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 hears that sound that is anything but the stream hitting the water or bowl and his head jerks down towards Baby to see him hitting everything but the toilet.

"Hey! Hey!" And he's not even thinking about what he's doing before he's reaching out and snatching that wandering cock and pointing it right back down at the bowl. "God damn it! DEAN!" He knows the other guy is totally conked out, that he won't hear his shout, but it doesn't stop him from screaming it. "Don't you point that anywhere but the water, you get me?"

"Why?" He doesn't understand what the big deal is, but he does understand that he doesn't like the way Assbutt is handling his hose. Or maybe he does like it? It's confusing.

"Dean is sleeping," he reminds him, looking at Assbutt as if he's completely stupid for forgetting. He just said that a little bit ago. Geez.

"Why? Because you're pissing all over my bathroom, that's why! You don't do that. It's-it's like...someone dumping soda all over your back seat!" Is it? he doesn't even know. But he's going with it.

And he keeps a hand on it until he's done, until he just needs a shake and a dab and god help him if he does all that for him too. He'll never talk about this. Ever. At least...it's his own dick. Kind of.

He flushes the toilet before turning toward the sink and scrubbing furiously at his hands. "Put it back in your pants."

Baby watches with interest, still trying to figure out this whole, strange process. Fluid goes from him into the bowl and it makes him feel less full on the inside. Hmm.

Then the bowl takes the yellow fluid away and the hose goes back into the pants. Okay. He tucks it back in and somehow remembers that he's supposed to zip it up like it was before. Okay. All done.

He looks over at Assbutt and then at the sink and comes over to copy his actions.

That's when he sees the mirror.

That's also when the shrieking starts.

That sound hurts. Christ. And his hands automatically come out to slap around Baby's mouth to muffle the sound.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" And he eyes the sink, the mirror, and then shrugs. Okay. Yeah. He gets it. First time Baby's seen himself. They probably should have thought about dragging him in front of a mirror earlier.

"Yeah, freaks me out too." He admits.

Baby whimpers into Assbutt's hand. At first, he'd been startled because two new people had appeared, but he figured out quickly enough that the two new people were them. And then it sunk in that he looks exactly like Assbutt.

But if they look alike, he can't go around calling Assbutt Assbutt, can he? Another whimper.

He reaches up to pull As-- Frank's hand off of his mouth and he frowns at his reflection, reaching forward to touch the mirror to make sure it's not some kind of trick, and then he touches his own face. "Not cool."

"Yeah, trust me. There are worse faces you could have wound up with." But now that he's not about to get the neighbors called on him for murdering someone, he leaves Baby to his own exploration and makes his way into the kitchen and over to the bench he's let Dean sleep his booze away.

He's done being generous though and he grabs a calf and shakes. "He sprung a leak. It's your mess."

All the cries and screams aside, it's the touch that wakes him up instantly. For a second he thinks he's being attacked, but he's woken up to be greeted by that face enough times now that the stress instantly winds down again.

Which means Dean closes one eye, all ready to go back to sleep. "What'd you mean? Who? What?"

Meanwhile, Baby's still in the bathroom, making distressed noises. At least, he is for a couple of minutes, because then there's other noises, too. Like the sound of the shower. And then the sink. And then the toilet flushing.

Water conservation? What's that?

"It means you have a bathroom to scrub down with bleach." Seriously, generosity hour is over, and he's already had it with this morning, and he hadn't slept the night before, and Dean was so cleaning up pee. He did not sign up for cleaning up after his humanized car.

And then he hears the water going and his brow twitches. It's probably flooded. He would definitely bet on flooded. "I'm gonna drown him."

Dean looks confused for a good couple of minutes before his brain slowly slowly connects the dots.

And he's really not in the mood to laugh.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath and rolls off the bench and onto his feet to head for the bathroom and see what kind of mess Baby has gotten himself into.

