hellfighters | More than Magic

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More than Magic

Once upon a time, there was a species of supernatural beings who liked to watch over the ones with deep desires in their hearts. If they were good, they would grant them wishes, and help them on the way to finding true love and happiness.

In the old days, they were so loved and revered that stories would be told of them. But the fairy godmothers, as they were known amongst those who held them dear, grew to be more and more presumptuous about the wishes of their wards. In short, they got cocky and more and more of the granted wishes backfired. It got so bad that people stopped loving them, stopped telling stories about them, and when they finally stopped making wishes to them the species started die out. Without the wishes giving them the power, there was nothing to keep them in existence.

But of course, some stories alive and there was always the occasional wishes dropping in from little children that had yet to stop believing, so a few stayed a live. A handful at first, then only a couple, and finally just the one.

The very last of the fairy godmothers is a mess to behold.

He's fading, there's no doubt of that, and his once gloriously sparkling gown hangs in tatters. His beautiful mane of silver and cream has lost all luster and is falling out by the handfuls. His wings barely function anymore, and he's generally had one too many hits of Mumbo Jamma Juice. Bothering with wishes isn't really a thing anymore. Occasionally, he will come across something that catches his attention enough that he uses the last drops of his power to try to grant it.

Sadly, he rarely gets it right.

Like when he comes across this semi-young hunter with a plethora of the most sore and sad wishes in his scarred and broken heart. The hidden longing for love and family and home, reminds the fairy godmother so much of the princesses he used to cater to thousands of years ago, that he can't resist the need to want to bring just those things to the hunter.

Except, again he gets it wrong. He gets those wishes all garbled up and can't differentiate between love and home and safety, and he thinks the best thing he can do for this one called Dean is to turn his beloved car into a human. And the face the old fairy picks, is the first one he can pluck out of what lies in Dean's heart.

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He resists coming into the room at first. He's not allowed in the room! HE'S NOT GONNA FI--oh. He fits. Okay.

He frowns a little at Dean, eyebrows knitting together. Dean wants... talking? Talking is hard. Talking is words that he doesn't really have a great grasp on. Licking at his lower lip, he opens his mouth and takes a breath, but then closes it again.

Alright, one more time. "Scared," he manages to say, voice warbling a little, coming out with a rumble. He's never used it before. It sounds so strange. He's so used to Dean knowing what's wrong with him without him having to actually say anything that this is somewhat distressing.

Dean looked worried before, with a frown that deepened to match FDR's, but when the agent forces out a single word... and that is the word he chooses to use, all the color vanishes from Dean's face.

The guy he knows would never- NEVER just throw that out there unless things weren't fully and wholly FUBAR. It's a sign, and it's a bad one. It reminds him of that one time when there were tears, and freaking hell, even back then there was no use of the S word.

Now he looks downright terrified as he reaches up to cup FDR's face, and when he speaks, his voice is a little shaky. "You listen to me. I don't know who did what to you but, baby, I swear I'm gonna find out and I'm gonna kill them. I swear. I got you," he says and kisses those cheeks to let him know he doesn't have to be scared. Even if Dean is.

That makes Baby feel a lot better. A lot a lot. He smiles a little and wow, Dean's hands are warm. Are humans warm like that? He hadn't really noticed before. It's nice.

Dean's gonna figure this out and Dean always figures things out. He's always fixed Baby when things got rough, so he trusts him with this, too. He rumbles a little, feeling content enough to express it.

Dean will fix it.

So there are some...minor issues with kind of...not dating a hunter who's into all sorts of weird supernatural shit. But it's little stuff that he honestly can't say much about since he's just as likely to do something incredibly stupid and life-threatening with his job too. So he deals. It's easy to deal, because the sex is great and the conversations, although weirdly intimate, they're nice.

