SPN: The End of Innocence (1/7) [T]
Fandom:
Supernatural
Title:
The End of Innocence
Chapter 1:
Camp Chitaqua
In which the refugees find a new home.
Author:
lt_indigo
Pairing(s):
none
Warning(s):
none for this chapter
Disclamer:
Kripke owns, not me.
Word count:
2,087
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Claire had only just managed to slip off to sleep, curled in her clothes inside her sleeping bag, huddled in with her tent-mates to stave off the biting chill of the October air, when the noise startled her back to full alertness. After three weeks without the noise of a single engine, it took her a moment to place it. Someone was driving. That meant someone human: the zombies weren’t smart enough to figure out how to turn the ignition. Or it meant demon.
She struggled to free herself from the confines of the bag, and felt Jane doing the same beside her. Bright lights shone through the wall of their tent, and they could hear the voices of the men on watch calling out. They stumbled out to find a truck approaching them slowly, and Claire breathed a sigh of relief: humans. Castiel had left her with one gift, and she was certain he was not supposed to have done it, but she could still see a demon’s true face underneath its borrowed skin. He hadn’t had time to explain it to her, but Claire was sure he felt bad about putting them in danger, drawing demons to them, and he had given her and her mother a chance to protect themselves rather than being caught unawares. Given that this was the end of the world, she hadn’t felt the need to hide her ability from the rag-tag band of Illinois refugees (although there were more than a few Iowans amongst their number now), and they had come to trust her. It was probably the reason they allowed her to sit a watch with the adults at night, even though Kirsty, a whole year older than her, didn’t.
“They’re human,” she assured the men.
“How’d you know that?” The guy sitting shotgun in the truck demanded, sticking his head out.
Claire shrugged. That was one secret she wasn’t giving up: in a world like this, stories of possession weren’t going to go down well. “Just know.”
“Rufus, be nice,” the driver scolded. “She’s just a kid.”
‘Rufus’, a middle-aged black guy, leaned out, holding flask. “Then she won’t mind taking a sip of this.”
Claire dutifully took and sipped the holy water, returning the flask. “You ever thought about mixing salt in?” she asked. “Go for the twofer?”
“Don’t go down the hatch so well if you’re human,” Rufus said, his dark eyes gleaming at her, softening around the edges. “It’s nice and smooth as it is. So, where you folks from?”
“Illinois, mostly,” Jane, their de facto leader said, coming up behind Claire and placing a protective hand on her shoulder. “Joliet, Pontiac, Peoria, Monmouth. Picked up a few from Muscatine and Cedar Rapids.”
They had lost more than they had picked up, but Rufus seemed to understand that. “You headed anywhere in particular?”
There was a moment of hesitation before Jane answered. “South Dakota. I’m told there’s a guy there who knows about this Armageddon crap, might be able to help us.”
Rufus looked stunned for a moment, and his driver seemed to choke on something. “You talking about Bobby Singer?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, he ain’t in Sioux Falls any more,” Rufus told them. “Sioux Falls is gone. Where’d you find out about him, anyway?”
Claire stepped forward. She hadn’t told anyone else this yet, not even Jane. “From Sam and Dean Winchester. They told me and my mom that if we ever got in trouble, we could count on him.”
“How many of you are there?” the driver asked, leaning over to peer out at them. He was younger, white, bearded.
“Thirty-three,” Jane answered promptly.
“Okay, wait here. We’ll be back with some empty trucks in a couple hours,” the driver said. “We’ll take you to Dean and Bobby. I’m Chuck, by the way. Chuck Shurley, and this is Rufus Turner.”
“Doctor Jane Wainwright,” Jane responded, leaning in to shake Chuck’s hand, then Rufus’. “You sound like you’re organised.”
“We’ve got a safe place, near Storm Lake,” Rufus said. “It’s not much, but it’s a hell of a lot better than, well, this. We’ll be back for you and then you, kid…”
"Claire.”
“Claire, you can tell us how you know the Winchesters.”
.oOo.
It took a little over an hour for them to reach Camp Chitaqua, warm for the first time in weeks on the school bus Rufus had stolen to transport them in. Chuck and Jody, the sheriff of Sioux Falls before it had been overrun, quietly filled the adults in on what had happened, about the Croatoan virus and the demons, about Lucifer and the apocalypse. The camp, she told them, was an abandoned summer camp. It was still a work in progress, Jody said, but it was getting there. They had catering facilities and clean, running water. Sometimes, the water was even warm. They had roofs over their heads, and that was what was important. They had enough space to accommodate everyone, but they would probably have to do chores around the camp. Everyone was okay with that idea.
Jane broached the idea of a medical facility. Chuck told them that there was a first aid cabin in the camp, but it wasn’t used for much given that the hunters’ version of medicine was dental floss and whiskey for both antiseptic and painkiller. “Talk to Cas when we get there,” he said. “He’ll get the cabin sorted out, and maybe some staff if you need them, and I can get you supplies.”
Claire held her breath at the name. Surely, if Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer were at this place, then ‘Cas’ could only be one person. Chuck met her eye briefly and nodded. So, he knew who she was. Weird. The only time anyone had ever known who she was had been when she moved to Joliet and been the new kid at school. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.
When they finally pulled to a stop at the camp, Chuck caught Claire’s arm before she could alight.
