SPN Fic: If Daylight Won't Receive You
Title: If Daylight Won't Receive You
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Growing up at the end of the world, or: four times Claire Novak dreamed about the devil. Claire Novak, Lucifer. Gen.
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: ~3000
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers through end of season 4.
AN: I maybe played a little fast and loose with Claire Novak's age, and put her around 12 for this fic. Other than the name, I could find zero information for the actress.
They finally stop in New Mexico. Las Cruces, and the sky is iron. The boy who checks them in is young, only a few years older than she is, and frowns thoughtfully at the clouds.
“It almost never rains this time of year,” he says, then smiles as he adds, “Not that it rains much as it is. We are in the middle of the desert.”
Neither Claire nor her mother laugh, and the smile fades from his face as he hands over their room key.
“First floor,” he tells them. And he really is handsome, dark haired and dark eyed, the kind of guy she and her friends would giggle about. “Enjoy your stay.”
Amelia thanks him quietly, and as they walk across the parking lot to their room, it begins to rain.
***
That night, Claire dreams about the devil. She’s in a long, empty room and the devil stands in the middle of it, looking up at nothing. She doesn’t know how she knows he’s the devil; she just does. It’s dreamsense.
“A long time ago,” the devil tells her as she approaches, “some angels fell in love with mortal women, and the offspring of those relationships were the Nephilim, half angel, half human.” He pauses and looks at her for the first time, gaze bright enough to burn. She takes a step back. “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”
She shakes her head, unable to speak, and the devil smiles kindly at her.
“Because Claire, angels can only use the bodies of people descended from the Nephilim, people with angel blood in them. You’re one of those people. You come by it on your father’s side.”
She hesitates. “That’s why my dad and me-”
The devil nods. He touches her hair and she flinches back instinctively. His kind expression twists, goes hurt. And she feels instantly and suddenly guilty like she’s just broken a priceless masterpiece. She opens her mouth to apologize, but he’s gone. She’s alone in the room.
He’s beautiful, the devil. The most beautiful person she’s ever seen.
***
It’s still raining when she wakes up, the smell of it mixing with the smell of the coffee her mother made.
“I’m hungry,” says Claire, after a moment, watching her mother sitting by the window. She’s in pain too, simultaneously sharp and dull, low in her stomach. But she doesn’t mention that.
Amelia glances over at her. There’s a second when Claire thinks her mother’s eyes look black, and she flinches back, same reaction as she had to the devil in her dream. She remembers the vivid shock of Amelia slapping her, the hours she spent sick with fear as she waited for someone to save her.
But then she blinks and Amelia’s eyes are troubled but clear.
“Okay,” says Amelia slowly. She gets out of the chair and frowns. “Wait here,” she orders. “Don’t let anyone in.”
Claire almost wants to roll her eyes; of course she knows not to let anyone in. She’s young, but she’s not an idiot. Amelia opens the door and steps over the line of salt they laid out the night before. She’s not gone long and comes back with a couple bags of chips and a container of powdered white doughnuts. Claire wishes for real food, knows she’ll have to settle for vending machine fare.
“We should. We should pray,” says Amelia hesitantly, running a hand through her hair.
Claire thinks about her dream and says nothing, lets her mother take her hand.
“Oh Lord,” begins Amelia, and they bow their heads over the doughnuts.
***
She grew up believing in angels. It was a fundamental belief, the kind you feel between the heart and stomach, a true-north of the soul.
But there’s a difference between believing something and knowing something. Now she knows angels are real, and she wishes she didn’t. The fact of angels is in her blood, and she hates that. Hates what the angel did to her, what he did to her father.
When she was a kid, before she knew better, she thought stars were cold, distant points of light, alien and uncaring. That’s what it’s like to be possessed by an angel. There is no sense of peacefulness, just a sense of remoteness, like the time the dentist put her on laughing gas. There’s a sense of detachment, not serenity, and there’s a great difference between the two.
She wants to ask her mother what it was like being possessed by a demon, but she never will.
***
She dreams about him again that night. She didn’t know where they were the night before, but she knows where they are now. It’s the playground of her elementary school, and the devil’s sitting on the swings. It’s daytime, her dreamworld lit with a bright, soft light that seems to gather around the devil, radiating from his body.
