SPN: The End of Innocence (2/7) [T]
Fandom:
Supernatural
Title:
The End of Innocence
Chapter 2:
First Impressions
In which Dean discovers that Claire has some hidden talents.
Author:
lt_indigo
Pairing(s):
suggestions of possible unrequited Dean/Cas
Warning(s):
mentions of canonical, off-screen torture
Disclamer:
Kripke owns, not me.
Word count:
1,990
Back | Masterpost | Next
After staying a few minutes to ensure that Claire had managed to find places to store the small amount of clothing she still possessed, Castiel pointed out where the mess hall and kitchens were, the lavatories and shower block, and left her to return to his duties about the camp. She teetered with grabbing a shower, but had no clean clothes to wear, no towel and no toiletries anyway. Instead, she decided to take a walk, to acquaint herself with her new surroundings, perhaps meet some of the neighbours. Cas had told her that none of the new arrivals were expected to chip in for a day or two, to allow them time to rest and acclimatise. Not that she had been assigned any particular job, anyway: at fourteen, she was too old to be lumped in with the few kids who had made it this far and were corralled during the day in a kind of day-care-cum-school, but she was also too young to be asked to work. She was at a loose end. So, walking it was.
The camp was in a wood or a forest, shaded by tall trees all around. The fence that had already been there, presumably to keep the summer camp kids in, was being reinforced to keep Croats out. She said hello to several teams of builders as she wandered, introducing herself to the men and women, until she met a small group who were apparently more focussed on the demon issue. At a rear gate that looked as if it led down to some water, they - two men and a woman - were drawing a ward apparently based on a diagram hastily scribbled on a piece of paper the woman was holding. Claire took one look at the pentagram and frowned.
“That’s not right,” she said, taking a piece of chalk from her pocket (a useful tool for warding campsites against demons; less durable but more portable than spray paint). “Here, these lines need to join up. And this symbol is wrong. It should look like this,” (she corrected it with her chalk) “but it would be much more effective if you substituted it for this.”
She scuffed out the still-damp spray-painted sigil with the toe of her boot and was about to replace it when all hell broke loose: the men hauled her away, and the woman yelled for Dean before turning and making her opinion of Claire’s assistance known.
“Hey, HEY! What’s all this about?”
Dean Winchester appeared, jogging along the perimeter of the fence, as handsome as she remembered him. The two men relaxed their grip on her, and Claire darted forward to fill in the missing symbol on the trap before they could stop her again.
“This little bitch is messing up the trap,” the woman spat, her expression torn between fury and smugness that Claire had been caught in the act by their boss.
For his part, Dean waved the three of them away and looked at the trap. He then looked over to Claire, his expression shrewd. She doubted that he would remember her, especially since she had grown about a foot since he last saw her, and that her most identifying feature was dulled and tangled under three weeks’ worth of dirt. But it wasn’t her hair Dean was looking at: it was her eyes. That made sense, really, given she had inherited them from her father: they would be the feature Dean would recognise.
“Knock it off, Risa,” he barked at the woman. “The kid’s right. Claire Novak, right?”
Claire nodded and stood a little taller under his gaze.
“Met your daddy once, on a job we worked together. Good man. Damn fine hunter.”
And not one word of it a lie, technically. Claire was impressed. For the single day her father had been back in her life, torn apart from Castiel, he had single-handedly tried to take on a pack of demons in order to protect her and her mother, using the knowledge Castiel had imparted unto him. Knowledge Claire had just used to correct the devil’s trap in question.
“He always good at all this Enochian shit,” Dean continued, which was stretching the truth now.
“He used to say he had an angel watching over him,” Claire said, her eyes dancing. “Said he learned it from his guardian angel.”
Dean’s eyes sparkled with laughter the rest of his face didn’t betray. “I guess if anyone managed to have a guardian angel who wasn’t a complete douche-bag, it would be your dad.”
“Angels? Seriously? They’re not real.” Risa seemed certain in her pronouncement.
Dean looked over to her, the merriment not quite fading from his eyes. “Demons and Croats are fine, but you’re struggling with angels?”
She gestured expansively with her gun. “Where the hell are they? Why aren’t they helping us, if they’re real?”
“Because they want this,” Claire said before Dean could. “This was prophesised, and we’re nothing to them.”
Dean’s head snapped back to her, his eyes betraying his surprise. She knew what he was thinking; that all her knowledge of angels came from Castiel, and he was one of the good guys. What Dean was clearly forgetting was that when he came to her, Castiel had just been yanked forcibly back to Heaven and tortured because of his closeness to Dean. Zachariah had ripped into his grace in order to re-assert Heaven’s authority over him, to return him to the ranks as a dutiful, compliant soldier who answered to them, not to humanity, and certainly not to Dean Winchester. They had left him a bleeding, broken mess, blindly sobbing new oaths of obedience because he had no other choice. That was what Castiel had been when he came to her, so, no; Claire’s perspective on angels wasn’t all brightness and winged puppies.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, his voice cracking slightly. “They’re total dicks. Not just white wings and golden harps. Claire, is there anything else we can do to improve this trap?”