The scene he walks into is Baby showering fully clothes, and he swears he's too old and too drunk for this world and the bullcrap it likes to throw at him. "What are you doing?"

"Going through the car wash?" he says uncertainly, looking over at Dean. He is happy to see him alive and well, so he smiles brightly. The shower hasn't been closed, so water splashes everywhere whenever it hits the leather of his jacket and pants, but he's still busily scrubbing himself off with the loofah.

"I want to be clean." Dean likes him when he's clean, so he thought this would make the man happy. It's not making the man happy.

He. Just. Refuses to even go in and look. He doesn't need to see it. He doesn't need the stress. Dean's up. Dean will take care of it. Or FDR will ship them both off to a hotel-and he's actually a little reluctant to do that. He'd actually gotten to the point where he didn't mind sharing his space with Dean. But three was a god damn crowd.

So he just walked off into his own bedroom, and into his own shower to get ready for the day.

Dean thinks all this is freaking hilarious. Even the piss all over the toilet. If this had happened back at the motel, he'd be on the floor laughing.

But... they're on FDR's turf and he's Vulcan levels of neat freak, and not too proud to throw bitch fits over it. So he doesn't think it's funny. Instead, he's sobering up like he's been thrown into a job.

"That's not a car wash. That's not how you do it," he says to Baby. First order of business is to turn off all the water.

"Okay. If you wanna get clean, you need to get naked-" Dean tugs on the wet leather jacket (and quietly mourns its passing). "You gotta take the tarp off," he explains and feels so stupid for wording it like that.

"Just take off everything that comes off. Okay? I'll clean up your other mess, and then we'll go to the next step. Got that?"

Baby nods eagerly, more than willing to please. He doesn't know why the tarp has to come off -- he thought he was getting it clean -- but maybe things will be clearer if he just does what Dean says, so he makes that his plan of action.

He pulls and tugs at the jacket until he can get it off, and then he fiddles around with the shirt underneath until he realizes that actually separates and comes off, too.

It's the pants he has a harder time with, but he eventually figures out how to undo them, but then they're practically skin-tight to his legs, so there's a lot of grunting and awkward pushing as he tries to get them off. Eventually, he gives up and just lies down in the tub, sticks his feet in the air, and -- oh. What are these things? Do they come off?

He tugs at the shoes and is happy to find that they come off. Whee! Oh, and the white things underneath, too, and-- TOES! He has toes. Cool.

He wiggles them a bit before he remembers his mission and he tugs the pants off. Everything else is all peachy, slightly fuzzy skin and that hose from earlier. "Good?" he asks of Dean, wondering if he has approval yet.

While Baby battles the concept of undressing, Dean does as requested and wipes up the mess around the toilet and then goes over everything with bleach-soaked paper towels. That's good enough in his book, and he's busy scrubbing and double-scrubbing his hands clean when Baby finally finishes.

He has to be excused when he turns to look and finds a very familiar sight that he's all sorts of hooked on. He clears his throat and looks away, nodding and coughing out a "Y-yeah. That's right. Now you can turn the water on."

Oh man, he really shouldn't look, but his eyes are already sneaking glances.

Baby rights himself, keeping hold of the shower wall when he realizes the floor is a bit slippery, and then he turns the water back on. He was getting cold there, he realizes, when the warm water hits him and feels so very nice.

"Now I can clean?" He holds out the loofah in question. Obviously, Dean is supposed to be washing him, but then he scrunches his face up because he knows he's forgetting something. "Soap?" He doesn't see any bottles that look right.

Is it a bad thing that he fully and instantly gets why Baby is expecting him to wash him?

Of course that's what the Impala would expect. That's what Dean's done for... as long as he can remember. Since before he was old enough to reach up to the hood, he's been cleaning and polishing and loving on that car.

But it's because he's drunk that he nods and slips out of his shirt and jeans so he can step into the shower and actually help clean him.

