[FIC] Silly hunter, Claires are for Deans!
Fandoms: Heroes/Supernatural
Characters Claire Bennet/Dean Winchester
Summary: So... I finally watched Supernatural 5x04 "The End" and now my brain's been overrun. Dean and Claire have stuck together through it all, through Hell and the Apocalypse and everything else that's been thrown their way. I think we all know by now that my handle on SPN canon is loose at best, but I'm mostly writing this for my own enjoyment so whatevs. I LOVE DEAN AND CLAIRE, OKAY? And I know the ending is weak but I didn't want to ramble on. :3 Also, warning: Claire has a potty mouth. Apocalypses make her cranky and stuffs.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I am merely borrowing them for my own amusement so like don't sue me and stuff.
Claire was doing her rounds, the "women's work" as Dean had called it. And though he knew it sounded mean, or sexist, he needed her, trusted her like no one else except maybe Cas when Cas wasn't high off his rocker. She was proud to shoulder her share of the load, more than her share, because damn it, she knew he took on much more than he should. But if he didn't, and she didn't help him, who would?
She was in a storage unit when she noticed the young hunter watching her. He was one of the newer additions to camp, a cocky young gun, his name escaped her, but she'd definitely noticed his eyes on her as she went about her business. They all looked at her, the men in camp, but Claire paid them no mind, she had eyes for Dean and Dean alone. He was her sun, the center of her universe. She was his rock, his solid ground.
When even Sam had turned his back, said yes to Lucifer and brought about the apocalypse, Claire stood by her man. He was damaged goods, or at least he felt he was. A hunter's life, so many years in Hell, and now having to deal with the pressure of everyone looking to him for the answers, she kept him sane, kept him focused. It was a task she took deadly serious.
Lost in her thoughts, Claire didn't notice the hunter approaching until he'd cornered her. "You're Dean's girl, ain't ya? Word 'round camp is he don't even sleep with ya no more." He pressed closer, much too close for Claire's comfort, and she laid her hand on the hilt of the knife Dean had insisted she wear strapped to her thigh. She could smell whiskey on his breath; it was revolting, and she turned her head, trying to avoid the stench.
It wasn't like Dean, a few shots of whiskey on his lips, and she was all but in his lap to kiss the life out of him. Now however, it wasn't Dean who was invading her personal space, it was this hunter - whose name she finally remembered was Roger - and she was trying to wiggle away. "I'm with Dean," she said firmly.
He responded by slipping a hand up into her hair, leaning her against the wall. "Yeah? Well, Dean ain't got a ring on ya, now does he? And I'll be damned if he ain't messin' with half the other bitches in this camp that he can get his hands on." There wasn't a shred of truth in that last bit, and Claire's eyes narrowed. Roger wasn't deterred. His other hand lifted to brush across her cheek. "I'll take care of ya, sweetheart."
Oh, no he didn't. Those were Dean's words, Dean's moves. That was his, she was his, and no one could touch that, ever. Something snapped inside Claire, and she lifted a foot, bringing it down hard over his. The action was enough to get him off her, and that was all the opening she needed. Claire grabbed his wrist, twisting it behind his back and then kicked at the back of his knee to get him down to her level. Sure enough, his knee buckled and he was forced to kneel, giving her the perfect opportunity to knock his head against a nearby table, holding him there. Within seconds, her knife was at his throat.
"I'm going to be nice right now. If you promise to back the fuck off right now, I'll let you go. But if you insist on doing this, I won't be so nice. Because if I have to deal with this bullshit from you again, you're gonna have to deal with Dean. If he finds out you've put your hands on me, he won't be so nice." Her voice was low, dangerous. It was a side of her that rarely emerged, but one that lingered under the surface, built up through years of being the victim. Between Dean and her father, she'd learned to defend herself over the years, and by now was very skilled at doing so if she needed to.
"What, he gonna feed me to the Croats? I could just find Lucifer and tell him everything I know about this precious camp. About your cute little party trick..." Roger was looking pretty proud of himself, but Claire just snorted, the blade of her knife pressing against his skin but not breaking it.
