Lost/SPN Fic: What is and What Should Never Be (Jack/Claire)
Title: What is and What Should Never Be
Pairing: Jack/Claire
Rating: R (incest)
Words: 1,267
Disclaimer: Concept belongs to Kripke, characters belong to Darlton.
Summary: She hasn’t let him drive the Impala yet. He doesn’t have the energy to remind her it was his first.
A/N: Written for former queen missy_useless who requested crossovers. This is more of a fusion with Jack and Claire taking on the Sam and Dean roles. And yes, this is probably the closest I’ll ever come to writing Wincest.
Two months out and he’s still dreaming of flames.
Jack closes his eyes and he sees Sarah, her body pinned to the ceiling, her face frozen in shock. He wakes up at night gagging on smoke that isn’t there. Claire barely lifts her head from the pillow.
“You alright, big brother?”
He turns away from her, scoots closer to the edge of their ratty motel bed.
“I’m fine.”
She’s already asleep again.
*
Christian taught his children how to shoot and how to fight. He taught them the difference between vampires, demons, and ghosts. He taught them how to salt a body, how to burn the bones. They were hunters before they drew their first breathes. Christian said it was in their blood.
Claire took to it right from the start.
Jack hated it.
When he was twelve he shot his first werewolf. A girl, barely seventeen. Christian made him do it, loaded the silver bullets into a Winchester rifle and pushed the gun into his son’s tiny hands. Jack still remembers the dull click of the gun, the awkward way the girl fell.
He cried. He couldn’t stop himself. He sat down beside her, cradled her hand in his, feeling nothing but guilt and sorrow. Christian just shook his head.
“You don’t have what it takes, son.”
Jack thanked God that was true.
As soon as he turned eighteen he left his father, left the monsters, the whole sorry excuse for a life. He went to college, met a girl, became a doctor. The only thing he held onto was Claire. He called her once a month, begged her to go to school. She always laughed, told him stories about vampire dens in Florida and ghosts in Maine.
She called him on his thirtieth birthday and told him their father was missing, asked him for help.
Jack never could tell her no.
Now he’s lost everything, everything but her.
*
She hasn’t let him drive the Impala yet.
He doesn’t have the energy to remind her it was his first.
“She’d just buck you off. My girl knows who loves her,” Claire says.
She drives with the windows down, her long blonde hair catching in the breeze. Jack lets his head rest on the back of the seat as he squints at the twisting lines of road on the map.
“You think Dad’s in New Mexico?” he asks.
“No. But I think a shapeshifter is.”
She tosses a paper in his lap and Jack stares down at a man with haunted eyes.
“The cops say he went crazy, killed his wife and two kids. But the guy says he wasn’t home when it happened. The cops came in and found him crying next to the bodies.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
Claire smiles.
“I know he is.”
*
Jack’s the one who kills the shapshifter.
It looks like Claire and he shivers watching it fall, but he doesn’t hesitate when he pulls the trigger. He feels Claire next to him, her hand on his back.
“How’d you know it wasn’t me?”
Jack doesn’t answer, just stuffs the gun into the back of his jeans and tries to forget the feel of the monster’s lips on his, its hands cupping his face just moments before. He tries not to think about why he didn’t pull away until after it had kissed him.
“I know you, Claire.”
He means, I know what you wouldn’t do.
*
He remembers the night Christian placed Claire in his arms and told him to run as if it was something that happened yesterday instead of over two decades ago. He can still feel the weight of her tiny, squirming body in his hands as he watched the flames lap at the house, taking his mother and his life away with every curl of smoke.
He’s glad she can’t remember that night.
*
They stop at a diner outside of Tulsa for breakfast. Claire spreads the paper open on the table and reads Jack his horoscope just like she used to when they were kids.
“You’re going to have a rough day on Tuesday, but you’ll have a bit of luck on Thursday. That’s good, right? Evens things out.”
Jack laughs, steals a bite of her omelet.
“I guess it does. What about you?”
Claire leans across the table and takes his coffee in retaliation, the ends of her hair tickles his arm.
“I’m going to receive a tempting proposal.”
She innocently downs the last of his coffee in one gulp as Jack motions for the waitress to bring a refill.
“What are you going to ask me, Jack?
Jack looks down at his empty cup.
“I don’t think it’s going to be coming from me.”
