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 shakes his head at that face and is more than tempted to shove his tongue back in his mouth, but instead he turns toward the screen. He's not exactly sure how a car is good at playing video games, but...well. Baby seems to be doing easy enough, so he shrugs and settles in to watch him.

There's definitely not a high-pitched startled cry as soon as the couch dips. Nope.

Baby whips his head around. When did Frank get there?! "Hi," he manages, but then he turns to face the game again. He doesn't know what this is called, or what's going on, but he does know that chaos is fun. "I'm evil!" he chirps as he opens the door of the car while passing a pedestrian at high speed.

Then, he cackles.

He smirks slightly at the surprised greeting, but doesn't distract him further from the game. If there's one thing he understands, it's getting lost in a video game for a bit.

Or really really into it, and his brow arches at the cackling and announcement.

And he...he really hopes it's all just being caught up in the moment and not some weird twist on whatever spell is happening that makes Baby homicidal.

Maybe he shouldn't let him play the game.

"Do you want to play?" he asks, glancing over at Frank briefly. He can't take his eyes off the road, after all. Mainly because he's zooming down the highway and dodging traffic like a pro while three cop cars attempt to keep up.

Dean's right up on top of the stairs when he hears Baby asking FDR if he wants to play. So he decides he's going to linger upstairs for a little bit longer and stay out of sight, and let the two... warm up to each other. That's good, right?

FDR arches a brow and glances down at the controller before looking back at the television. "Nah."

Sorry, B. But just having that face is competitive enough, he doesn't need to drag in anything else with it. And he has a dangerous competitive streak, a wild, overblown, streak where he doesn't stop until he wins, or the building is on fire, or he's hurt himself enough that he can't even move. Seriously. All of the above have happened before.

"Okay." He's fine with that. He's having fun, anyway, and he still doesn't understand what he's supposed to be doing in this game, only that what he is doing is fun.

Also, he refuses to be the human. Every time he gets booted out of the car somehow, he immediately climbs into another one. Doesn't matter what it is. He just wants to drive around like a maniac. "Dean made pie," he says at random. "For you."

Those would be the magic words that have Dean jogging down the stairs to interrupt a conversation that shouldn't happen.

"Who's hungry? I'm starving! Food's probably ready, right?" And then he proceeds to pull dishes and cutlery out of drawers and cupboards with a lot of noise. No one heard what Baby said, right? Good. Let's move on.

"Yeah?" That's about as far as that conversation gets before Dean is there, and FDR's happy to let it end there. For the moment anyway.

Don't think he doesn't know you can't take a dish out quietly, Dean. So he stares at the screen with a smirk until it settles down.

"What'd you make?"

Baby doesn't see any reason not to answer that. "Dean made stew. I held things. I even got to stir it once." He sounds a little bit proud of himself, as if this is some kind of accomplishment.

"He made it from a little box in the cupboard." That might be important information somehow. Little boxes are usually important.

"You assholes gonna come eat or are you just going to sit there with your dicks in your hands?"

Dean's gonna help himself to the stew and sit down at the table, and he's not gonna wait for them before digging in.

"Aggressive much?" He mutters from his spot on the couch, because Dean's sounding defensive before anything even starts. And FDR is tempted to start something. Digging through his Nana's recipes? Really?

So he pushes himself up and goes over to pour himself a bowl of soup before joining Dean at the table.

"We don't have our dicks in our hands." Baby makes a face at that, looking down at his crotch, then looking over at Frank's crotch, just to make sure nothing's going on over there, either.

Still, he puts the controller down without pausing the game and gets up to go to the kitchen. He looks over at the stew that Dean and Frank has and he finds the same bowls and fills his to the same level. Most of learning how to be human is simple mimicry.

"It's just an expression," Dean says to Baby between bites. He's very quiet right now because there is that feel in the air that something might start, and honestly, he'd rather not. It would be so nice to be able to have a quiet meal, some dessert, and then he can go spend the rest of the night playing phone tag with Sam and a bunch of other hunters to try and figure this case out.

Because Baby's a "case" now.

FDR isn't starting a damn thing, except in on soup that almost tastes like Nana's. It's different somehow, though. A touch of Dean. And that has him smirking into a spoonful. But he can see the bunched up ball that Dean is right now, so he doesn't bother saying anything about it.

Too amusing that he's got himself worked up over food. So, he can't quite stop himself from licking off his spoon and literally poking Dean. "What's up? Wanna talk about it?"

