#stanleymobile

Stanleymobile loved her owner. Well, the previous one was nice too, but Stan just got her. He would polish her for hours, tell her funny jokes during the ride and catch whatever was wrong with her even before she could notice it herself.

And then they eloped. Only Stan wasn't really happy - his jokes were not fun and he stopped with polishing. And while he started to sleep inside her, his dreams weren't calm and pleasant.

So Stanleymobile did what she could to make him a bit happier. She searched for nice songs on the radio and kept check of the windows and always pushed herself to the limit when Stan's voice became frantic. And she preened when Stan patted her and said his thanks for saving his life again.

And they were fine.

Until Stan went and decided to stay in that Ugly Wooden Piece of Crap. That was Ugly and Wooden and reeked of Weird.

Stanleymobile hoped that it was just a fluck, that they soon would be returning to their adventures and live on the roads and picking music and breathing the warm night air.

But no, there was still snow, and Stan was still with That Uglyness. The only times he took Stanleymobile somewhere he looked exhausted and sad and never reacted to funny songs or engine murmurs. Was it that Wooden bastard's doing? Stanleymobile would have a talk with it. Stan didn't deserve it, he should be fun and bright and full of energy!

And Stanleymobile did talk after Stan vanished once again inside the Wooden Abomination. She screached about their journeys and roared about treating Stan right.

And The Ugly responded, with cold drafts and wooden creeks. It told the tale of Stan's brother, of wonders and devils, of desperation and hope. It told about Stan's cries and his searches. It told about keeping him warm and not letting him fall from the stairs in exhaustion.

So it seemed they had a common goal for now. Stanleymobile could accept it, and as soon as Stan would complete his goal and become happy again, they could once again go on their journey.

***

Stanleymobile glanced around to verify that their surroundings were clear, and rolled up to the Shack's side.

The Shack groaned woodenly and slightly leaned to press her side on the red metal body.

The stayed silent for some time, the Shack still trying to right herself after being pulled up in the air and them slammed in the ground, and Stanleymobile still trying to wrap her engine around events of the past hours: the men in black that took away Stan, Stan returning and then his brother's return too...

The Shack groaned and with faint whistles stared to tale a story of white light and hope and hurt and anger. She was vibrating from indignation promising the retribution on her first owner and wishing them to make up.

Stanleymobile purred gently and nudged her companion a bit, promising her support. She was sad however - if Ford (older, sharped, darker then in her memories) came back, then Stan and her would have to depart soon. And she wasn't ready. Not when there were kid hands patting her hood or that green child always telling her jokes while checking her tires or Stan who was clearly happier here than in any years before. Not when there was The Shack that lowered her porch when it rained so Stanleymobile could hide there. Not when they long ago were finished with real tales and started to imagine new ones to pass the time. Not when pressing to the Shack and feel her warmth became some sort of comfort.