Yeah. This whole thing. It works. Even if he has to spend an evening here and there in some shit stain hotel that he would never set foot in on his own accord. He can't even recognize the brand of shampoo or conditioner they offer, if they offer any at all, and the toilet paper feels like its still bark, and he's outright dragged Dean out of a place or two when he's seen a cockroach shuffle across the floor. It's tolerable. A lot of things are when Dean is part of the equation.

What's not okay by any stretch of the god damn imagination is walking into the hotel room to see somebody else sitting on the bed with Dean knelt between them and...kissing. Seriously?

He maybe wouldn't mind a threesome under the right circumstances. But these? Are not the right circumstances. Not even fucking close. And he's too god damn pissed to even look at who Dean has on the bed-he really doesn't want to know the man's type other than him.

"What the fuck?!"

It's both a good thing that Frank smiles at him, and a bad thing. It's good that somehow, in his oddly reduced state, he recognizes Dean enough to find comfort in him, but at the same time... he wants his definitely-NOT-boyfriend back to his normal, asshole self.

And just like that his wish is granted and FDR walks in through the door, and Dean has that moment where he turns to stare at him.

That guy's wearing the right clothes and he's got that shopping bag that was expected- and his reaction sounds right, but then...

"SHIT-" Dean flies back from the guy on the bed and looks back and forth between the both of them. "WHo are you?!" He finally asks the one decked out in shiny black leather.

Baby startles when the door opens again and someone unfamiliar walks in. This isn't Sam or Crowley or Castiel, or anyone else that Baby recognizes. This is some stranger that's just walking into the room, and in Baby's experience, that means trouble. Usually. Sometimes it leads to a relaxed Dean, but more often than not, Dean ends up leaving the hotel soon after.

The reaction Dean has is... not what Baby is expecting. He frowns, confused by Dean's apparent sudden lack of recognition. What happened? He was calling his name earlier and now Dean suddenly doesn't know who he is?

He looks between the strange man and then back at Dean before he gestures at himself and says only, "Baby," as if that will jog Dean's memory and get them back on the right track.

It's Dean's reaction that has him turning his attention go the god damn cheating-not cheating- bastard, and...

And he freezes for a second as he finds himself staring at...himself. There's no damn doubt about it, he spends enough time in the mirror every day to know those features intimately when they're turned briefly on him.

And Baby? Baby? His eyes jerk toward Dean with confused accusation. "What the hell is that?" He's not moving yet, but his whole body is taut and there's a gun tucked into the back of his jeans that he's itching to reach for. Surprisingly, he isn't all that against shooting his own face.

"I- I don't know- ITHOUGHTHEWASYOU," Dean blurts out. "You came in all scared and confused and- I mean, he did. He could barely stand up when I opened the door so I thought maybe something happened to you. Some weird crap- My kind of weird hoodoo crap. I thought you were s-"

He bites his tongue and turns back to the impostor (though, he doesn't feel right calling him that because the guy never actually tried to pretend to be FDR...).

"No, what's your name. Where do you come from?" And he's already backing up slowly to get the holy water and that silver knife he's got on the table.

Baby stands up on those still-shaky legs, though they're growing a little steadier, and he gestures at himself again because apparently he didn't speak clearly enough last time. "Baby," he answers again, more emphatically, and pats himself on the chest.

It hurts that Dean seems not to trust him anymore. Dean's always trusted him. He frowns and flicks his gaze back to the blond human. Dean obviously knows him. Baby thinks that maybe, maybe he's given him a ride somewhere sometime, but he doesn't remember unimportant people that well.

He shoots Dean a 'YOU THINK??' look. This is obviously his weird hoodoo shit. And at this point he's not even paying attention to the things that thing is saying. God it's even got his voice.

"Well do something about it." Because this is just too god damn weird. He's not ready for this level of weird and he was almost eaten by parent-look-alikes.

The look Dean gives him back says: I'M TRYING.

He can't do jack unless he knows what this thing/guy is, but he's already got a pretty strong hunch that he's not a threat.

