More than Magic

[lovestheimpala]

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.

Comments

[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."

[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.

[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?"

[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?"

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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."

[bigvessel]

He does. Dean, if nothing else, is consistent with their sex life. He's good. He's skilled. He's learned in the art of FDR. But the anger in his gut is so hot it's cold, and he knows one damn spark is all it's going to take to make him explode. So he tries to ignore what Dean knows how to do. And it's hard, but he's nothing if not stubborn. Even if he's licking his lips when Dean pulls away.

"Then say it." He orders.

[lovestheimpala]

There's so many ways he could have approached this that would have made it easier. He could have kept physically decoding the anger out of him, or at least bent his head down to nip at FDR's throat and hide his face while talking... but no.

Dean's stubborn-ass stupidity has him pull back so he can look the guy in the eyes. 'Cause that's what a man does, right? WHen it matters.

"Like I said. Could be a million guys out there named any version of 'Franklin', or with your face, and you'd still stand out to me." Come on, man. Get it.

[bigvessel]

He catches that gaze, even holds it for a moment. Because he gets this is Dean trying to pacify him. It only pisses him off more though.

"Great. I'm special. We good?" And there's a a half-assed attempt at a smile before he's trying to pry that hand out of his shirt.

[lovestheimpala]

"Dont do this to me." Be doesn't buy that smile for a second. Of course he doesn't. That fake smile wouldn't fool a blind guy. "Please."

[bigvessel]

"Dean." And there's just a ...tiredness to the way he says the guy's name. "I don't want to do this. We don't have to do this. There's nothing you're gonna say that's gonna fix...any of it."

[lovestheimpala]

"What the hell makes you think I'm only doing this 'cause I feel I have to? Think I'd be here for a second if I didn't want to?"

[bigvessel]

"Okay. I don't." And he shakes his head before bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a second. "Look, I'm just saying, there's no reason to go down this road."

And if Dean isn't going to break, he is, and he takes the stick off the table and lines up the ball before making the break. It's solid, and the balls scatter across the table, but his anger might be seeping out a little bit since not a god damn ball makes it in the hole.

[lovestheimpala]

As FDR's anger seeps away, Dean's grows. It's out of frustration than anything else but it still makes him steal the cue ball to try and get the guy's attention. "There's every reason to drive down this road if you're gonna look at me like you caught me in bed with the Swedish gymnastics team on your birthday."

[bigvessel]

"Oh my god, you are so immature. Put the ball down." Seriously, Dean? "Look. I've got nothing to say. But obviously you do. So I'll listen okay? If you put the damn ball back down."

[lovestheimpala]

"No. I put the ball down and you're gonna take all that brain power you sometimes have and focus it on the damn thing so you can tune me out. We're gonna talk about this, and everything you didn't have the balls to say this morning, too. Like freaking adults!"

Ball still in hand, he crosses his arms and widens his stance. He refuses to budge on this.

[bigvessel]

With a sharp inhale he put the cue stick back down on the table and took the few steps necessary to get in Dean's personal space. "Alright. You want to be an ass about this. Fine. You wanna know what I think? I think someone took the two fucking things you like the most right now and shoved them together. And now you get your car with all your daddy hang-ups and history and whatever else some metal means to you. And you get my face on it. Which, let's be real, is my best feature. So, yeah, it seems pretty damn obvious how this is gonna go. And to top it off you fucking tell him about it. Oh. And add to it all the comments about the matching big dick he's got like its something you've actually considered? I'm just bracing myself for the inevitable here."

[lovestheimpala]

Dean doesn't budge an inch. He's a stone pillar of pigheadedness right now. And he can't hold back the snorting chuckle and the eyeroll. "You're a moron. Yeah, you're right. Some dickwad took the two things I like the best in this shithole world and smashed them together into this mess that we're in now. And you know what? It is kinda kinky. Not even gonna lie. I'd be down for a piece of that pie, yeah. He'll, we could make it a sandwich and have the best time ever! So you're right about that part. Good job."

Those are the easy things to say. After that, his shoulders stiffen a bit and he clenched his jaw, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "But you're so hung up on the little things that you can't even the see SOB of an elephant that's kicking you in the nuts. Whatever did this picked what I like best, but there's no goddamn "right now" to it. After everything we've been through and all this time and everyone who've comes in the way... IM STILL FREAKING HERE, douchebag. I'm still running over here like some damn puppy every time you whistle for me. I could have just let you walk in here and taken that Camaro for the ride she deserves. Instead I'm standing here with my dick in my hand, trying to make the world's dumbest CIA agent get a clue. Come on, Frankie. It might as well be plastered on a ten foot billboard...."

Those last words he says with a weaker, more tired voice. Now he's bared too much and he's the one starting to feel like he should close up and run away .

[bigvessel]

He makes a face at the idea of the threesome, but that's a whole new issue that he's not going to bother getting into at the moment.

He has a harder time letting go of the fact that Dean just called him Frankie like he's twelve. But even that is...forgettable. So his arms cross over his chest stubbornly. They're all valid points, but one fissure in the mask is all it takes for the rest of it to start cracking. And it's easy to tell himself that all of that doesn't matter because it's never been this before. It's never been his face and Dean's car. That there's always greener grass on the other side.

