist she had in mind to score some tryptophan. Or rather, she was going to pick him up, because the Duke had recently been involved in the hasty retreat from some Steel Heads – who had a severe dislike of Alec no matter when they saw him – and both tires had been shredded. That had been last night, and new tires had yet to be found. His week was just getting better and better.

Several hours and six stolen bottles of tryptophan later, Max and Alec rolled towards a sector checkpoint. They had managed to do the job without tripping a single security sensor, or meeting a solitary security guard, or even bickering more than usual. As heists went, this one had been silk smooth. Alec had even forgotten about the damn car. Until he spotted it, sitting on the other side of the checkpoint, so very obviously alone.

He had to get to that car. One part of his brain was seeing dollar signs, but a larger part was only thinking of the open road and freedom that the car would give him. That’s what he’d been dreaming of, wasn’t it? Just being on the road without a care again, heading for another job…

“Max, Max, hang on, let me off.” He tapped her on the shoulder, pushing away the sudden turn his thoughts had taken, but not denying the call of the Impala.

“What now?” she demanded, but stopped the bike, boots clomping against the black top.

He nodded towards the car, partly masked in the shadows. “Just going to make another stop, score another prize.”

She blinked at the car and pulled down her sunglasses for a better look. “Seriously? That’s not a bottle of tryp’ that you can hide, Alec. That’s a freakin’ obvious car.”

“I don’t have time to explain how awesome that car is or how much I could make from selling it,” he shot back as he slipped off the Ninja. “See you later, Max.”

“I you get caught, I’m going to deny any knowledge of you,” she deadpanned, not even looking at him.

Alec lifted a finger and opened his mouth to retort, but the sudden glimmer of moonlight off the Impala’s chrome caught his attention. “Whatever. You won’t be laughing when I have that beauty.”

“I’m not laughing now,” her voice followed him into the shadows and he crept into an alley and clambered over a roof, avoiding detection with ease.

The car was still there when he settled in a shadowy doorway. Eyes scanning for movement and ears pricked for any noise, he waited a few minutes. A few people walked in and out of the buildings along the street, but no one lingered by the car, or even gave it more than a glance. This was his chance, and he was going to take it.

With a final glance around, Alec stepped out of the shadows and strode purposefully towards the car. Sometimes you had to sneak and creep, sometimes you had to be bold. The trick to know when to do it. His lips lifted in a smirk as he reached for the lock pick he kept in his pocket. That car was as good as his.

Without warning, the headlights flashed on and the engine roared to life. Alec froze, blinded by the light and shocked by the noise, and it took him several heartbeats to realize that the car was driving straight at him. But before he could react, it slammed to a stop again. The doors opened with a sharp creak, and two men stepped out. To his abused eyes, they appeared only as shadows.

“Who the hell are you?” the driver demanded, a long barreled pistol appearing in his hand.

“Dean, take it easy,” the second man said, voice both soothing and demanding.

“Take it easy?” Dean demanded. “We’re in some other freaking alternate universe and there’s some kid with my face-”

“Yeah, your face from, what, ten, fifteen years ago?”

Alec squinted through the glare of the headlights and could make out more detail about the two other men. The taller one had long hair and an expression that was concerned but bordering on deadly. If that was possible. The other one was not quite familiar but certainly not a complete stranger, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“You know what? I don’t care,” Dean said suddenly. “If this is some damn trick of Balthazar’s again or not, I’m ganking the look alike. They’ve never been good luck.” He thumbed the hammer back with an ominous click.

And despite all his speed and training, Alec found himself frozen. He couldn’t move.

“Damn it, Dean, no!” The other man sprang around the front of the car and slapped Dean’s arm into the air so the shot sailed away and clipped a street light half a block away.

“The hell, Sam?” Dean demanded.

“We don’t know what’s going on, and if nothing else we can use this younger you for information.”

Somehow Alec found the ability to speak and move again; in the distance he heard the sounds of sector police approaching. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’m just going to let you two come down from whatever trip you’re on, and leave. Cuz I hate dealing with the police normally; getting caught with two guys high out of their skulls is not exactly my idea of fun.”

The taller one, Sam, tipped his head slightly. “Huh. Sorta sounds like you, Dean.”

“Shut up,” Dean replied and turned to the car. “Get in, Sammy. I don’t want to have to deal with the boys in blue from…” he paused and looked back at Alec. “Where ever the hell this is.”

“Seattle,” he replied automatically.

Sam glanced around taking in the dilapidated buildings and filthy streets. “What year?”

Alec frowned. “How high are you? 2019.”

“Shit.” Dean froze. “I freakin’ hate time travel. Especially into the future.”

“What the hell happened here?” Sam wondered, brows furrowed.

“Did you forget The Pulse?” Alec demanded, and then stopped; the look of confusion on their faces was complete. And then Dean’s words filtered through his head. “Wait, did you just say time travel?”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean snapped. “Now, let’s get outta here, Sam.” He spun and slipped into the car, the door slamming shut.

Sam hesitated and saw Alec’s face. There was no doubt; the kid had Dean’s face, though one that Sam almost couldn’t remember through years of hunting, angels, demons and Hell. And the look of love that bordered on obsession as his eyes lingered on the Impala was also familiar in a strange, head tilting way. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Alec.”

Sam nodded back to the car. “Get in. We have no idea what’s happening, and we need intel. You’re the best thing we’ve got.”

Alec hesitated, though his heart had jumped at the thought of actually touching and riding in the car. “Why are you trusting me?”

Sam shrugged. “Dean’s right. You’ve got his face, but you’re definitely not him. And if this is like the last time we went into an alternate reality, shifters and that sort of thing don’t exist.”

“Okay…” Alec said, still hesitant. “Why should I trust you?”

Sam just smiled. “I saw the way you looked at the Impala. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

Alec could hear the sector police and knew they were seconds from rounding the corner. Random gun fire usually caught their attention. He looked back at the Impala and nodded once, sharply. “Fine, let’s go.”

I also had put together a vid for the idea. The fic and vid are the same story, just different formats. I was playing with the plot bunny and some editing techniques. So hopefully you enjoy. Text and title from Led Zepplin's Kashmir.