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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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.

"He's an anomaly," Baby agrees because he thinks that's what Tuck is saying. It's true. Frank doesn't fit Dean's norm. "He's not anything like Benny."

Oh good lord. Now Tuck can see why FDR had been the most unpleasant asshole at work today. And he shakes his head at that comment before tapping Dean on the shoulder as he leans forward. "Only live a few more blocks away. Take the next left and we'll come across it."

Yeah. Him and FDR live within ten minutes of each other, and totally intentionally.

No.

Dean, who has been trying to get a word in to end this, finally hits his limit when that name pops up. He slams on the brakes, and it's a good thing that they're still in a residential area and he wasn't going that fast to begin with.

"BABY, SHUT THE FREAKING HELL UP," he bellows, even if he instantly feels bad. He turns to Tuck and there's a finger pointing at him. "You! Stop making it worse, douchebag!"

He glances over at FDR, but bites his tongue and decides against talking to him in front of everyone. Instead he turns back around and heads for that next left as fast as he can drive without cops being called so they can end this sooner rather than later.

"You shouldn't mention angels so openly," he explain to Baby instead. "Tuck's one thing, but all the shit we do isn't stuff people would know and they shouldn't know. If you go blabbing about angels and vampires and shit to everyone, you're gonna get locked up."

Then... with a cracked, quiet breath, he mutters. "And don't talk about Benny. Ever."

It's not very often that Dean yells at him. Yells around him, yells in him, yells in the woods near him, but actually yelling at him is rare enough that it startles Baby into shocked silence.

He stares at Dean with wide eyes and then he stares down at his hands, fiddling with them while he gets scolded. He didn't mean to make Dean angry and now he's sad. Baby is a sad Impala.

He'll just be quiet for now until he figures out more of what he's allowed to say and what he's not allowed to say because apparently, everything he's said in the past five minutes is all firmly on the Not Allowed list.

Tuck holds up his hands innocently and sits back down in his seat, "Oh trust me, mate. I'm not trying to make it worse. I work with him."

"It's fine." Is all FDR says, having refused to acknowledge any of the scene that just happened, even the gaze Dean slid his way. Shit keeps going from bad to worse every god damn time Baby says something new. And he's so beyond done he's not even going to start.

So when they get to Tuck's place, he climbs out of the car with him and doesn't say a damn word, but he does give the two car occupants a casual wave of his head before heading inside.

"See?" Tuck sighs, hand running through his short hair. "Well, that was a pleasant ride. Thanks."

Oh, hell no. Dean knows what it means when FDR gets out of the car all quiet as crap like that. It's classic Pissed Girlfriend, right? And Dean has experienced that enough times to know he's got two options: Either defuse now, or wait for the nuclear explosion later ( letting it die out is apparently not an option).

"Son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath and jumps out of the car to follow FDR into the house, without bothering to say anything to the other two. There's no time when there's bombs to defuse.

Baby blinks. Um. Baby's pretty sure he's supposed to stay right here, even though it's weird being in another car. So, he just sits there and stares at the door of the house, waiting for Dean to come back out.

He's so focused on waiting that he's actually forgotten that there's still a guy sitting right behind him.

Tuck drops his hand from his hair and waves it at the house. "Now, that's just great. Lovely. My house has become ground zero." Because he knows what kind of things get broken when FDR's upset.

"Well...I'm not sitting around twiddling my fingers." So he'll just climb up to the driver's seat and settle in. "Do you like jukeboxes?"

--

He can hear those feet behind him, has heard Tuck run up to him enough times in the past that he knows that's not his weight, not his stride. Which means Dean's following him. But he doesn't stop, slams the door behind him when he steps inside, half of him hoping it'll catch Dean in the face but he knows he's got too good of reflexes for it to do enough damage.

Still. The idea is satisfying. Barely. And he makes his way across the room to the fridge and digs through it for his brand of beer.

He manages to escape grave injury caused by slamming doors only because he's one step too far behind and reaches the doorway after it has slammed shut. And Deans' got no shame over walking into Tuck's home like he has any kind of right to, or over slamming the door behind him as if he's got a right to tell people not to come in after them.

"You mind grabbing one of those for me," he says to the guy hiding behind the fridge door. It's lighthearted enough that it's clear he's hoping they can talk this out without screaming and punches, but at the same time he is fully braced and ready to duck potential bottles that might come flying at his head.

FDR lingers longer than any normal person would need to to grab two beers, but when he does finally straighten up and close the fridge, it's with two beers between his fingers and he casually holds one out to Dean. Whatever anger Dean might be expecting? There's not a twitch of it visible.

"Why? You staying? Don't you have things to do?"

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