"Gonna rat us in, are you? That's classy. But there are two problems with your little plan, dickhead. One, Lucifer already knows about my ability, and two? Now that you've gone and opened your stupid mouth and threatened to sell us all out, you're not leaving this fucking camp alive." Even if she wasn't the one to take him out, even if he just rotted in a room for the rest of his miserable life, she'd be sure to stick to her word. There was a flash of metal as she put her knife away, and another flash as she took out the handcuffs she wore on her belt.
It had started out as an inside joke between Dean and Claire, those rare moments where the old Dean came out, he loved to tease her about how he'd corrupted her, turned her from a sweet, innocent young girl into the decidedly naughty woman she was with him. One day she said in passing that all she was missing was the handcuffs, and the very next day, she woke up with a pair on her pillow. She carried them with her ever since, "just in case," she told him.
Now they were being used to cuff Roger to the table. It annoyed her that their first use was for this and not for letting Dean cuff her to the bed and have his way with her. But, she couldn't very well let him roam around free after he'd just threatened to betray them to Lucifer, now could she?
"You bitch," he said once he'd realized what she had done, shifting so he was sitting with his wrist cuffed to the table leg. "Damn straight, I'm a bitch. You should've thought of that before you laid hands on me. Normally I'd ask Dean to take it easy, don't think I will this time." It was slightly foolish, getting so angry, but the bastard called her sweetheart.
Her fist connected hard with his jaw before she stood, looking down at him in disgust. "Next person you'll see is Dean. Don't be surprised if he's the last person you see."
And with that, she stalked out, her only regret being that she'd have to interrupt whatever work Dean was doing so he could deal with this bullshit. Part of her felt like she was maybe being over-dramatic, but she knew there were two things Dean took more seriously than just about anything, the safety of the camp, and Claire's safety. Roger was putting them both in jeopardy. She didn't know what else to do.
Claire was hoping, hoping he wouldn't be doing much. It was nearing dinnertime, maybe he'd be in Cas's cabin and he wouldn't be too busy. She headed in that direction, if Dean wasn't there, then Castiel would have as good an idea of anyone where he might be.
If Cas wasn't tripping balls, of course.
Characters Claire Bennet/Dean Winchester
Summary: So... I finally watched Supernatural 5x04 "The End" and now my brain's been overrun. Dean and Claire have stuck together through it all, through Hell and the Apocalypse and everything else that's been thrown their way. I think we all know by now that my handle on SPN canon is loose at best, but I'm mostly writing this for my own enjoyment so whatevs. I LOVE DEAN AND CLAIRE, OKAY? And I know the ending is weak but I didn't want to ramble on. :3 Also, warning: Claire has a potty mouth. Apocalypses make her cranky and stuffs.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I am merely borrowing them for my own amusement so like don't sue me and stuff.
Claire was doing her rounds, the "women's work" as Dean had called it. And though he knew it sounded mean, or sexist, he needed her, trusted her like no one else except maybe Cas when Cas wasn't high off his rocker. She was proud to shoulder her share of the load, more than her share, because damn it, she knew he took on much more than he should. But if he didn't, and she didn't help him, who would?
She was in a storage unit when she noticed the young hunter watching her. He was one of the newer additions to camp, a cocky young gun, his name escaped her, but she'd definitely noticed his eyes on her as she went about her business. They all looked at her, the men in camp, but Claire paid them no mind, she had eyes for Dean and Dean alone. He was her sun, the center of her universe. She was his rock, his solid ground.
When even Sam had turned his back, said yes to Lucifer and brought about the apocalypse, Claire stood by her man. He was damaged goods, or at least he felt he was. A hunter's life, so many years in Hell, and now having to deal with the pressure of everyone looking to him for the answers, she kept him sane, kept him focused. It was a task she took deadly serious.
Lost in her thoughts, Claire didn't notice the hunter approaching until he'd cornered her. "You're Dean's girl, ain't ya? Word 'round camp is he don't even sleep with ya no more." He pressed closer, much too close for Claire's comfort, and she laid her hand on the hilt of the knife Dean had insisted she wear strapped to her thigh. She could smell whiskey on his breath; it was revolting, and she turned her head, trying to avoid the stench.