“I was an angel once,” the devil explains to her as she draws near. His voice is even, thoughtful. “We weren’t allowed to love you know. Not humans, not each other. Just God. That’s why your great-great, well, whatever got into so much trouble.”
He goes quiet, and she watches him warily. There’s silence all around them, and that’s how she knows she’s dreaming. The playground was always full, even on weekends. Parents would bring their kids to come play. Her father used to push her on the swings.
It’s a dream, she knows. But it’s still real.
“God’s kind of like a jealous boyfriend, if you think about it,” says the devil with a tiny huff of laughter. His expression goes bleak, and it strikes Claire as odd that she can read him so easily, that the devil is so open. Then he smiles, small and bitter. “Ironic really,” he says softly, so soft she almost thinks he’s not talking to her. “I fell because I loved God too much.”
Claire finds her voice. “You fell because you disobeyed,” she says shakily, recalling her Sunday school lessons. “You rebelled. You betrayed God.”
The devil stands and stands and stands. He’s immense, a tower. Her dream goes dark. The playground disappears.
“I fell because I loved God!” he thunders, and there’s lightning in the sky.
That’s the second night in a row Claire offends the devil.
***
She wakes up to real lightning, flashing phosphorescence bright and illuminating the room. She counts two seconds before thunder follows, which means the storm is close.
She’s still shaken from her dream, and she wants to crawl into bed next to her mother. But she’s gotten too old for that, too old to be scared of her nightmares.
She stares up at the dark ceiling, watches it light up with every stab of lightning. It’s too much, Claire thinks. She’s lonely and scared and overwhelmed. She slips out of bed, not really sure what she’s going to do, and ends up pulling on her shoes, creeping quietly out of the room.
She hugs the overhang, and across the parking lot, she sees the light of the check in, gone halo in the blur of the rain.
Claire runs for it, dashing across the slick asphalt to the light. Lightning forks through the sky, thunder immediately following it, and she pulls open the door and rushes inside.
The man at the register jerks up from the book he’s reading and stares at her. She’s dripping wet and exhilarated, wants to burst into laughter, and then she realizes the man is actually the boy who checked her in.
“Is everything all right?” he asks.
She nods, slightly out of breath from her sprint, and he eyes her suspiciously.
“Does your mom know you’re up?” he asks and she shakes her head in reply. He frowns at her, then says, “Are you mute?”
Claire laughs, a little too girlishly. “No,” she says, shaking her head again. She glances out the window. “Couldn’t sleep with the lightning.”
He nods, still looking at her suspiciously.
“Well,” he says, chewing on his lower lip. “I guess you can stay here while I’m still on shift.”
“Thanks,” she says softly, looking at the prickly blue carpet. She’s beginning to have doubts about coming in here, feels awkward and immature. But she doesn’t want to go back to the room, lie in the darkness with her still grieving mother.
He quirks his lips and gestures at her to sit in the worn looking chair next to the brochure rack.
“I’m Tony, by the way,” he says.
She smiles. “Claire.” She feels very grown up all of the sudden, passing time by talking to a handsome stranger, a storm shrieking outside. All the things she’s been through the past couple days, and this is the one that makes her feel mature. She finally has some control over the situation.
“So what are you doing in Las Cruces Claire?” asks Tony.
“My dad…” she begins, not really sure how to continue, and Tony gives her a brief, pitying look.
“No need to explain,” he says quickly. “I understand.”
“Yeah,” she says, a little numbly, and all her newfound confidence shakes out of her. She flips idly through a brochure on White Sands and doesn’t say anything else.
The awkward pause stretches on; Tony goes back to his book.
She ends up falling asleep in the chair, but she doesn’t dream this time. She wakes up to Tony shaking her gently.
“Hey Claire,” he says when she opens her eyes. “My shift’s over. You should get back to your room.”
She nods muzzily and stands; Tony smiles down at her, and she feels her stomach swoop.
“I’ll walk you to your room, all right? It’s too dark and wet for a kid like you to be out there by yourself.”
And then her stomach curdles and she wants to cry.
***
She falls asleep for the third and final time that night back in her motel bed, and when she wakes up, there’s blood between her legs, on her sheets.
“Mom!” she shrieks, jumping out of bed, staring at the coppery brown stain she left behind. “Mom!”
Amelia rushes out of the bathroom, face white with terror.
