hellfighters | 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

From:

bigvessel

There's an easy difference between actually being in a better mood and pretending to be in one, and he's had enough alone time to settle into the second one. Which is the only reason there's nothing more than a twitch of a brow when Dean tells him he just lotioned up some naked guy, and examined him closely enough to confirm they're xerox copies. And saying its 'just his car' doesn't help at all, because he knows how Dean feels about his car.

But for now he's done being riled up about it.

"Yeah. Just stay away from the suits." Like he even needs to say that.

From:

lovestheimpala

"Right. Like I'd put one of your suits on a guy who hasn't yet understood the concept of peeing. We could put you in one of those leather pants, though. And the jacket, too. That would look amazing..." Dean lets out a low whistle against FDR's skin.

From:

bigvessel

His lip twitches downward, and for just a brief second he looks furious, but then it's gone with a shrug of his shoulders. "I've got some sweats in the dresser. Better hurry before he starts drinking toilet cleaner in your absence."

From:

lovestheimpala

It's shitty luck that just as that infuriated look flashes over FDR's face, Dean is looking at him in the mirror to see what the reaction to his suggestion is.

So of course he's not gonna let it go. "What's that look about?"

From:

bigvessel

"What look?" It's knee-jerk, to deny it ever existing in the first place, and suddenly Dean's arms around his waist feels more like a weight than a comfort, just because he knows how these moments go. So he slides out of it before Dean can hold him still and demand an honest answer.

"I'll go see what I've got." He's not retreating. He's just...diverting and he heads over to the dresser himself to dig through casual t-shirts and sweat pants.

From:

lovestheimpala

He lets FDR physically escape, but he follows and has no plans of letting this go. He's got every understanding that some times, some things are best left unquestioned.. but this is not one of those times.

"That look on you got. Like for a second you were contemplating killing me, and Baby, and the whole block. That look. What was that about?"

From:

bigvessel

"He peed on my stuff, Dean. I'll get over it." And he threw the shirt in Dean's face before the black sweat pants followed. "You should grab something to wear too. You do realize you're literally standing around in soggy britches, right?"

Just. Pointing that out.

From:

lovestheimpala

"That's such a load of crap," Dean says and grabs the shirt, and then the sweat pants. "And I'm not. I took my boxers off. I wouldn't be stupid enough to go dripping all over your apartment and piss you off even more. See?" He takes the towel off and throws it at FDR to prove that he is indeed naked and dry.

"Now talk to me."

From:

bigvessel

Well, that's a dirty tactic and he stares at the nude man in front of him with an appreciative glance that hasn't faded since they started consistently fucking.

But he shakes his head and takes his time to fold up the towel in silence.

"There's nothing to talk about." And he shoots Dean a look that warns him to drop it. That annoying persistence isn't going to get him anywhere this time.

From:

lovestheimpala

And now that nude man is blocking the way out of the closet.

"There's something to talk about because you're being so stubborn about it. And you're making me feel like it's my fault, so I think I got a right to know what I did to piss you off so bad."

From:

bigvessel

"It's not your fault." And there's some truth to that. Mostly. He's still pretty sure Dean is to blame for his car turning into an image of him, but if it is, Dean is good at playing ignorant.

"Now, get out of the way, before I make you."

Pick your battles, Dean. This is a losing one.

From:

lovestheimpala

"You're getting pretty aggressive for someone who's not pissed at me," Dean says, clearly not believing that for a second. But still, he shrugs and moves out of the way to go get himself a pair of boxers. He might not keep clothes here, but he knows where to find what he needs and he's got no issues helping himself.

"If you feel like cutting the crap at some point, you know I'm always willing to listen."

From:

bigvessel

"It's the situation, not you." he clarifies, and that's ALL he's clarifying before he grabs his own suit on the way out of the closet and starts to dress himself, even if his eyes linger on the way Dean easily moves around his closet, aware of where everything is.

When had he gotten so damn familiar with all of his stuff?

"What's the next move, anyway?"

Yeah, ignoring that open door policy, thanks.

From:

lovestheimpala

"First thing I'm gonna do is teach him the very basics he needs to know so he doesn't burn the house down, or get any of us killed. Then I've got a couple of leads to look into."

That's it, really, but it's a start. He doesn't bother with more clothes, though. Boxers are good enough for now. Then he leans against the wall and blatantly watches FDR getting dressed. He likes doing that. There's so much thought and ritual to it that it's fascinating. Especially for someone who only stops long enough to do a sniff and stain test before slipping into whatever he finds in his bag.

From:

bigvessel

"Sounds like a plan. I like my house." Really liked his house. Even if he had paid a decorator to fill the halls with paintings that he barely glanced at, and light fixtures that were needlessly complex, and furniture that was honestly too damn low to the ground. It said what he wanted it to say.

Just like his suit did, which he put on with the same gestures he used every day, paused to smooth out wrinkles in his shirt, to button cuffs, to straighten his tie and fix his collar before slipping on the jacket and repeating the same gestures all over again.

"Need me to do anything?"

From:

lovestheimpala

There are so many things he could have said that would have left the subject and enabled them to go their separate ways for the day on a peaceful, if awkward foot.

And yet, what he chooses to say is this: "Well. If you stop acting like I cooked up some improved copy of you and now that I've got Frank 2.0, I'm gonna throw you out with the trash.. that'd be real helpful."

He's not even sure if he's right about this. That's what his gut says, but he knows he can be making a real ass of himself right now. Still, his gut's usually pretty decent at these things, even if he ignores it a lot of the time.

From:

bigvessel

His fingers stumble over his cuff links at those words, and he stiffens like there's a god damn gun pointed at his head and he's debating on what action he should take.

In the end he turns his attention back to his cuff and finishes dressing before he's walking promptly out of the room without a god damn word.

From:

lovestheimpala

That confirms that he hit the nail on the head. Dean's not happy about that. He'd rather be wrong and be laughed at, than have to worry about the guy he's not even dating ~~(yet/sort of/whatever)~~ having a jealous chick-fit over all this.

He lets FDR leave and heads back to the guest bathroom, hoping Baby is still in there and that nothing is broken.