“People don’t know what Castiel is,” he said quickly. “Dean and Bobby think it would cause a panic, given the whole possession thing.”
Claire nodded her understanding. “That’s why I haven’t told them why I can see demons,” she confided.
“Cas did that? Huh. I didn’t see that. Oh, I’m a prophet,” he said, seeing her puzzled expression. “I used to get visions of what Sam and Dean were up to. I was writing the ‘Winchester Gospel’. I wrote about you, when Castiel got taken back to Heaven.” He gave a soft snort of bitter laughter and shook his head. “Sometimes, I wish I still got the visions, so we could see where things were safe, or how we could stop this.”
“Claire?”
Jane’s voice carried the length of the empty bus.
“Sorry, I’m coming.” She turned to head out, but something suddenly hit her. “Oh, crap. Jane? Can you, um, give us a hand with this?”
Jane frowned. “Sure, sweetie.”
“Jane knows Dad,” Claire hissed at Chuck. “She’s from Pontiac.”
“Oh, that’s just perfect,” Chuck groaned. “What are you going to tell her?”
“The truth. The short version.”
.oOo.
“Doctor Wainwright?”
Claire watched Jane’s eyes widen as Castiel stepped up into the bus. Claire understood, remembered what this was like; seeing someone you know, but didn’t know at all. Castiel didn’t walk the same as her dad did, or speak the same way, but those eyes had been the ones that had held hers convincingly as he told her bedtime stories; those lips had been the ones to kiss her goodnight, the arms that had held her tightly when she was scared of the monster in her closet, had carried her when she broke her leg that time when she was six. She was kind of glad her mom wasn’t here; she wouldn’t have managed seeing this.
“The rest of your people have been assigned cabins,” Castiel said bluntly. “I thought it might be prudent for you to see the first aid facilities now. You can ask me anything you like once there.”
Jane nodded wordlessly, and Castiel shifted his gaze. His eyes softened. “Claire. I am glad you are here.”
She rushed to hug him. “Me too, Castiel. I’m glad you’re safe.”
“I’ll, er, sort the new supplies,” Chuck said, sounding uncomfortable.
Claire released Castiel, and followed him from the bus, Jane catching them up and sticking to Claire’s side like glue. Fortunately, it was only a short walk to the first aid cabin, which was looking somewhat dilapidated, but sound. It was dry inside, and light enough. As the door closed behind them, Claire felt the change in Castiel. It was enough to throw her arms back around him.
“Daddy!” She buried her face into his chest.
“Hey, baby girl,” she heard him say softly as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Look at you, how tall you’ve got. Jane, I know you’ve got thousand questions, but can I have a minute with my daughter?”
There was a sound behind her, like someone sitting down heavily. “Sure,” Jane said faintly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Claire inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of her father. He wasn’t the same as he used to be, had that faint undercurrent of something unidentifiable, something powerful that she knew to be Castiel, but it was still him. “I missed you, Daddy,” she whispered, feeling suddenly small.
“I missed you too, baby,” he told her.
She pulled away from him, just slightly, looking up. A gentle smile lit his face as he stroked her hair gently. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re safe.” The smile slipped slightly as he dared ask: “Your mom?”
Claire shook her head, her eyes pricking with tears as they met his. “She got sick,” she said simply.
He shuddered against her, but it seemed to be the answer he was expecting. Clare doubted he had ever expected to see her again either.
“Okay. Okay. Jane, you’ve got questions? Ask me first, then you can get to know Cas. Go gentle on him, though: he’s more fragile than he lets on.”
.oOo.
They stayed to help Jane sort out what equipment and supplies she had, allowing her to continue firing questions as Castiel. He answered to the best of his ability, including telling the two women about the fact that he was cut off from Heaven, having chosen humanity over his brothers. He told them about his draining power, how limited he was. With a little prompting from Claire, he told them about the first time he had fallen asleep and how disorientating he still found waking up, or navigating his own dreamscapes. He described experiencing food for the first time, and how he was growing to enjoy it more as he became less and less able to taste. His eyes shone as he described the first time he had relaxed into a bathtub, which Claire found a bit weird because her dad had always preferred showers. Claire was glad she had stayed for this, because she was certain Castiel was not only uncomfortable discussing himself, but that so much of it was about the consequences of his choice to fight his brothers, it was a painful topic for him and he wouldn’t want to talk about it more than once.
When they were done, Castiel pointed Jane, now armed with a list of things she needed, and another of things she wanted for the clinic she was clearly planning, towards Chuck’s domain, the supply warehouse, and escorted Claire in the opposite direction.
“This is my cabin,” he said, his voice soft, as they approached a relatively unassuming log structure with a little porch. “Unless you wish to be assigned somewhere else?”
“No!” Claire said quickly.
“I would understand,” he said, and Claire could hear the reluctance in his voice. “It must be difficult, seeing me in your father’s body.”
“Castiel, I would much rather stay with you than anywhere else,” she assured him. “I meant it when I said I was glad you were safe.”
He stared at her, his head tilted slightly in question. “Me? Not your father?”
“You. Dad too, obviously, but even if you were in a different vessel, I would be glad to see you.”
He didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Realising that she would have to take the lead, having completely confused the angel, she scurried up the steps and pushed open the cabin door.
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