“Claire!” she shouts, and Claire gapes at her.
“I’m bleeding,” she says, and then it hits her, what this is. Her mouth drops open in shock. “I think I just had my period.”
Her mother’s shoulders sag and her face droops with relief.
“Oh sweetie,” says Amelia, coming forward and hugging her. She brushes back a strand of Claire’s hair. “You’re growing up.”
***
She’s in a hotel room that night. She almost doesn’t realize she’s dreaming, until she sees that there’s a seascape in this room instead of a still life, that the bedspreads are a different shade of bland. There are two men in the room, she realizes gradually. They’re the men who were with her father when he came back.
They don’t look happy, and they move around each other warily. The taller one cringes every time the other man looks at him, and there’s a tension in the room that reminds her of the silence in her house the days after the father left the first time. She and her mother tiptoed around each other, waiting for the sky to fall and not quite believing it already had.
“They’re brothers,” says the devil. She turns around and sees him behind her. He’s not looking at her, but at the two men, his face sorrowful. “Not acting like it, are they?”
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have any siblings.
“Your family isn’t the only one the angels have torn apart,” he says quietly, still looking at the brothers. He’s standing next her, very near, and she feels like her whole body has been drawn taut, the core of her quivering with tension.
“They’re good boys,” the devil sighs. “They don’t deserve what’s happened to them.”
“Neither did my dad,” says Claire bravely. “Or my mom.” She pauses, then adds in a small voice, “Or me.”
The devil looks at her finally. He places a hand on her cheek and her stomach squeezes in on itself. She feels light, fluttery. She doesn’t flinch back this time.
“No, Claire,” he says mournfully. “None of you did. You’ve seen the work of God and his angels up close. Can you really tell me they’re worth obeying? Worth loving?” His voice is low, throaty, a caress, and she shivers.
In the hotel room, the tall man says something, and his brother snarls something back. The tall one recoils. Claire looks at the sharp, grim lines of their mouths, the heavy tension on their shoulders, the way they move like they’re intensely aware of the other but trying to ignore it.
She feels sorry for them.
“No,” she breathes out finally. “I don’t.”
The devil smiles.
***
At least this time she knows her father loves her. She knows he didn’t willingly walk out of their lives, and she knows he would sacrifice everything to save her.
He actually did sacrifice everything to save her.
Claire always knew you could sell your soul to a demon, but no one ever mentioned anything about angels. All her life, she’s been taught to trust God, but if the church missed something so vital, got something so wrong, she’s not sure she should. Besides, she’s met angels and demons and even the devil, but she’s yet to come across God.
But it’s Sunday, and her mother pulls out the Gideon Bible from the dresser and opens it to read a passage.
“Mom,” interrupts Claire, and Amelia pauses and glances up at her. “Do you really think we should still… do this after what happened to Dad?”
Amelia stares at her like she can’t quite comprehend the question. And Claire gets that. Her mother’s faith is the most important part of her; it’s what kept them strong and sane after Dad disappeared.
But it seems wrong. Claire no longer believes in God, and she no longer trusts angels.
“Claire,” says Amelia eventually. “God works-”
“In mysterious ways. I know,” says Claire with a sigh.
Her mother nods, looking faintly disturbed, and goes back to reading, her voice thin but firm. Claire fidgets in her seat, letting the words wash over her, and thinks about what she told the devil.
***
The fourth and final night, the devil says to her, “I know the fairy tales all say to use three or seven, but I personally like four. Four seasons, four directions, and,” he smiles, “four horsemen.”
“Why do you keep talking to me?” Claire blurts out.
The devil gives her a long, considering look, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its cool, chatty tone.
“Like I told you the first night Claire, I was an angel. I still am really. And I need something from you.”
Claire’s mouth is dry as she asks, “What?”
“I need someone to use as a vessel,” he explains. “Like that angel uses your father. And it can’t be anyone. It has to be someone with angel blood in them.”
“Someone like me,” whispers Claire. The devil nods.
“Someone like you.”
Claire takes in a deep, shuddering breath. She meets the devil’s eyes.
“Will it bring my dad back?” she asks.
“No,” he admits. And she appreciates that, the honesty. “But it will get you your revenge.”
“How long would you need to use me?” she asks.
