hellfighters | More than Magic

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

"Only the pretty ones," Dean says and jumps in behind the wheel without bothering with doors. He's too excited to open doors.

"Yeah, can you imagine?" he says in response to Tuck's comment. "Of all the cocky dick-bags in the world, he's the one who gets xeroxed?" But then he turns to grin at them both and he doesn't look bothered by that at all. Of course, he sees no reason to explain the whole story. For one, FDR has probably already told him what he wants Tuck to know, and then... it's not like they know the whole story yet anyway.

"Baby, just get in the damn car so we can get out of here."

FDR glances back at Baby, and yeah, okay, maybe he gets it a bit. "You should really think of giving him a real name." Because if he's going to get that kicked dog look every time Dean uses the endearment, it's going to get old really fucking fast.

"And you can shut up, too." He offers. Like he's the only bag of dicks in the car right now.

Tuck only smirks at Dean, but he doesn't add any more insults to the mix.

Dean hadn't really made him feel any better. He doesn't want to get in the car. He wants to just ... go somewhere. Run, like he used to, but he won't get far and he knows it.

He wants a name, too. One that proves he's not just another in a long line of cars for Dean. He wants to be special.

There's a long moment of hesitation before he finally gets into shotgun and he stares at Dean like he's expecting some kind of proper explanation.

Dean gives FDR a wink and a grin, and Tuck gets a matching one, but then he turns to watch as Baby moves to get in the car and he doesn't look so happy anymore.

"No. He doesn't need a name. If Baby's my car- Doesn't freaking matter what car I'm driving, okay? The Impala's my baby. She's always been my baby, and she's always gonna be my baby." he says as he starts the car. "I love that freaking car."

And then he adds as an afterthought: "Even if she happens to have a massive dick right now."

"You're an idiot." FDR mutters, but it's not his name. It's not his car. So if Dean is going to keep tossing baby around at anything and everything and making his car get all mopey, well that's their business. So instead he pulls his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and sits back for the ride.

But Tuck is scrunching up his face as he looks between the two men, "You know, I don't need to hear these kinds of things."

"Whatever, you know what my dick looks like. You've seen it."

Tuck rolls his eyes, "And I'll never be allowed to forget, will I?"

"Want to hear about the things I do with my massive dick?"

"You don't want to start this, mate." And there's a warning tone in his voice that has FDR going quiet fast. Sometimes, it's not such a good idea to tell someone everything about his personal life, because then threats like that actually hold some weight.

Baby has absolutely no idea what's going on between Tuck and Frank, so he's been ignoring them in favor of listening to Dean.

That makes him happy. As long as he's the favorite and Dean still loves him, then everything is okay. He smiles a little and settles into his seat, putting his seatbelt on. "Is it big?" He's not seen a lot of dicks. He doesn't know if his is big or not.

And he's got another question he's curious about, too, so he twists enough to look over at Frank. "What kind of car were you?"

There's way too much conversation going on for Dean's taste. He'd much rather have all the kids shut the hell up so he can enjoy the crazy ride he plans on taking them on as soon as they get out of the street FDR lives on. But it's only annoying because it's conversation that he can't just ignore and zone out of.

"I'm not," he says to FDR. "No one's got a unique name. You know how many dudes out there are called 'Frank'? I've met probably five dozen Franks in my life and there's probably a million more of them that I'll meet. Doesn't make you any less special just 'cause you're a 'Frank', too. Right?"

"It's not that big," he says to Baby, but that's just meant as a tease towards the dick in the backseat.

And then there's the part of the conversation that he's definitely not going to ignore. "Tuck, man. You gotta start that," he says with a chuckle. Of course, he's thinking it'll be embarrassing shit that doesn't involve him. Stuff that might actually be funny. "I'll owe you big time."

"Yeah. I'm not." He answers with a twist downward of his lips, "I'm FDR, you just call me 'Frank' because you're an asshole. So no, it's not all that common, and I remember a certain asshole complaining about all the petnames I used because they weren't personal enough."

"And it's totally that big, B. And it's mine. So don't think you get to take credit for it. And I was never a car." Weird question.