She looked at it critically. “No, not without drawing out an Old Enochian one, with a heptagram, but that’s really complicated. I don’t think it’s worth it. Not right now, anyway.”
“Agreed.” Dean’s tone made it clear that he had seen such a trap before, and knew exactly how much work would have to go into it. “Why don’t me and you go check out the rest of the traps on the perimeter, see if there’s any more problems?”
Claire nodded silently and fell in behind Dean as he strode away purposefully. Once they were out of sight of the sentry post, he slowed, allowed her to catch up, and matched her stride.
“Nicely done back there,” he said, flashing her the shadow of a smile. “I didn’t realise you were here.”
“I just got here a few hours ago. You’re busy, and I’m not important,” she said with a shrug.
“Not… Claire, everyone is important. And you’ve obviously got some bad-ass knowledge in that head of yours if you’re drawing Enochian devil’s traps.”
“It’s just bits and pieces,” she told him. “Castiel was only with me for a few minutes; I don’t know a lot.”
“More than most,” Dean said. He stopped in his tracks and leaned against a tree, letting his guard down. “More than me, about some things. We… Hell, you’re more than old enough: we could use you. Cas could use another pair of eyes, another set of skilled hands to help ward this place, maybe look at putting some Old Enochian traps in when we’ve got time. We need someone who can help Bobby research a way to protect us against the Croats, cos the demon traps won’t stop them. Er, you okay working with Cas?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’m sure I can manage.”
.oOo.
She swung by the supply warehouse on the way back into the main camp. Melody, a round-faced black girl a few years older than Claire with grown-out cornrows, was happy to fork over some shower supplies.
“Have you got something clean to get changed into, honey?”
Claire shook her head. “But I was wondering about getting my clothes cleaned.”
“Oh, sweetie, that’s easy,” Melody said with a bright smile. “We’ve got a Laundromat. I’ll show you where to take your clothes later. But for now? I’ve got some things. They might be a bit big on you, but they’ll do.”
Melody slung a friendly arm around her shoulders and led her to a larger cabin, a dormitory with ten bunk beds. “I share this with two other girls,” she said cheerfully. “Well, three now: Juanita that came in with you is sharing too. There were enough cabins for us to have one each if we wanted, but we like having the company, you know. Being alone these days…” She shuddered.
Claire nodded sympathetically. “I know. I was lucky, my uncle was already here. I’m staying with him.”
Melody smiled up at her from where she had crouched at a set of drawers. “That is lucky. Here, try these.”
She pulled out a loose, flowing top and a long skirt. “Come find me after, and I’ll pin them for you, so they fit better. I’ll be back at the warehouse.”
.oOo.
Under the lukewarm water of the shower, with the promise of finally being clean, Claire let her mind drift back, for the first time in months, to the fateful day Castiel had come for her, the day that had changed her life and her understanding of the world forever. On the face of it, he had come to save her and her mother because of a promise he had made to her father, nothing more. And that was certainly the foremost thing in his mind; that and the necessity of securing another vessel if he were to perform his assigned duties in guiding the Winchester brothers towards their destiny. He hadn’t felt it fair to impose on Jimmy a second time, but it hadn’t occurred to him that Jimmy would give himself over freely, knowing what he would face, rather than know that his daughter would never grow up, never have a boyfriend, never fall in love or get married or give Amelia grandchildren.
But that had not been the only reason: Claire had always known it. Castiel actually cared about his human charges, a lot more than he was supposed to. He didn’t want Claire or Amelia to perish in the upcoming apocalypse. He particularly didn’t want Dean to fulfil the role he had been born to, to be taken by his ruthless eldest brother, Michael, as Claire had been taken by Castiel. Even at the tender age of twelve, Claire had understood that Castiel was in love with the handsome man who had come to rescue them. She also understood how wrong that was for an angel, to love one man above all else, and that Castiel was afraid that he wasn’t strong enough to fight for Dean, to fight all of his brothers for the shining but damaged soul that was the Righteous Man.
Claire wondered if Dean knew any of this. Wondered if she should interfere, for Castiel’s sake. Wondered if Dean would even accept Castiel, given that he was wearing a male body. Claire wasn’t a child any more; she understood about sexuality, and the way Dean had looked at some of the women they had met as they worked left Claire with no delusions about which gender he preferred. But, even so, the depth of Castiel’s devotion to Dean was a little terrifying, and something the romantic child in her had craved to understand herself one day. Sometimes, in her wildest dreams, she still hoped to live long enough to understand it, to find happiness with the right person, but most of the time she was realistic: humanity was losing the battle for the planet, and she stood very little chance of meeting The One.
Back | Masterpost | Next