The devil shrugs. “For however long it takes to tear this world apart and make a new one. But,” and he drops to his knees and stares up at her, grasping her hands in his. “I swear to you Claire, as soon as we’ve succeeded, you’ll have your body back. I can keep it safe and unharmed for you. You won’t even age.”
Claire looks at him steadily.
“And my mother?”
“Will be protected. Why do you think you haven’t been attacked since that incident with your father? We know where you are Claire. I’ve told my people to hold off.”
“If I say no?”
The devil shrugs again. “Then I stop visiting your dreams Claire, and you and your mother handle the apocalypse as best you can on your own.”
“Meaning we’ll die,” says Claire, fear welling up thick and sour in her throat. “And if I accept, I go to Hell.”
The devil’s expression goes black. “There will be no Hell in the new world,” he tells her firmly. “Hell is God’s creation.”
Claire thinks about that. She thinks about her father, about the alien look in his eyes the night the angel first possessed him.
“I’m not your father,” he told her, and she spent a year thinking that was true.
Finally, she says, “Okay. I’ll do it.”
The devil’s smile changes then, becomes hard and victorious, and he looks at her with proud, cold eyes.
But he no longer looks at her like she’s a child. So she knows she’s made the right decision.
“I’ll be seeing you soon then,” he says.
She wakes up.
It’s stopped raining. The clouds are gone; in the absence of rain, there’s just an eerie hush.
The sky is red.
Claire climbs out of bed and goes to stand with her mother at the window.
“What’s happening?” asks her mother in a wondering voice. She looks and sounds childlike, her eyes cartoon-round as she stares up at the blood-colored sky.
Claire turns away. She feels some of the cold and joyless remoteness that crystallized her when the angel possessed her. She feels alien and distant. She feels old. She feels powerful.
“It’s the end of the world,” she says happily.
And she waits.
-End
AN: Older man manipulates young girl into letting him use her for her body. Tale old as time, folks. *g* I've been wanting to write about Claire ever since "Rapture" aired, and originally this was going to be a lot darker (no, really), but then Lucifer wanted in, and wasn't too happy with the direction I was going.
He's a very persuasive fellow, that Satan.
And yay! Got this just in time for it to be completely Jossed next week.
Feedback is good karma. Thanks for reading. :)
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Growing up at the end of the world, or: four times Claire Novak dreamed about the devil. Claire Novak, Lucifer. Gen.
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: ~3000
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers through end of season 4.
AN: I maybe played a little fast and loose with Claire Novak's age, and put her around 12 for this fic. Other than the name, I could find zero information for the actress.
They finally stop in New Mexico. Las Cruces, and the sky is iron. The boy who checks them in is young, only a few years older than she is, and frowns thoughtfully at the clouds.
“It almost never rains this time of year,” he says, then smiles as he adds, “Not that it rains much as it is. We are in the middle of the desert.”
Neither Claire nor her mother laugh, and the smile fades from his face as he hands over their room key.
“First floor,” he tells them. And he really is handsome, dark haired and dark eyed, the kind of guy she and her friends would giggle about. “Enjoy your stay.”
Amelia thanks him quietly, and as they walk across the parking lot to their room, it begins to rain.
***
That night, Claire dreams about the devil. She’s in a long, empty room and the devil stands in the middle of it, looking up at nothing. She doesn’t know how she knows he’s the devil; she just does. It’s dreamsense.
“A long time ago,” the devil tells her as she approaches, “some angels fell in love with mortal women, and the offspring of those relationships were the Nephilim, half angel, half human.” He pauses and looks at her for the first time, gaze bright enough to burn. She takes a step back. “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”
She shakes her head, unable to speak, and the devil smiles kindly at her.
“Because Claire, angels can only use the bodies of people descended from the Nephilim, people with angel blood in them. You’re one of those people. You come by it on your father’s side.”
She hesitates. “That’s why my dad and me-”
The devil nods. He touches her hair and she flinches back instinctively. His kind expression twists, goes hurt. And she feels instantly and suddenly guilty like she’s just broken a priceless masterpiece. She opens her mouth to apologize, but he’s gone. She’s alone in the room.
He’s beautiful, the devil. The most beautiful person she’s ever seen.
***
It’s still raining when she wakes up, the smell of it mixing with the smell of the coffee her mother made.