Dean has had too many weird monsters come at him and all he gets from this one is that it's genuinely scared. Or maybe he's growing soft, or maybe there's another reason why he feels... responsible, almost. He can't put his finger on it. These things start as a rumble in his gut and don't always make sense.

He holds a hand out before approaching the guy again, with careful, controlled steps. "Here's what we're gonna do: You sit back down, and I'm gonna test you to make sure you're not... dangerous. If you pass, then we talk. Okay?"

Test one is to see if he agrees to that.

Baby's just a little bit devastated that Dean thinks he might be a threat. When has he ever been a threat to-- okay, there was that one time he was possessed by a ghost, but other than that? He'd never hurt Dean. Ever, ever.

His shoulders slump and he sits back down, lowering his head as if he's been harshly scolded. Baby is a sad, sad Impala right now.

"Oh my god, dude. Can you not look so pathetic when you're wearing my face please?" And he runs a hand through his hair, because if there's one thing worse than parading around with his face, it's looking like that with it. Use it to strut and get women? He could understand that. But to mop on the bed in front of someone he'd...rather not see him mopey? That's just plain rude.

And Dean might be falling for the whole act. But his face doesn't have the same effect on him, and his hand slides back to wrap around his gun. Maybe Dean's being careful because of the resemblance. It'd be a good angle. One he didn't think they were exactly ready for, but you know, that's a bridge he can tease Dean about when they're done with this.

Nothing like a monster impersonation of your face to let you know how much a guy means to you.

"Okay. OKay, good. I'm not gonna hurt-"

He looks over at FDR and rolls his eyes. First at the comment, then because he's reaching for what can only be his gun.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" he hisses. "Don't spook it."

No, seriously. He has seen the most innocent, cooperative fuzzy bunny turn into a five-mouthed hell squid when spooked. That's a bad bad bad idea because this thing could be new and it could be a thousand times stronger and faster than either of them.

Or it could be scared and lost and confused, and Dean comes over so he can crouch again. "I'm gonna pour some water on you. It's not gonna burn. It's just a little wet. Okay?"

Yeah, he doesn't really expect demon, but that's always the first test. The second one, that's the more likely and logical answer, is shapeshifter. But Dean's careful when he pulls out that silver knife. "It's just a little cut. Don't you freak out on me."

Water's not a problem. He's been washed before, so he's fairly impassive as Dean pours that water on him. It just beads right off and drips onto the floor and even Baby knows what kind of a test that is. He's not a demon. He's not possessed this time. Really!

He glares a little bit at the blond human. Everything changed when this man came into the room. Dean knew him before then, and now Dean doesn't know him anymore and doesn't trust him.

Maybe that human isn't a human. Maybe that human is something that's brainwashing Dean. So, he hasn't even noticed that silver knife because he's too busy pointing at the blond human and firmly stating, "bad!"

He's not good with words yet, okay?

Not spook it? Is Dean serious? He shrugs at him. He'll compromise by not pulling his gun out into sight, but he's not letting go of it.

And he watches Dean with his first test, talking to it like he's talking to a kindergartner and that's all fine dandy until that accusing finger comes and he arches an incredulous brow and then laughs.

"Oh, dollface, if you're gonna try to pull that whole 'I'm the real one' game, you've gotta get the personality down a bit better than that."

"No. No," Dean says, both to FDR, to reassure him that he's not THAT stupid, and to Other-DR. "There's no playing that game. He's the real one," he says, pointing to the one standing.

"And he's not bad. Little dickish, yeah, but you can trust him just as much as you can trust me. We'll figure this out and fix this."

He promises that just before lightly cutting to see if they're dealing with any of the things that silver hurts (which is a rather extensive list), and he looks so surprised when it's not that.

"... okay, I'm gonna message Sam." Who's probably pissy that Dean's off on another one of his "I GOTTA GO. YOU CAN'T COME" secret missions, but it's still handy to have the nerd look things up.