"We need to find you some soap that smells right." Something with new car scent, or something. Something that smells like leather and motor oil and metal.

Baby doesn't think there's anything weird about Dean taking his clothes off. He's seen Dean naked before. "Smells right? Why?" Baby doesn't think he needs to smell like anything. Or has that always been something Dean's done?

He's never been able to smell things before. He doesn't know what the soap used to smell like.

He doesn't know what Dean smells like, either, so he turns around and leans in, pressing his nose against Dean's shoulder while he sniffs. "Huh." Then he sniffs again, trying to commit that smell to memory so he doesn't forget.

"Hey hey, don't get weird on me," he says and rests his hand on Baby's chest to gently nudge him back a little.

"You can't just stick your nose on people and smell them. Dogs do that. Not people. You might get in trouble if you do that to people."

"Now stand still," he adds as he lathers up that loofah and starts scrubbing Baby clean in much the same circular motion he'd use if he was soaping up the car.

He'll work his way all over him, and take the chance to really look at this body and make sure it's fully human, and see if it's really FDR's body or not.

Which is not as easy as it should be, because the vain bastard won't let there be a mark on his skin- Still, there's that one little dent in the flawless veneer that Baby should have if he's a true copy. That's what Dean keeps an eye out for as he crouches down to do the car's legs.

Baby doesn't move unless instructed. It's not as if he moved while being washed before. This time, though, it feels much nicer. Not that it wasn't nice before, but now there's the light scratching of the loofah and the smell of the soap and the warmth of the water.

He can sense all of these things and it makes him rumble happily, closing his eyes to rest them while Dean gets him all washed up, shiny and new. "You smell nice," he says after a while. His brain tells him that if anything is going to smell nice, it would be Dean.

There's a few thoughts going through Dean's head once he has finished cleaning Baby and he steps out to get a towel for him.

First of all, that's definitely FDR's body. Whoever did this didn't just give the Impala a familiar face, but copy pasted a whole person, and Dean's a little worried as to why.

Secondly, he's thinking that he definitely and abso-freaking-lutely needs to drag Frank into the shower at some point and give him a once over like this, because that crap was a little kinky and he's actually really proud of himself for managing to stay calm and not get... worked up about it.

"Turn the water off before you step out," Dean says to Baby and holds the towel open for him so he can dry him off. And once he's dry, there's not a single second where he stops to question the fact that he instantly reaches for the lotion. He never washes him without following with a coat of wax. That dulls the shine.

Yep. There's definitely a happy rumble coming out of him. He's always liked it when Dean pays attention to him, and now that he can really feel all of it, he's even happier.

He turns off the water and comes out to the towel, contentedly letting Dean dry him off. This is part of the ritual. They've done this a million times before, so he's also thoroughly expecting the lotion.

"Does it smell right?" He doesn't know if Dean has a specific smell in mind for him. What does a car smell like? He wouldn't know. He was sleeping the whole time he was in the trunk.

"Nope," is all he says. He has to focus a little when he massages that lotion in all over a body that his hands are getting to know so damn well. Just so he doesn't get distracted and have too much fun with it.

And again he's kinda proud of himself for not reacting. Not that he doesn't have an endless arsenal of dick withering thoughts to draw from when need be...

With the Impala cleaned and "waxed", Dean wraps him in a guest robe, and then has the clarity to take off his own wet boxers and wrap a towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom.

"I'm gonna go get you some clothes," he explains before he goes in search of FDR. There's no way he would raid the guy's closet without asking first. He's not stupid.

But he is stupid enough to come up behind the angry lion and wrap his arms around his waist.

He's busy fixing his hair in the mirror, and for all the trembling anger he had displayed earlier, he's all calm and collected now. To the point there's only a soft smirk when he spots Dean's reflection in the window and he doesn't stop him from wrapping his arms around his toweled waist.

"Guess you already showered." He muttered, never one to miss the blatantly obvious. "Bathroom still in one piece?"

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