“I’m hungry,” says Claire, after a moment, watching her mother sitting by the window. She’s in pain too, simultaneously sharp and dull, low in her stomach. But she doesn’t mention that.
Amelia glances over at her. There’s a second when Claire thinks her mother’s eyes look black, and she flinches back, same reaction as she had to the devil in her dream. She remembers the vivid shock of Amelia slapping her, the hours she spent sick with fear as she waited for someone to save her.
But then she blinks and Amelia’s eyes are troubled but clear.
“Okay,” says Amelia slowly. She gets out of the chair and frowns. “Wait here,” she orders. “Don’t let anyone in.”
Claire almost wants to roll her eyes; of course she knows not to let anyone in. She’s young, but she’s not an idiot. Amelia opens the door and steps over the line of salt they laid out the night before. She’s not gone long and comes back with a couple bags of chips and a container of powdered white doughnuts. Claire wishes for real food, knows she’ll have to settle for vending machine fare.
“We should. We should pray,” says Amelia hesitantly, running a hand through her hair.
Claire thinks about her dream and says nothing, lets her mother take her hand.
“Oh Lord,” begins Amelia, and they bow their heads over the doughnuts.
***
She grew up believing in angels. It was a fundamental belief, the kind you feel between the heart and stomach, a true-north of the soul.
But there’s a difference between believing something and knowing something. Now she knows angels are real, and she wishes she didn’t. The fact of angels is in her blood, and she hates that. Hates what the angel did to her, what he did to her father.
When she was a kid, before she knew better, she thought stars were cold, distant points of light, alien and uncaring. That’s what it’s like to be possessed by an angel. There is no sense of peacefulness, just a sense of remoteness, like the time the dentist put her on laughing gas. There’s a sense of detachment, not serenity, and there’s a great difference between the two.
She wants to ask her mother what it was like being possessed by a demon, but she never will.
***
She dreams about him again that night. She didn’t know where they were the night before, but she knows where they are now. It’s the playground of her elementary school, and the devil’s sitting on the swings. It’s daytime, her dreamworld lit with a bright, soft light that seems to gather around the devil, radiating from his body.
“I was an angel once,” the devil explains to her as she draws near. His voice is even, thoughtful. “We weren’t allowed to love you know. Not humans, not each other. Just God. That’s why your great-great, well, whatever got into so much trouble.”
He goes quiet, and she watches him warily. There’s silence all around them, and that’s how she knows she’s dreaming. The playground was always full, even on weekends. Parents would bring their kids to come play. Her father used to push her on the swings.
It’s a dream, she knows. But it’s still real.
“God’s kind of like a jealous boyfriend, if you think about it,” says the devil with a tiny huff of laughter. His expression goes bleak, and it strikes Claire as odd that she can read him so easily, that the devil is so open. Then he smiles, small and bitter. “Ironic really,” he says softly, so soft she almost thinks he’s not talking to her. “I fell because I loved God too much.”
Claire finds her voice. “You fell because you disobeyed,” she says shakily, recalling her Sunday school lessons. “You rebelled. You betrayed God.”
The devil stands and stands and stands. He’s immense, a tower. Her dream goes dark. The playground disappears.
“I fell because I loved God!” he thunders, and there’s lightning in the sky.
That’s the second night in a row Claire offends the devil.
***
She wakes up to real lightning, flashing phosphorescence bright and illuminating the room. She counts two seconds before thunder follows, which means the storm is close.
She’s still shaken from her dream, and she wants to crawl into bed next to her mother. But she’s gotten too old for that, too old to be scared of her nightmares.
She stares up at the dark ceiling, watches it light up with every stab of lightning. It’s too much, Claire thinks. She’s lonely and scared and overwhelmed. She slips out of bed, not really sure what she’s going to do, and ends up pulling on her shoes, creeping quietly out of the room.
She hugs the overhang, and across the parking lot, she sees the light of the check in, gone halo in the blur of the rain.
Claire runs for it, dashing across the slick asphalt to the light. Lightning forks through the sky, thunder immediately following it, and she pulls open the door and rushes inside.
The man at the register jerks up from the book he’s reading and stares at her. She’s dripping wet and exhilarated, wants to burst into laughter, and then she realizes the man is actually the boy who checked her in.
“Is everything all right?” he asks.
She nods, slightly out of breath from her sprint, and he eyes her suspiciously.
