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:

lovestheimpala

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.

From:

james_kirk

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.

From:

bigvessel

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.

From:

lovestheimpala

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.

From:

bigvessel

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?"

From:

lovestheimpala

Yeah, he knows the lack of emotion is worse than anything else. People only block out the things that burn too hot for them to handle, and it never ever brings good things. He's the king of doing that. He ought to know.

But he still takes the beer, and empties half the bottle before saying anything.

"Just cut the crap. You're pissed. We both know that. Just get it the hell off your chest and then let me explain."

Come on, FDR. He's offering to talk emotions and crap. That's a big thing.

From:

bigvessel

He nods, lips puckered slightly for a second like he's actually considering the offer before he's slamming the fridge door shut. "Nope."

And then he drowns his beer as he makes his way to the pool table set up in the back of Tuck's house, ignores Dean as he racks up the balls.

"But you can go ahead and explain if it'll make you feel better."

From:

lovestheimpala

"Please don't make me slam you up against the wall and kiss you until you cave. You know I've got no reason not to play dirty," Dean says. That's mostly a tease, but he will do it if he has to. If only because the kiss will either work, or punches will start flying. Both options mean cracking through this Spock thing FDR has going.

From:

bigvessel

"I don't know what you're talking about." And he removed the rack and moved over to the pool cues, grabbing one for himself before glancing back at Dean before grabbing him one the same weight that Tuck used. He liked his sticks a little lighter.

"You want to break?"

From:

lovestheimpala

Dean eyes the pool cue and ponders on whether or not he should follow up on his initial threat, or play this game here.

With a defeated, frustrated grunt he takes the cue. "I'll play you for answers. Give and take. Like always?"

From:

bigvessel

"Yeah, CIA, remember? Don't really negotiate." And he grabs the cue ball out of the hole and tosses it to Dean before taking a step back and gesturing a little impatiently at the table.

From:

lovestheimpala

No negotiation means a greater risk of attack, though. WHich is exactly what happens when Dean decides that the one route he is not going down is the one where they linger in awkward silence until sanity slips away.

He grabs the ball, slams it down on the table, along with the cue, and strides over to grab FDR by the shirt and make good on that threat of forcing kisses on him until he caves, or there's an actual fight against it.

From:

bigvessel

This is a seriously dangerous game to play. When he's first pulled in, he doesn't react more than to scowl at the wrinkles those hands are going to get in his shirt. And when lips smash against his, he greets them coldly, loosely. Lets Dean ravage his mouth in the hopes that this icy act will get him to try a different damn tactic. Or just. Do the smart thing and let this whole thing go.

From:

lovestheimpala

Except Dean seldom opts for the smart thing. He tends to go with his heart most of the time, and accepts that it often causes more trouble than it solves.

It also helps that he knows that mouth and how to kiss it by now, and he hopes he knows what he should say. "You missed the whole freaking point in the car," he mutters when he needs to pause for air. "Missed the whole god-damn thing I was trying to say."

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