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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"Oh my god, dude. Can you not look so pathetic when you're wearing my face please?" And he runs a hand through his hair, because if there's one thing worse than parading around with his face, it's looking like that with it. Use it to strut and get women? He could understand that. But to mop on the bed in front of someone he'd...rather not see him mopey? That's just plain rude.

And Dean might be falling for the whole act. But his face doesn't have the same effect on him, and his hand slides back to wrap around his gun. Maybe Dean's being careful because of the resemblance. It'd be a good angle. One he didn't think they were exactly ready for, but you know, that's a bridge he can tease Dean about when they're done with this.

Nothing like a monster impersonation of your face to let you know how much a guy means to you.

"Okay. OKay, good. I'm not gonna hurt-"

He looks over at FDR and rolls his eyes. First at the comment, then because he's reaching for what can only be his gun.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" he hisses. "Don't spook it."

No, seriously. He has seen the most innocent, cooperative fuzzy bunny turn into a five-mouthed hell squid when spooked. That's a bad bad bad idea because this thing could be new and it could be a thousand times stronger and faster than either of them.

Or it could be scared and lost and confused, and Dean comes over so he can crouch again. "I'm gonna pour some water on you. It's not gonna burn. It's just a little wet. Okay?"

Yeah, he doesn't really expect demon, but that's always the first test. The second one, that's the more likely and logical answer, is shapeshifter. But Dean's careful when he pulls out that silver knife. "It's just a little cut. Don't you freak out on me."

Water's not a problem. He's been washed before, so he's fairly impassive as Dean pours that water on him. It just beads right off and drips onto the floor and even Baby knows what kind of a test that is. He's not a demon. He's not possessed this time. Really!

He glares a little bit at the blond human. Everything changed when this man came into the room. Dean knew him before then, and now Dean doesn't know him anymore and doesn't trust him.

Maybe that human isn't a human. Maybe that human is something that's brainwashing Dean. So, he hasn't even noticed that silver knife because he's too busy pointing at the blond human and firmly stating, "bad!"

He's not good with words yet, okay?

Not spook it? Is Dean serious? He shrugs at him. He'll compromise by not pulling his gun out into sight, but he's not letting go of it.

And he watches Dean with his first test, talking to it like he's talking to a kindergartner and that's all fine dandy until that accusing finger comes and he arches an incredulous brow and then laughs.

"Oh, dollface, if you're gonna try to pull that whole 'I'm the real one' game, you've gotta get the personality down a bit better than that."

"No. No," Dean says, both to FDR, to reassure him that he's not THAT stupid, and to Other-DR. "There's no playing that game. He's the real one," he says, pointing to the one standing.

"And he's not bad. Little dickish, yeah, but you can trust him just as much as you can trust me. We'll figure this out and fix this."

He promises that just before lightly cutting to see if they're dealing with any of the things that silver hurts (which is a rather extensive list), and he looks so surprised when it's not that.

"... okay, I'm gonna message Sam." Who's probably pissy that Dean's off on another one of his "I GOTTA GO. YOU CAN'T COME" secret missions, but it's still handy to have the nerd look things up.

There is some INTENSE FROWNING going on here, and lots and lots of confusion. What do they mean, he's the real one? The real what? And real in comparison to what? HE DOES NOT TRUST HIM. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT DEAN SAYS. He can see that the blond human wants to cause trouble.

And then Dean cuts him and Baby stares at him with wide eyes. Dean scratched him. On purpose. AND IS THAT BLOOD? WHY IS THERE BLOOD? WHERE DID IT COME FROM? IS IT COMING FROM HIM? GET IT OFF.

And there's Baby, trying to frantically rub all the blood off on the sheets because it shouldn't be coming out of him at all.

"Well. There goes your deposit." FDR mutters, head shaking at the frantic creature using sheets like a paper towel. "I got it."

With a huff and a roll of his eyes at Dean, he takes his hand off the gun and heads into the bathroom to grab a bandage and a wash towel. He doesn't plan on taking the same soft approach to this that Dean's seemed to settle on. But watching himself flailing over a little blood is just embarrassing.

There's just something gnawing away at Dean. Something about this whole thing, and mostly focused on the actual human (hopefully) with that familiar face- He's not sure. He's been doing this all his life and there's still stuff that surprises him around every corner, but he feels a sense of belonging and home and it's got NOTHING to do with that face.

It's deeper and it's confusing the hell out of him.

"Heyheyhey, calm down," he said and grips the one on the bed by the shoulders. "It's okay. Just a little scratch. You'll heal. It was important, okay?"

He makes a noise of distress because HE'S STILL LEAKING, but then Dean is there and promising him that things are okay. They don't feel okay. He shouldn't be leaking, but having Dean's hands on his shoulders calms him down somewhat.

It's a familiar grip.

He stops pawing at the sheets and stares at Dean, like he's waiting to be told what to do, to be given some direction to run in.

FDR comes back with the bandages and the cloth and he sits on the crumpled sheets next to the other...him.

"Alright. Let's fix it." And his voice has softened just a bit because he couldn't help but catch that damn exchange between Dean and him and...whatever. It doesn't stop him from snatching the arm and wrapping the cloth in it just long enough to clean up the smeared mess he's made of himself, and then he's slapping on the bandage.

"That get you all hot and bothered?" He asks Dean with a teasing brow. "You finally get to see me with a mark."

Maybe FDR thinks Dean's a little worked up by all that due to the way his hands are kneading the other guy's shoulders. They definitely are still almost rubbing them, but it's not because he's "hot and bothered".

It's just... the feel of that leather under his hands buzzes a bell in him. He can't really put his finger on it, though, and FDR's comment is... slightly distracting. He tears his eyes away from the bleeding one and looks at the agent.

"You know, if you ever wanna bring knives into play... I know a trick or two," he smirks over to the man sitting beside him.

Baby looks at the bandage then up at the blond human. Maybe he's not so bad. He fixed him, which is a good thing. He's now undecided on what he thinks about the man.

But then the rubbing stops and his attention is forced back to Dean. Maybe it's time to give things one more try, so he tugs on Dean's shirt to get his attention and then he gestures at himself again. "I'm Baby," he says and then beams. He managed TWO words!

No. He doesn't honestly think Dean is hot and bothered. But this situation is weird as fuck. And he wants this to be a monster, honestly. He wants his mouth to unhinge and turn into snarling fangs and giant mouth. He wants to see his ears sharpen and his fingers turn into claws. Just so they have an excuse to shoot it.

But this man-child with a scattered word here and there and an innocence that as a trained CIA agent he wouldn't be able to fake, and that stupid smile that's too god damn honest and real. He hates it. He hates everything about it. He doesn't smile like that-not...maybe he never did.

This guy's an imposter and he's already more real than FDR.

He almost misses Dean's retort, but sitting next to this mirror comparison makes his interest in flirting weak and he only gives Dean a shrug before he's up and moving away again, hands sliding into the back of his pants just so he doesn't walk around the room wringing them until Dean says they can shoot it.

"Hear from your brother yet?"

He doesn't have a reference for that word that the one the bed keeps using. It has so many uses, but the simple way that it's presented, paired with the pure and innocent way the guy smiles, like he's proud he got the words out, it makes Dean think the worst possible things.

"Not yet," he says to FDR. "But... what if... Okay, look at him. What if he's like....a freaking actual baby?"

Baby makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat and shakes his head. He's not a baby, he's just Baby. He's obviously not very good at speaking to Dean in this language. He misses when Dean could figure out what wrong just by listening to the noises he made.

Dean sort of had it right before, so he takes the man's hands and puts them back on his shoulders, and then he tilts himself to the left and then to the right, wondering if the motion will jog any recognition.

"Yeah." FDR mutters, watching the way the guy grabs Dean's hands and makes him touch him again. "Totally a baby." He wasn't buying that at all. But there was one thing he knew for certain. "He likes you."

Except for the occasional glance and the very blatant 'bad' comment, he hasn't paid much attention to him, it's all been focused on Dean.

"Where'd it even come from?" He muttered, turning away from the scene on the bed to walk over to the window, pulling up the curtain to look out like he expects to see some hint out there. But there's nothing out of the ordinary except...

"Hey, did you move your car?"

Dean lets out a little chuckle at what he thinks has to be some sort of game. He lets that carry on as he thinks through every book and lore he's come across in his life, and makes mental lists of what he needs to send on to the one back home so he can look through the archives and find answers. FDR's words sink onto that list. Dean, too, has noticed that this is mostly him and not so much about the one whose face has been stolen.

"Maybe it's some replicant spell gone wrong-"

What?

He jumps up and runs over to the window, only to let out a horrified gasp when the car is gone. "I didn't!"

Still, could it be they don't remember where he parked? He runs outside and jogs up and down the parking lot in search of it. "THEY STOLE MY BABY!"

Which incites some panic in Baby because Dean's leaving and he doesn't want to be alone with this other person (who is somewhat scary), so he runs out after Dean.

And since he's outside, he stands in the parking stall where he's supposed to be and shifts impatiently while he waits for Dean to come back. He's not supposed to go anywhere without Dean.

When Dean does come back, Baby shakes his head. "No. Here," he says, and gestures for Dean to look at him. "Here."

So, apparently all the action is outside, and he saunters out behind the other two, leaning against the door frame as he watches Dean frantically jog the parking lot. He knows if Dean didn't move it, it's not there. He's got an absurd memory for details like this, it's part of why he's so good at his own job. But he knows better than to say any of that to Dean.

"Relax, I'll call it in. Unless it's hidden in a chop shop somewhere, I'll help you find it." He offers, hand already pulling out his phone when the other guy starts making noise. And it's not the words that really catch his attention, but the fact that he's standing exactly where the car had been parked. Seems like an odd detail for someone with a one-word vocabulary to know. "Or maybe you can ask the clone over here what happened to it."

Like a distraction while someone jacks Dean's car. But honestly, FDR doesn't know why anyone would go through the trouble. It's a cute car, but hardly that important to anyone who isn't Dean.

He notices that, too. The car vanishing and some copycat showing up, and that guy knowing exactly where the car was parked- It's all too much at once for it not to be connected somehow.

So he strides up to the one in the parking spot and again he's grabbing him by the shoulders, but this time it's to shake him. Gone are all worries about spooking him.

"You better start talking, and I don't wanna hear any more of this code bullshit! Who are you? What hidden level of hell did you come from, and what the crap did you do to my car?"

Baby is visibly upset now, but he endures the shaking, making no move whatsoever to push Dean away or get the man's hands off of him. Dean has every right to put his hands on him wherever he wants.

Words are hard, but Baby wants to communicate. He scrunches his face, thinking very hard before he opens his mouth. "I'm Baby. I'm car. Your car."

How do humans do this talking thing so well? There's so many words to remember!

Dean stares at him for a few seconds, face frozen in shock.

"UNbelievable!" He snarls after that and shakes his head before shoving his way past the guy and back towards the hotel room.

"Make sure dick face here doesn't go anywhere," he snaps at FDR.

Dean has to go call Sam and do some yelling and get some answers.

"Hey. Watch the face insults, asshole." He mutters, stepping out of the doorway so he wasn't interrupting Dean's angry parade back inside.

And he leaves Dean to his business before making his way over to the guy claiming to be a fucking car, and he grabs him by the leather collar, "C'mon. I look like a...leather daddy in that." And he tries to pull him towards his own car even as he turns on his phone and makes a call to Bothwick to run and find Dean's plate number, something he already has conveniently memorized, with the sat tracker. Doesn't hurt to see if its still out there somewhere so they can call bullshit to this. But, hell, FDR doesn't know fake weird from real weird, so as far as he's concerned...this is somehow within the realm of possible. Sure.

As soon as the weird, blond human tries to move him, Baby protests. Loudly. "DEAN! BEING STOLEN!" he yells, putting the rest of his energy into staying in that parking spot by digging his heels in and trying to squirm away. He is not going with a stranger! Strangers are bad!

"BY ASSBUTT!!" he elaborates, as soon as he remembers the words for it. This guy is definitely an assbutt.

He's getting a headache and it's growing stronger by the second. And he has a lot of opinions on an insult like assbutt, but for his own mental health he's just going to let it go. What he does do though is grab the guy roughly by the shoulders.

"Look." And he's just short of hissing. "You can not stand in the god damn parking lot. Do you know what happens to idiots who stand in the road? They get hurt."

And he thinks about the way he reacted to the cut, so he grabs his arm and pinches him hard. "You feel that? It means you're squishy. And it doesn't take much for squishy to go out bug on the windshield style. So at least move over to the sidewalk, okay? I'm not taking you anywhere."

And he's still on the damn phone. And that's going to be a weird conversation to explain. So he gives his face-twin a pointed look before pointing at the sidewalk before he's taking a few steps away so he can get Broswick to quit asking questions and laughing and tell him that he can't find the damn car anywhere.

Well. That's an interesting bit of information that he's not going to share with Dean just yet.

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IT *IS* A CUTE CAR!!

You think I'm cute? :D

Well, with THAT face... >_>

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IT IS A CUTE CAR!!