*
He stays up late at night reading their father’s journal with only a flashlight to illuminate the pages so he doesn’t disturb Claire. The stories all bleed together; they’re nothing but a collection of kills, a history of monsters. Jack had half hoped to find a message hidden in the margins, a hastily scribbled I’m sorry. Instead he finds tips on how to exorcise a demon.
He shakes his head, slams the book shut.
They won’t find him. He knows that. Chances are Christian is face down in an alley somewhere, stinking of liquor. No monster to blame but himself.
Jack watches Claire toss in her sleep. She manages to kick the covers away and Jack sees the bare skin of her stomach where her shirt’s riding up, it’s a road map of scars. He looks away.
He wonders sometimes why he didn’t have the guts to put her in the backseat of the Impala the minute he turned eighteen and just drive away. Any life would have been better than this one.
He gets up and pulls the covers up to her chin and she stirs.
“Come to bed, Jack.”
She catches his wrist, rubs a thumb across the back of his hand and he suddenly remembers why he didn’t take her with him.
“I’m not tired.”
“Liar.”
He laughs and gently pulls away from her.
“I think I’ll take a walk. Get some fresh air.”
She smiles sadly in the dark.
“It okay, Jack. It’s always been okay.”
She climbs out of bed, stands on her tiptoes and kisses him softly. Jack can feel her breath against his cheek. He closes his eyes.
“No, it’s not.”
*
They check out early, Claire’s eyes glinting in the morning light as she excitedly tells him about a town with a potential zombie.
“A zombie, Jack,” she says. “This is so cool.”
She hesitates a moment before tossing him the keys. Jack knows he must look shocked because she rolls her eyes as she slides into the passenger’s seat.
“Come on,” she whines.
Jack fingers the keys, thinks of Sarah and his old office and of all the things he’ll never see again. He slides into the driver’s seat and puts the key into the ignition, switches the station from the mournful indie music Claire likes, to classic rock.
“Hey!” she protests.
“Driver picks the music, right?”
“Shut up,” Claire mutters, but she’s smiling.
Jack pulls off as AC/DC sings, Hey Momma, look at me, I'm on my way to the promised land, I'm on the highway to hell(Don't stop me.) He’s glad he doesn’t believe in signs.
“You know it’s never zombies, right?”
Claire hits him playfully on the arm.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Jack meets his sister’s gaze in the rearview mirror and smiles. She turns the music up and giggles when Jack starts humming along.
Pairing: Jack/Claire
Rating: R (incest)
Words: 1,267
Disclaimer: Concept belongs to Kripke, characters belong to Darlton.
Summary: She hasn’t let him drive the Impala yet. He doesn’t have the energy to remind her it was his first.
A/N: Written for former queen missy_useless who requested crossovers. This is more of a fusion with Jack and Claire taking on the Sam and Dean roles. And yes, this is probably the closest I’ll ever come to writing Wincest.
Two months out and he’s still dreaming of flames.
Jack closes his eyes and he sees Sarah, her body pinned to the ceiling, her face frozen in shock. He wakes up at night gagging on smoke that isn’t there. Claire barely lifts her head from the pillow.
“You alright, big brother?”
He turns away from her, scoots closer to the edge of their ratty motel bed.
“I’m fine.”
She’s already asleep again.
*
Christian taught his children how to shoot and how to fight. He taught them the difference between vampires, demons, and ghosts. He taught them how to salt a body, how to burn the bones. They were hunters before they drew their first breathes. Christian said it was in their blood.
Claire took to it right from the start.
Jack hated it.
When he was twelve he shot his first werewolf. A girl, barely seventeen. Christian made him do it, loaded the silver bullets into a Winchester rifle and pushed the gun into his son’s tiny hands. Jack still remembers the dull click of the gun, the awkward way the girl fell.
He cried. He couldn’t stop himself. He sat down beside her, cradled her hand in his, feeling nothing but guilt and sorrow. Christian just shook his head.
“You don’t have what it takes, son.”
Jack thanked God that was true.
As soon as he turned eighteen he left his father, left the monsters, the whole sorry excuse for a life. He went to college, met a girl, became a doctor. The only thing he held onto was Claire. He called her once a month, begged her to go to school. She always laughed, told him stories about vampire dens in Florida and ghosts in Maine.
She called him on his thirtieth birthday and told him their father was missing, asked him for help.
Jack never could tell her no.
Now he’s lost everything, everything but her.
*
She hasn’t let him drive the Impala yet.
He doesn’t have the energy to remind her it was his first.
“She’d just buck you off. My girl knows who loves her,” Claire says.