“Does your mom know you’re up?” he asks and she shakes her head in reply. He frowns at her, then says, “Are you mute?”
Claire laughs, a little too girlishly. “No,” she says, shaking her head again. She glances out the window. “Couldn’t sleep with the lightning.”
He nods, still looking at her suspiciously.
“Well,” he says, chewing on his lower lip. “I guess you can stay here while I’m still on shift.”
“Thanks,” she says softly, looking at the prickly blue carpet. She’s beginning to have doubts about coming in here, feels awkward and immature. But she doesn’t want to go back to the room, lie in the darkness with her still grieving mother.
He quirks his lips and gestures at her to sit in the worn looking chair next to the brochure rack.
“I’m Tony, by the way,” he says.
She smiles. “Claire.” She feels very grown up all of the sudden, passing time by talking to a handsome stranger, a storm shrieking outside. All the things she’s been through the past couple days, and this is the one that makes her feel mature. She finally has some control over the situation.
“So what are you doing in Las Cruces Claire?” asks Tony.
“My dad…” she begins, not really sure how to continue, and Tony gives her a brief, pitying look.
“No need to explain,” he says quickly. “I understand.”
“Yeah,” she says, a little numbly, and all her newfound confidence shakes out of her. She flips idly through a brochure on White Sands and doesn’t say anything else.
The awkward pause stretches on; Tony goes back to his book.
She ends up falling asleep in the chair, but she doesn’t dream this time. She wakes up to Tony shaking her gently.
“Hey Claire,” he says when she opens her eyes. “My shift’s over. You should get back to your room.”
She nods muzzily and stands; Tony smiles down at her, and she feels her stomach swoop.
“I’ll walk you to your room, all right? It’s too dark and wet for a kid like you to be out there by yourself.”
And then her stomach curdles and she wants to cry.
***
She falls asleep for the third and final time that night back in her motel bed, and when she wakes up, there’s blood between her legs, on her sheets.
“Mom!” she shrieks, jumping out of bed, staring at the coppery brown stain she left behind. “Mom!”
Amelia rushes out of the bathroom, face white with terror.
“Claire!” she shouts, and Claire gapes at her.
“I’m bleeding,” she says, and then it hits her, what this is. Her mouth drops open in shock. “I think I just had my period.”
Her mother’s shoulders sag and her face droops with relief.
“Oh sweetie,” says Amelia, coming forward and hugging her. She brushes back a strand of Claire’s hair. “You’re growing up.”
***
She’s in a hotel room that night. She almost doesn’t realize she’s dreaming, until she sees that there’s a seascape in this room instead of a still life, that the bedspreads are a different shade of bland. There are two men in the room, she realizes gradually. They’re the men who were with her father when he came back.
They don’t look happy, and they move around each other warily. The taller one cringes every time the other man looks at him, and there’s a tension in the room that reminds her of the silence in her house the days after the father left the first time. She and her mother tiptoed around each other, waiting for the sky to fall and not quite believing it already had.
“They’re brothers,” says the devil. She turns around and sees him behind her. He’s not looking at her, but at the two men, his face sorrowful. “Not acting like it, are they?”
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have any siblings.
“Your family isn’t the only one the angels have torn apart,” he says quietly, still looking at the brothers. He’s standing next her, very near, and she feels like her whole body has been drawn taut, the core of her quivering with tension.
“They’re good boys,” the devil sighs. “They don’t deserve what’s happened to them.”
“Neither did my dad,” says Claire bravely. “Or my mom.” She pauses, then adds in a small voice, “Or me.”
The devil looks at her finally. He places a hand on her cheek and her stomach squeezes in on itself. She feels light, fluttery. She doesn’t flinch back this time.
“No, Claire,” he says mournfully. “None of you did. You’ve seen the work of God and his angels up close. Can you really tell me they’re worth obeying? Worth loving?” His voice is low, throaty, a caress, and she shivers.
In the hotel room, the tall man says something, and his brother snarls something back. The tall one recoils. Claire looks at the sharp, grim lines of their mouths, the heavy tension on their shoulders, the way they move like they’re intensely aware of the other but trying to ignore it.
She feels sorry for them.
“No,” she breathes out finally. “I don’t.”
The devil smiles.
***
At least this time she knows her father loves her. She knows he didn’t willingly walk out of their lives, and she knows he would sacrifice everything to save her.