There is some INTENSE FROWNING going on here, and lots and lots of confusion. What do they mean, he's the real one? The real what? And real in comparison to what? HE DOES NOT TRUST HIM. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT DEAN SAYS. He can see that the blond human wants to cause trouble.

And then Dean cuts him and Baby stares at him with wide eyes. Dean scratched him. On purpose. AND IS THAT BLOOD? WHY IS THERE BLOOD? WHERE DID IT COME FROM? IS IT COMING FROM HIM? GET IT OFF.

And there's Baby, trying to frantically rub all the blood off on the sheets because it shouldn't be coming out of him at all.

"Well. There goes your deposit." FDR mutters, head shaking at the frantic creature using sheets like a paper towel. "I got it."

With a huff and a roll of his eyes at Dean, he takes his hand off the gun and heads into the bathroom to grab a bandage and a wash towel. He doesn't plan on taking the same soft approach to this that Dean's seemed to settle on. But watching himself flailing over a little blood is just embarrassing.

There's just something gnawing away at Dean. Something about this whole thing, and mostly focused on the actual human (hopefully) with that familiar face- He's not sure. He's been doing this all his life and there's still stuff that surprises him around every corner, but he feels a sense of belonging and home and it's got NOTHING to do with that face.

It's deeper and it's confusing the hell out of him.

"Heyheyhey, calm down," he said and grips the one on the bed by the shoulders. "It's okay. Just a little scratch. You'll heal. It was important, okay?"

He makes a noise of distress because HE'S STILL LEAKING, but then Dean is there and promising him that things are okay. They don't feel okay. He shouldn't be leaking, but having Dean's hands on his shoulders calms him down somewhat.

It's a familiar grip.

He stops pawing at the sheets and stares at Dean, like he's waiting to be told what to do, to be given some direction to run in.

FDR comes back with the bandages and the cloth and he sits on the crumpled sheets next to the other...him.

"Alright. Let's fix it." And his voice has softened just a bit because he couldn't help but catch that damn exchange between Dean and him and...whatever. It doesn't stop him from snatching the arm and wrapping the cloth in it just long enough to clean up the smeared mess he's made of himself, and then he's slapping on the bandage.

"That get you all hot and bothered?" He asks Dean with a teasing brow. "You finally get to see me with a mark."

Maybe FDR thinks Dean's a little worked up by all that due to the way his hands are kneading the other guy's shoulders. They definitely are still almost rubbing them, but it's not because he's "hot and bothered".

It's just... the feel of that leather under his hands buzzes a bell in him. He can't really put his finger on it, though, and FDR's comment is... slightly distracting. He tears his eyes away from the bleeding one and looks at the agent.

"You know, if you ever wanna bring knives into play... I know a trick or two," he smirks over to the man sitting beside him.

Baby looks at the bandage then up at the blond human. Maybe he's not so bad. He fixed him, which is a good thing. He's now undecided on what he thinks about the man.

But then the rubbing stops and his attention is forced back to Dean. Maybe it's time to give things one more try, so he tugs on Dean's shirt to get his attention and then he gestures at himself again. "I'm Baby," he says and then beams. He managed TWO words!

No. He doesn't honestly think Dean is hot and bothered. But this situation is weird as fuck. And he wants this to be a monster, honestly. He wants his mouth to unhinge and turn into snarling fangs and giant mouth. He wants to see his ears sharpen and his fingers turn into claws. Just so they have an excuse to shoot it.

But this man-child with a scattered word here and there and an innocence that as a trained CIA agent he wouldn't be able to fake, and that stupid smile that's too god damn honest and real. He hates it. He hates everything about it. He doesn't smile like that-not...maybe he never did.

This guy's an imposter and he's already more real than FDR.

He almost misses Dean's retort, but sitting next to this mirror comparison makes his interest in flirting weak and he only gives Dean a shrug before he's up and moving away again, hands sliding into the back of his pants just so he doesn't walk around the room wringing them until Dean says they can shoot it.

"Hear from your brother yet?"

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