"Yeah, and what would that billboard say, Dean?"

Pussyfooting around the issue is only going to give him a reason to blatantly ignore it, which he's feeling rather inclined to do. But he asks because maybe it's something he'd rather not....ignore it completely.

[lovestheimpala]

Dean knows exactly what the billboard would say, but when asked about it he goes a shade paler and even stumbles back a step. He didn't think he would ask. He expected more of an unspoken understanding. Because come on, they both know. How could he NOT know.

"First thing's first. I didn't tell Baby anything. He guessed. I know it's all still up in the air about what he really is and the whole concept of a car turning into a living, breathing guy who can pinpoint exactly the worst possible thing you're feeling- But- But bear with me on this. It makes sense that he can do that, especially with me. You gotta remember, if he's that car, he's been there for every single thing ever that happened to me and my family. I was almost born in that car. I've told the Impala every damned secret I ever had. Stuff I couldn't even really admit to myself. And I'm freaking sure Sam's done the same, and my dad would do the same. That car's family. Of course it's gonna take one look at anything that goes on with me and know what the shit is happening."

"But you gotta remember- It's a freaking car. I don't know how the hell it's got memories, but the memories it has are just of whatever happened in or around it. It doesn't have the whole picture. Baby doesn't know everything, and he doesn't understand the shit he does know enough to be able to say stuff like what I like or don't like, or comment on anything else. Anything that comes outta him's just part of the picture."

He has to stop for air, but HE'S NOT DONE YET. No point in breaking the walls and decide to talk if they're not going to actually TALK, so he's gonna say it all while he feels he has half a chance to do so. At least he won't walk away from this feeling that he should have or could have. At least this way, if FDR blows it off... he knows not to waste his time around these parts anymore.

But it's the subject that makes Dean fidget and hesitate. "And... your face isn't your best feature. Yeah, you're hot but that's not- It's not why I keep coming back for more. There's plenty of hot chicks and big dicks out there. S'not why I keep coming back- It's not why I l- like you." His ability to form sentences is quickly dissolving.

He actually takes another step back, chest heaving like an animal right on the verge of sprinting off. Someone trained to read people, like FDR, should be able to see how pathetically honest that fear is. It's not that he doesn't mean the shit his saying, even if he stumbles over the last of his point and ends up just blurting out that: "Should be freaking OBVIOUS what's on the damn billboard!"

[bigvessel]

He knows exactly what he's doing. He knows what would be slapped on that billboard and he's let Dean go far too long without having to address it. Maybe because they've made this too easy on themselves. Not acknowledging how close they've become, how often he looks forward to curling up on the couch with the man as often as he does to rolling around in the sheets with him. And he knows Dean is eager to come back to him when he's finished with a mission, whenever they both have some time off to see each other.

So yeah. He's pushing. He's pushing and Dean is sweating and backing up and rambling. And they're things that...well, things he did need to hear. Because it makes sense. But secrets are his job, and he doesn't exactly like something walking around that knows more than him about Dean.

He follows Dean, and he'll corner him if he has to. "Why do you like me then?"

[lovestheimpala]

As much as he can feel himself being cornered, he's actually relieved, and happy, to see that at least FDR cares enough to push rather than to ignore it and close the door on him. The new question is also a whole crap-ton lot easier for him to answer.

"Because you're easy- to be around, I mean. You've got crap taste in music and great taste in shows, and if I let you pick dinner we end up with something a five year-old would choose. I really freaking like that you were Steve Urkel before puberty remembered you. That kid is probably one of my favorite things about you. I like that you're always a text away, even when you're on the other side of the planet, and if I don't answer your call I'm guaranteed to get SWAT on my ass within an hour. God, that is so annoying and clingy, but damn if it's not a little comforting to know that you got my back, and... with you, I don't always have to be the good guy. You get that sometimes, a guy just wants to switch over to mirror verse. That makes me breathe easier. A lot less pretending going on when I'm here."

So there it is, all but a few words laid bare and Dean straightens a little to show that he stands by every word he said... and that he's not gonna let it die with that.

"You know... you kinda have a big, flashing neon sign up, too." Excuse his hint of a smirk. It's partly a defense mechanism for when he's feeling vulnerable, partly genuine amusement, but zero percent mockery. "What do you see in me, anyway? Why do you even bother getting all hurt and pouty over me?" Because... he's worthless. What's he got other than a world of issues layered over issues layered over nightmares? And all that is right there in the honest confusion lingering in his question.

[bigvessel]

He's not sure what he's expecting as an answer. Rich. Cool car. Cooler house. Good in bed. He's not expecting all of the sappy shit that comes tumbling out of Dean's mouth, and he definitely doesn't expect the way it warms his stomach in ways that he hasn't felt-well, he's not sure he's ever felt.

"Oh, do I?" He grins, once Dean is finally cornered, and he leans in, sets an arm right above his head. They're close but not touching. "Well. That sign would probably say that I love you, you moron. Not something I've ever been scared to say. Just didn't think you wanted to hear it."