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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"You know Cas?"

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?"

Baby sighs and rumbles unhappily. Being inside is weird. He's not sure he likes being inside. Assbutt is inside, too.

"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.

Dean lets out a tired sigh before he grabs "Baby" by the arm to drag him inside. "C'mon."

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.

Baby rumbles again, frowning and wriggling unhappily from where he's sat on the bed like he's supposed to. "Not Baby," he emphasizes, pointing at the door. Then he points at himself. "Baby."

How many times does he have to say this? Dean has a terrible memory. He should get that checked. Maybe Cas can fix him.

He swallows a few advil from where he's standing in front of the sink and mirror, and doesn't bother to look immediately at Dean until he's finished.

"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?"

"I dunno. Maybe he's some shapeshifter-like creature but he's a little simple and a little scared, and he thought I wouldn't go straight for the kill if he looked cute?"

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."

"Is this your way of asking me to stay around and hell you babysit?" Because...it works. For the most part. He'd never turn Dean down when he needs help.

"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."

"No. I'm saying that that thing out there picked your face and then threw itself at me, so obviously the key to solving it is to pull together both forces and work together and-" Much hesitation before he grumbles under his breath. "I need you on this."

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.

Oh isn't that sweet? And he doesn't outwardly taunt hi for needing him, but it's petty visible in his grin.

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?"

"What? Why? You look fantas- I mean, he looks great in leather," Dean says and winks at FDR before he goes back into the room to get their things packed up.

"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.

Baby's been grumpy this whole time. Dean likes Assbutt more than Dean likes him and that grates on Baby's nerves. Dean is his owner.

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.

FDR rolls his eyes at Dean's comment, but doesn't bother to say anything about it as he follows him back out into the room.

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."

Dean doesn't comment on the flopping just because- Well, it could be so much worse and frankly he's seen weirder. He hurriedly shoves his things into his duffel bag (because those things are good any time) and contemplates this name thing.

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.

Baby looks at the two of them blankly, a complete lack of comprehension on his features. He wants to listen to Dean and have Dean call him by his proper name, which would make both of them happy, but he honestly has no idea what they're talking about.

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.

His exhale is as dramatic as Baby's little display and rolls his eyes. "Fine whatever. Nobody is seeing me-him like that. He's going to have to go in the trunk."

And that's a task he'll leave entirely to Dean.

"He's not gonna fit in the trunk- Is he?" That's Dean's only objection. And there's only one way to find out.

"Come on, Baby. We're gonna go meet Frank's car," he says and holds his hand out for him. He won't say a word about the clothes thing as long as no one else is going to push it. Because again, he likes the whole leather thing.

Baby trusts Dean, so he stands up and takes Dean's hand. Meeting a new car? That sounds interesting. Baby likes meeting other cars and seeing what they can do. Sometimes, they're fast and sometimes they're just loud.

And does this mean Assbutt's name is Frank? Assbutt sounds better. More accurate. "Okay," he agrees.

But, you know, he hasn't missed the part about going in the trunk. He's been right here. "Please don't trunk me."

"It's a roomy trunk." Of course it is, the thing has no damn backseat, there's plenty of space for their bags and pinocchio here. And yeah, he answers after Baby's protest. "We don't have room anywhere else. And I can't drive around town with a face twin on the bitch seat of my car."

"It'll be fine," Dean says to Baby.

He scans the room one last time to make sure nothing's been forgotten, and then walks out to the Spyder. He'll even turn to give Baby a reassuring smile. "It's not far, and it's a lot safer for you to be in the trunk. No bugs on your windshield either. Frank's right."

Everything makes sense when he follows Dean out to the other car. The other car is newer. More streamlined. Prettier. Definitely faster.

That's why Dean likes Assbutt.

"Oh," he says and sounds somewhat disappointed and a little hurt, but then he rallies himself and rumbles out a growl. He's supposed to take Dean to LA, not this... this harlot.

So he walks over to Dean and scoops him up and starts walking out towards the highway like it's perfectly normal. ...He doesn't remember Dean being this heavy.

There's no denying that Dean likes FDR's car. He greets the girl with a gentle stroke across her trunk and this little... smile. But that's got nothing to do with why he likes this asshole of a CIA agent that at one point had him arrested and tortured.

And liking either one doesn't mean he has anything but absolute and undying love for his own car.

"You can go in the trunk-" he starts to say when he finds himself scooped up and carried off. Dean lets out an indignant yelp and immediately starts squirming and writhing to try to free himself, but that doesn't seem to be working- "FRANK!"

There's one thing to remember when calling a CIA agent for help, and that is that he helps in the most proficient way possible, which just happens to be pulling his tranq gun out of from the fake bottom of his trunk and shooting Baby in the back of the neck with it.

There's a startled yelp and Baby whirls around to face his attacker. He can't drop Dean. Don't drop Dean! Do not eject the driver from the vehicle!

He gets all of three steps towards Assbutt, anger written all over his features and with every intent of slamming the guy in the face with his door, and then his legs give out and he keels over. Right on top of Dean, in an ungainly heap on the sidewalk.

And then the snoring begins, quiet, like the idling purr of an engine.

There's a slight cry when he's falling (that he'll never admit to) and then he's crushed under the car.

Luckily, the Impala is a lot easier to move these days and he rolls the guy off of him before jumping to his feet.

He should probably be angry at the tranq gun, but... why? This solves all their problems.

"Hey, come help me dump him in the trunk. Sonofabitch is heavy."

He tosses the tranq gun back in the trunk and fixes the top over it before heading over to the body. With a quick glance at Dean just to make sure he's not more than scruffed up he bends down and checks Baby's pulse. There's only a small margin of error for tranq darts to the neck. Instant crash or death. But, he's pretty confident in his aim and the snoring is a pretty good sign he's not slowly dying. He plucks the dart out and tucks it in his pocket before he's helping Dean carry him to the car and tucking him into the trunk.

"You're welcome."

---

A sleeping car saves them a lot of trouble and the ride back to his part of LA goes smoothly enough. And thanks to having the insight of a damn elevator in his house, it's not even that difficult to get Baby inside and laid out on his couch.

But the whole almost dragging Dean out on the freeway and making roadkill out of them both puts him on FDR's dangerous list. Which means he won't be sleeping anytime soon with it in his house.

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lovestheimpala - 2016-01-21 23:09 (UTC) - Expand

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