"Dean's sorry he tried to replace us," Baby says sagely. He thinks he's gotten it all sorted out now. Why else would Dean make something other than hamburgers and pie?

But this stew is good. He likes the meaty chunks especially. The orange things are okay.

Dean throws Baby a nasty look. Traitor.

"I've got no clue what he's talking about. Cars and English. He's probably confused," he says around his mouthful of meat.

Tried to replace us? And his brow arches, rather uncomfortable with the knowledge that Baby seems to have about his own issue. And his gaze is cool when he turns his attention back toward Dean. Accusing, even.

Why the hell would you mention that to your car? When they hadn't even talked about it.

But any further thoughts on the subject are interrupted by his songed ringtone of "Paul Revere" that he has programmed for Tuck. And immediately he's up from the table and answering it, heading toward the stairs.

"Car's here for you." He calls. Dean can come or not as he goes to fetch the keys from Tuck.

"What?" Baby asks, looking back and forth between Frank and Dean, trying to figure out why everybody suddenly seems unhappy and/or angry.

He doesn't quite have the insight into the issue that Frank thinks he does. He's a little simpler than that, still. He doesn't know about the relationship that Frank and Dean have, but he thinks that if Dean is trying to replace him and he looks identical to Frank, Dean must be trying to replace Frank, too. That makes sense, right? Because Frank must also have been a car at one point.

Dean's glaring back at FDR, the words "I didn't talk to him about that" right on the tip of his tongue, when the phone rings and the mood changes.

At first Dean's focus goes back to his food. If FDR's phone rings and the guy takes off running... that's really none of Dean's business so he's not gonna meddle. But then he gets called for and as soon as the word "car" is said Dean jumps up from the table and smacks Baby on the shoulder. "Come on!"

With that almost-order, Dean's vanished the same direction that FDR ran off in.

Once outside, all Dean sees is the GOD-FUCKING-DAMN CLASSIC CAMARO. And he looks as happy as a kid on Christmas morning.

"Are you kidding me?! Where'd you even find this?"

Well, that's a cute reaction and entirely expected and he snorts softly as he pats Dean on the shoulder. "You should really never ask us that kind of question."

Tuck's leaning on the bumper and he grunts in agreement with FDR before tossing the keys at Dean.

"I'm gonna need a ride back."

"Yeah, I got ya." FDR mutters, hands sliding into his front pockets as he glances back at Dean, "Why don't you take it for a spin. Take B with you."

"Oh, hi!" Baby says to the new person as he comes outside and realizes there's definitely three people instead of two.

And then he sees the car and whimpers a little. He's definitely getting replaced. That car is as old as he is and Dean's going to be all over it and what if Dean doesn't even want Baby as his car anymore?

THIS IS VERY SAD. WHY DOES NOBODY ELSE LOOK SAD? THIS IS CAUSE FOR WORLD-ENDING SADNESS RIGHT HERE.

Dean is definitely all over the car. He's stroking a line up her hood and feeling out all the classic angles with a whistle. He needs a second or fifteen before he even registers that people are talking around him and to him, and he looks up from his loving greetings of the new addition.

"What? Nono," he says and looks from Baby to the other two. "You guys are coming with. Get in. We'll drive him home and break this baby in at the same time. It'll be great."

He might be beaming a little now. The thought of packing all three into that Camaro and then breaking every traffic law in California is exciting!

"...Hello." Tuck greets the guy with FDR's face before his brows arch in concern and the turns back toward FDR. "What kind of monster thought it'd be a good idea for there to be two of you? World isn't big enough for even one."

"Shut up." FDR muttered, attention going back to Dean and his suggestion. He's still pissed, not exactly sure he wants to go in a joyride, but Tuck is already hopping into the backseat and that answers it for him. He's not a fan of shotgun, even less a fan of backseat, but that doesn't stop him from taking the back next to Tuck.

"Did... Did you just call it 'baby'?" Baby asks of Dean. If he had dog ears, they would be flattened against his head right now. "Do you call all of us 'baby'?"

HE THOUGHT THAT WAS HIS NAME. WHAT IF IT'S NOT HIS NAME? What if he's been wrong this WHOLE TIME? He's not getting in that car until he figures this out.

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oh christ i thought it was baby's turn OOPS

Definitely oops

GET IN, BITCHES. We're going shopping. :D

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