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hellfighters2016-01-18 06:38 pm
lovestheimpala) wrote in hellfighters2016-01-18 06:38 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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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"BY ASSBUTT!!" he elaborates, as soon as he remembers the words for it. This guy is definitely an assbutt.
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"Look." And he's just short of hissing. "You can not stand in the god damn parking lot. Do you know what happens to idiots who stand in the road? They get hurt."
And he thinks about the way he reacted to the cut, so he grabs his arm and pinches him hard. "You feel that? It means you're squishy. And it doesn't take much for squishy to go out bug on the windshield style. So at least move over to the sidewalk, okay? I'm not taking you anywhere."
And he's still on the damn phone. And that's going to be a weird conversation to explain. So he gives his face-twin a pointed look before pointing at the sidewalk before he's taking a few steps away so he can get Broswick to quit asking questions and laughing and tell him that he can't find the damn car anywhere.
Well. That's an interesting bit of information that he's not going to share with Dean just yet.
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Assbutt is both a jerk and stupid, Baby decides. On the plus side, he's not being stolen.
He's also not moving from his parking spot, though. This is where Dean put him and unless Dean tells him to move somewhere else, he's not moving. He's a good car. He stays put where he's supposed to. He's going to sit right in the middle of this spot and wait.
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But honestly, he can't leave him like that because he'd hate it if something did happen before they figured out what they were dealing with. So, he grabs him easily by the back of his collar-it was a mistake to sit down, hot wheels, because now he's got height on his side and there's nothing but asphalt to cling to- and starts to yank him back and toward the damn sidewalk.
Dean owes him for this.
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There really isn't anything for him to grab onto, though. All he can do is latch himself onto Assbutt's arm and PINCH HIM FOR ALL HE'S WORTH. He learned that from you, jerk. Drink your own medicine!
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... only to see the.. uh.. twins(?) fighting. If this wasn't turning into such a shit storm, he'd laugh at FDR's attempt to drag the other one onto the sidewalk.
"Sam, I gotta call you back," he says and hangs up before walking out there.
"Hey. What the hell are you guys doing? I walk away for not even a minute and you're fighting? STOP it." Man, he hates it when they force him to sound like the old guy.
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There's a second where he eyes his arm, red and angry and scratched, but that's a love bite compared to what he's used to, so it's easy enough to ignore and turn his frustrations on Dean.
"You. You fix this shit before I toss it in front of a train." And he's storming past Dean to go inside, done with babysitting duty. "I just wanted to get laid!" he shouts before slamming the bedroom door behind him.
Yeah, this has officially crumbled apart to a bitch fit.
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Dean is angry. Baby has been a bad car. Baby is sorry. He doesn't want Dean to be angry with him. Dean's always been angry at everybody else, but very rarely at him.
He doesn't want to be left alone under a tarp forever! He wants to tell Dean that he's sorry, but what actually comes out of his mouth is: "Assbutt started it."
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"Perfect." He just wanted to get laid, too. He didn't want this either.
Then there's that quiet voice behind him that goes Assbutt started it and Dean groans.
"No!" There's that finger in the new guy's face. "Stop that! Don't call him that. He will throw you in front of a train and I can stop it. If you want help, you better behave and.. be NICE! And stop saying that freaking word. That is not your word-"
Dean freezes, then it's his turn to grab the leather collar to pull him close, and he snarls. "How do you know what word?!" Because there's only one person who uses it and if this is some angel bullshit, he's gonna fry all those winged sons of bitches.
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"Cas," he replies, which was always the name Dean had given the angel. "Gave him rides. Heard the word." Three-word sentences! He's getting better at this. It's hard, though, converting thoughts into words that make sense. Choosing the right words to describe what he's thinking.
"Remember?" Dean should know this. Why doesn't he know this? "I'm Baby." He feels the need to stress that after Dean called Assbutt 'Baby'. Assbutt is NOT Baby. Baby is Baby!
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Oh, he's one step away from summoning the feathered freak to get some answers. But if he can avoid that, and avoid the endless string of questions that Cas would point out, that'd be ideal.
"If I take you back inside, are you gonna behave?"
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"My parking spot," he says and gestures to the vacant space where the Impala once sat, trying to indicate that he'll wait here because that's what he always does when Dean goes inside.
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Once inside, he points to the bed. "Sit there. Don't be a dick. I've already got one of those."
He walks over to the bathroom and knocks before pushing the door open. Dean won't walk inside, though. He'll lean against the door frame and slip his hands into his pockets. "Listen, baby. I swear she doesn't mean a thing. You're the only girl for me," he teases.
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How many times does he have to say this? Dean has a terrible memory. He should get that checked. Maybe Cas can fix him.
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"Look. I can do the whole....chopping off vampire things. And the whole witch hexes, and other freaky shit. But, Dean. He has my face. Why the hell does he have my face?"
And he can hear the petulant whine on the bed and he rolls his eyes. "What are you gonna do with it?"
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He's still teasing (halfway) but then its time to turn serious. "Look, Frank. I don't know why he looks like you, but he does and that means you're part of this. Whatever happened, whatever's going on, it's about both of us. So... just stick around, okay? We'll figure it out, but I need you to keep your cool."
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"You do know though, that I have a real job? Like the one with a steady paycheck and a boss that will ground me for a year if I just disappear? So, whatever this is, if it doesn't have to be dealt with here, we need to take it LA."
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And then he shrugs. "That's fine. We'll stay at yours while we figure this out. I could use a vacation anyway." Now he's outright grinning. If he has to go stay in LA for an indefinite amount of time, it's best if it comes with a big screen tv and a pool and that shower, and regular sex- Yeah. Yep. He's not even gonna consider another option.
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Before it suddenly falls.
"Wha-wait. What? I-I didn't..." And he stares at Dean for a moment before he exhales heavily. Because he knows what that bright grin means and god damn it, it's hard to say no. "Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Get him into some normal clothes first, huh?"
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"We're going to LA. You're coming with us- Dammit, you need a name. Can't call you 'Baby', can we?" He says to the one on the bed.
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And then his brain gets sidetracked by how squishy and soft it is to sit on a bed. It's nice. Much softer than pavement and it lures him into flopping out on it and rolling around on it, right up until he realizes Dean is talking to him.
He earnestly snaps back up to sitting, like a dog called to heel, but then he grimaces again. "I am Baby. You named me." He's not going to respond to something else after all these years.
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And god, how much second hand embarrassment is he going to feel because of this duplicated douche?
"I say we call him number two." He offers, yes he totally means it in the most euphemistic way, slapping Dean on the shoulder as he wordlessly disappears out of the front door only to come back a few minutes later with his small overnight suitcase of clothing and other toiletries. Yeah, duffel bags are for camping trips.
"Okay, lose the leather."
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And as much as he hates to admit it, his gut feeling is to call him 'Baby'. Anything else he can think of sounds wrong, especially now that there's an ever increasing chance that the thing rolling around on the bed might be his... car? Okay, no. His brain is not ready for that part just yet. Let's focus on the easy bit for now.
"Okay, fine. I'm gonna go with Baby, if you listen to Frank and get your clothes off." Which he still disagrees with, but if it'll keep both queens happy, he's fine with it.
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Clothes? What clothes? Cars don't have clothes. Do they want him to take off his paint? HE CAN'T TAKE OFF HIS PAINT. HE'S SUCH AN UGLY GREY COLOR UNDERNEATH.
So, he covers his body with his hands like they're some kind of creepy, old perverts and looks absolutely aghast.
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And that's a task he'll leave entirely to Dean.
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