It wasn't like Dean, a few shots of whiskey on his lips, and she was all but in his lap to kiss the life out of him. Now however, it wasn't Dean who was invading her personal space, it was this hunter - whose name she finally remembered was Roger - and she was trying to wiggle away. "I'm with Dean," she said firmly.
He responded by slipping a hand up into her hair, leaning her against the wall. "Yeah? Well, Dean ain't got a ring on ya, now does he? And I'll be damned if he ain't messin' with half the other bitches in this camp that he can get his hands on." There wasn't a shred of truth in that last bit, and Claire's eyes narrowed. Roger wasn't deterred. His other hand lifted to brush across her cheek. "I'll take care of ya, sweetheart."
Oh, no he didn't. Those were Dean's words, Dean's moves. That was his, she was his, and no one could touch that, ever. Something snapped inside Claire, and she lifted a foot, bringing it down hard over his. The action was enough to get him off her, and that was all the opening she needed. Claire grabbed his wrist, twisting it behind his back and then kicked at the back of his knee to get him down to her level. Sure enough, his knee buckled and he was forced to kneel, giving her the perfect opportunity to knock his head against a nearby table, holding him there. Within seconds, her knife was at his throat.
"I'm going to be nice right now. If you promise to back the fuck off right now, I'll let you go. But if you insist on doing this, I won't be so nice. Because if I have to deal with this bullshit from you again, you're gonna have to deal with Dean. If he finds out you've put your hands on me, he won't be so nice." Her voice was low, dangerous. It was a side of her that rarely emerged, but one that lingered under the surface, built up through years of being the victim. Between Dean and her father, she'd learned to defend herself over the years, and by now was very skilled at doing so if she needed to.
"What, he gonna feed me to the Croats? I could just find Lucifer and tell him everything I know about this precious camp. About your cute little party trick..." Roger was looking pretty proud of himself, but Claire just snorted, the blade of her knife pressing against his skin but not breaking it.
"Gonna rat us in, are you? That's classy. But there are two problems with your little plan, dickhead. One, Lucifer already knows about my ability, and two? Now that you've gone and opened your stupid mouth and threatened to sell us all out, you're not leaving this fucking camp alive." Even if she wasn't the one to take him out, even if he just rotted in a room for the rest of his miserable life, she'd be sure to stick to her word. There was a flash of metal as she put her knife away, and another flash as she took out the handcuffs she wore on her belt.
It had started out as an inside joke between Dean and Claire, those rare moments where the old Dean came out, he loved to tease her about how he'd corrupted her, turned her from a sweet, innocent young girl into the decidedly naughty woman she was with him. One day she said in passing that all she was missing was the handcuffs, and the very next day, she woke up with a pair on her pillow. She carried them with her ever since, "just in case," she told him.
Now they were being used to cuff Roger to the table. It annoyed her that their first use was for this and not for letting Dean cuff her to the bed and have his way with her. But, she couldn't very well let him roam around free after he'd just threatened to betray them to Lucifer, now could she?
"You bitch," he said once he'd realized what she had done, shifting so he was sitting with his wrist cuffed to the table leg. "Damn straight, I'm a bitch. You should've thought of that before you laid hands on me. Normally I'd ask Dean to take it easy, don't think I will this time." It was slightly foolish, getting so angry, but the bastard called her sweetheart.
Her fist connected hard with his jaw before she stood, looking down at him in disgust. "Next person you'll see is Dean. Don't be surprised if he's the last person you see."
And with that, she stalked out, her only regret being that she'd have to interrupt whatever work Dean was doing so he could deal with this bullshit. Part of her felt like she was maybe being over-dramatic, but she knew there were two things Dean took more seriously than just about anything, the safety of the camp, and Claire's safety. Roger was putting them both in jeopardy. She didn't know what else to do.
Claire was hoping, hoping he wouldn't be doing much. It was nearing dinnertime, maybe he'd be in Cas's cabin and he wouldn't be too busy. She headed in that direction, if Dean wasn't there, then Castiel would have as good an idea of anyone where he might be.
If Cas wasn't tripping balls, of course.