"Jesus Christ. Are we still really on this?" Tuck grumbles before shooting Dean an arched brow. "Oh, it's not the kind of conversation you have on a joyride. It's more a drink at a bar type-Ouch. What was that for?!" And he's rubbing his arm where FDR just punched him.

"Dude."

"Right. Sorry. There's absolutely no story to tell. At all." And the line is delivered far too flatly to be convincing at all.

"But I look like you and I was a car, so you should have been a car, too. Were you an Impala?" He tilts his head to the side. Dean likes Impalas, but if Frank used to be an Impala, Baby realizes there might be a problem. He will fight Frank for Dean.

He doesn't like twisting around like this to look at people in the back but he doesn't have a mirror that he can see them with from here, so he unbuckles and turns himself around in the seat. "You're Tuck? Hi, Tuck. I'm Baby. You'd be attractive if you were a car."

Is that weird? That might have been weird.

Edited 2016-01-31 18:57 (UTC)

"So 'Franklin' then, or FDR. You're not the only one with either of those- You're missing the point, Eleanor." He cuts himself off before his tongue takes it too far and says things he'd rather not put into words.

He doesn't believe the brush-off for a second, but there's no need to push it now. At some point, he'll be back in town and all this mess will be sorted, and he'll buy Tuck a drink and see if he can't get a few stories out of him. Because he's curious, and more interested than he maybe should be.

And when he turns to explain to Baby about people and cars and how there's no actual crossover that happens... but then Baby's.. "Dude. Don't hit on Tuck."

Yeah, FDR's done when Dean starts calling him Eleanor, expression tight as he tunes them all out and turns his attention back to the road around them.

But his silence even has Tuck eyeing him curiously, even if he politely turns it back to Baby who's making some dangerous effort to look at him. "No. That's...fine." He mutters to Dean before addressing Baby. "Nice to meet you, Baby. And...thank you. I think. And not to harp on safe driving, but it would be better if we didn't do anything to gain the police's attention to this particular car."

"I can't talk to you if I turn around," Baby protests. He looks over at Dean after and frowns a little. "I wasn't hitting on him. I was telling him he would make an attractive car. That's not the same thing. Don't you think so? He's the sort that you usually like," he points out and then finally gives in and turns around, flopping back into his seat and putting his seatbelt back on.

Dean's very happy with talking being done for now.

Which of course Baby fucks up and he turns to give him a wide-eyed look before he turns to face the road again. There's a gravelly grunt that slips out of him, and he shifts up a gear or two before he snorts. " Yeah, except he's not a girl, Baby."

Shut up, Baby. Shut up! No one needs to know that he's got a history of guys in the car, okay? That's no one's business.

"I can still hear you." For now. Until the car is moving too fast, which what he's been told from FDR is probably going to happen any moment now.

"...You like girls that look like me?" He's just teasing, but that doesn't stop the entirely serious arch of a brow. What's the point of the whole pretending to be straight thing when the man he's fucking is sitting in the backseat anyway?

"Oh, no," Baby says at the misunderstanding. "He likes guys that look like you. He's got a pretty diverse taste in women, so long as they're thin and at least a seven. And sometimes angels."

He doesn't understand what the number system means, only that it's been used at times.

"...Yeah. I got that. Thanks, mate." Tuck mutters, but doesn't seem inclined to do anything else with that information, except to slap FDR on the shoulder because they've worked together long enough that he knows what that twitch of FDR's lips means.

"And who could ever say no to angel. I imagine." When did he become partner to this kind of weird shit?

"He doesn't do things with Cas. Cas doesn't have enough muscle. And his hands aren't big enough." He takes another glance back at Tuck. "You've got lots of muscle."

There is no real filter on this mouth yet.

"Don't." THe word is out of FDR's mouth before Tuck can so much as laugh. THey're not having a conversation about hands. No fucking way.

But it doesn't stop the laughter bubbling out of Tuck, "You do know he does things with FDR, right?"

And FDR, while toned, isn't actually all that muscular either.

no subject

no subject

oh christ i thought it was baby's turn OOPS

Definitely oops

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject