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hellfighters2016-01-18 06:38 pm
lovestheimpala) wrote in hellfighters2016-01-18 06:38 pm
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.
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.
no subject
Luckily, the Impala is a lot easier to move these days and he rolls the guy off of him before jumping to his feet.
He should probably be angry at the tranq gun, but... why? This solves all their problems.
"Hey, come help me dump him in the trunk. Sonofabitch is heavy."
no subject
"You're welcome."
---
A sleeping car saves them a lot of trouble and the ride back to his part of LA goes smoothly enough. And thanks to having the insight of a damn elevator in his house, it's not even that difficult to get Baby inside and laid out on his couch.
But the whole almost dragging Dean out on the freeway and making roadkill out of them both puts him on FDR's dangerous list. Which means he won't be sleeping anytime soon with it in his house.
no subject
On the way to LA, Dean explains to FDR everything that Sam said about how it's not entirely unheard of that inanimate objects have been turned into living things, but that requires masterful spell work, and if they're talking about a living, breathing human being... then the culprit is probably something slightly more powerful than your average hex-bag hag.
As there's no other species of weirdness that really fits with everything Dean told him about Baby, Sam's currently going with "It's probably the car" and trying to figure out what could have that kind of power. And more importantly: How to hunt it, and make it reverse the spell.
Because Dean is absolutely adamant: He wants his car back.
-
Once they reach FDR's turf, Dean goes into a minor shut down. After depositing Baby on the couch (and after Dean has tucked him in
lovingly), he goes straight for the liquor. He has the decency to stay away from the good tequila, but he does grab one of the other bottles with every intention of emptying it.And so he does, glass by glass as he clicks away on his computer, doing his own research into cars spontaneously growing human. With the given consequence that within a few hours that bottle is empty and Dean is blacked out in a chair. FDR might not be able to sleep for a while, but Dean's not gonna come back to consciousness for at least the rest of the night.