She drives with the windows down, her long blonde hair catching in the breeze. Jack lets his head rest on the back of the seat as he squints at the twisting lines of road on the map.
“You think Dad’s in New Mexico?” he asks.
“No. But I think a shapeshifter is.”
She tosses a paper in his lap and Jack stares down at a man with haunted eyes.
“The cops say he went crazy, killed his wife and two kids. But the guy says he wasn’t home when it happened. The cops came in and found him crying next to the bodies.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
Claire smiles.
“I know he is.”
*
Jack’s the one who kills the shapshifter.
It looks like Claire and he shivers watching it fall, but he doesn’t hesitate when he pulls the trigger. He feels Claire next to him, her hand on his back.
“How’d you know it wasn’t me?”
Jack doesn’t answer, just stuffs the gun into the back of his jeans and tries to forget the feel of the monster’s lips on his, its hands cupping his face just moments before. He tries not to think about why he didn’t pull away until after it had kissed him.
“I know you, Claire.”
He means, I know what you wouldn’t do.
*
He remembers the night Christian placed Claire in his arms and told him to run as if it was something that happened yesterday instead of over two decades ago. He can still feel the weight of her tiny, squirming body in his hands as he watched the flames lap at the house, taking his mother and his life away with every curl of smoke.
He’s glad she can’t remember that night.
*
They stop at a diner outside of Tulsa for breakfast. Claire spreads the paper open on the table and reads Jack his horoscope just like she used to when they were kids.
“You’re going to have a rough day on Tuesday, but you’ll have a bit of luck on Thursday. That’s good, right? Evens things out.”
Jack laughs, steals a bite of her omelet.
“I guess it does. What about you?”
Claire leans across the table and takes his coffee in retaliation, the ends of her hair tickles his arm.
“I’m going to receive a tempting proposal.”
She innocently downs the last of his coffee in one gulp as Jack motions for the waitress to bring a refill.
“What are you going to ask me, Jack?
Jack looks down at his empty cup.
“I don’t think it’s going to be coming from me.”
*
He stays up late at night reading their father’s journal with only a flashlight to illuminate the pages so he doesn’t disturb Claire. The stories all bleed together; they’re nothing but a collection of kills, a history of monsters. Jack had half hoped to find a message hidden in the margins, a hastily scribbled I’m sorry. Instead he finds tips on how to exorcise a demon.
He shakes his head, slams the book shut.
They won’t find him. He knows that. Chances are Christian is face down in an alley somewhere, stinking of liquor. No monster to blame but himself.
Jack watches Claire toss in her sleep. She manages to kick the covers away and Jack sees the bare skin of her stomach where her shirt’s riding up, it’s a road map of scars. He looks away.
He wonders sometimes why he didn’t have the guts to put her in the backseat of the Impala the minute he turned eighteen and just drive away. Any life would have been better than this one.
He gets up and pulls the covers up to her chin and she stirs.
“Come to bed, Jack.”
She catches his wrist, rubs a thumb across the back of his hand and he suddenly remembers why he didn’t take her with him.
“I’m not tired.”
“Liar.”
He laughs and gently pulls away from her.
“I think I’ll take a walk. Get some fresh air.”
She smiles sadly in the dark.
“It okay, Jack. It’s always been okay.”
She climbs out of bed, stands on her tiptoes and kisses him softly. Jack can feel her breath against his cheek. He closes his eyes.
“No, it’s not.”
*
They check out early, Claire’s eyes glinting in the morning light as she excitedly tells him about a town with a potential zombie.
“A zombie, Jack,” she says. “This is so cool.”
She hesitates a moment before tossing him the keys. Jack knows he must look shocked because she rolls her eyes as she slides into the passenger’s seat.
“Come on,” she whines.
Jack fingers the keys, thinks of Sarah and his old office and of all the things he’ll never see again. He slides into the driver’s seat and puts the key into the ignition, switches the station from the mournful indie music Claire likes, to classic rock.
“Hey!” she protests.
“Driver picks the music, right?”
“Shut up,” Claire mutters, but she’s smiling.
Jack pulls off as AC/DC sings, Hey Momma, look at me, I'm on my way to the promised land, I'm on the highway to hell(Don't stop me.) He’s glad he doesn’t believe in signs.
“You know it’s never zombies, right?”
Claire hits him playfully on the arm.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Jack meets his sister’s gaze in the rearview mirror and smiles. She turns the music up and giggles when Jack starts humming along.