He actually did sacrifice everything to save her.
Claire always knew you could sell your soul to a demon, but no one ever mentioned anything about angels. All her life, she’s been taught to trust God, but if the church missed something so vital, got something so wrong, she’s not sure she should. Besides, she’s met angels and demons and even the devil, but she’s yet to come across God.
But it’s Sunday, and her mother pulls out the Gideon Bible from the dresser and opens it to read a passage.
“Mom,” interrupts Claire, and Amelia pauses and glances up at her. “Do you really think we should still… do this after what happened to Dad?”
Amelia stares at her like she can’t quite comprehend the question. And Claire gets that. Her mother’s faith is the most important part of her; it’s what kept them strong and sane after Dad disappeared.
But it seems wrong. Claire no longer believes in God, and she no longer trusts angels.
“Claire,” says Amelia eventually. “God works-”
“In mysterious ways. I know,” says Claire with a sigh.
Her mother nods, looking faintly disturbed, and goes back to reading, her voice thin but firm. Claire fidgets in her seat, letting the words wash over her, and thinks about what she told the devil.
***
The fourth and final night, the devil says to her, “I know the fairy tales all say to use three or seven, but I personally like four. Four seasons, four directions, and,” he smiles, “four horsemen.”
“Why do you keep talking to me?” Claire blurts out.
The devil gives her a long, considering look, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its cool, chatty tone.
“Like I told you the first night Claire, I was an angel. I still am really. And I need something from you.”
Claire’s mouth is dry as she asks, “What?”
“I need someone to use as a vessel,” he explains. “Like that angel uses your father. And it can’t be anyone. It has to be someone with angel blood in them.”
“Someone like me,” whispers Claire. The devil nods.
“Someone like you.”
Claire takes in a deep, shuddering breath. She meets the devil’s eyes.
“Will it bring my dad back?” she asks.
“No,” he admits. And she appreciates that, the honesty. “But it will get you your revenge.”
“How long would you need to use me?” she asks.
The devil shrugs. “For however long it takes to tear this world apart and make a new one. But,” and he drops to his knees and stares up at her, grasping her hands in his. “I swear to you Claire, as soon as we’ve succeeded, you’ll have your body back. I can keep it safe and unharmed for you. You won’t even age.”
Claire looks at him steadily.
“And my mother?”
“Will be protected. Why do you think you haven’t been attacked since that incident with your father? We know where you are Claire. I’ve told my people to hold off.”
“If I say no?”
The devil shrugs again. “Then I stop visiting your dreams Claire, and you and your mother handle the apocalypse as best you can on your own.”
“Meaning we’ll die,” says Claire, fear welling up thick and sour in her throat. “And if I accept, I go to Hell.”
The devil’s expression goes black. “There will be no Hell in the new world,” he tells her firmly. “Hell is God’s creation.”
Claire thinks about that. She thinks about her father, about the alien look in his eyes the night the angel first possessed him.
“I’m not your father,” he told her, and she spent a year thinking that was true.
Finally, she says, “Okay. I’ll do it.”
The devil’s smile changes then, becomes hard and victorious, and he looks at her with proud, cold eyes.
But he no longer looks at her like she’s a child. So she knows she’s made the right decision.
“I’ll be seeing you soon then,” he says.
She wakes up.
It’s stopped raining. The clouds are gone; in the absence of rain, there’s just an eerie hush.
The sky is red.
Claire climbs out of bed and goes to stand with her mother at the window.
“What’s happening?” asks her mother in a wondering voice. She looks and sounds childlike, her eyes cartoon-round as she stares up at the blood-colored sky.
Claire turns away. She feels some of the cold and joyless remoteness that crystallized her when the angel possessed her. She feels alien and distant. She feels old. She feels powerful.
“It’s the end of the world,” she says happily.
And she waits.
-End
AN: Older man manipulates young girl into letting him use her for her body. Tale old as time, folks. *g* I've been wanting to write about Claire ever since "Rapture" aired, and originally this was going to be a lot darker (no, really), but then Lucifer wanted in, and wasn't too happy with the direction I was going.
He's a very persuasive fellow, that Satan.
And yay! Got this just in time for it to be completely Jossed next week.
Feedback is good karma. Thanks for reading. :)