spn fic: you and i, we'll fly home (chrissy/claire)

Jan 10, 2012 23:43

Just gonna drop this off here before I head to bed, because I'm so bad at re-posting comment fic and I will forget.

Originally posted here at pann_cake's Anything Goes Prompt-A-Thon. And as many prompts at that meme that had me going, "yes yes, want," I only managed to write one thing. Real life is a life ruiner. :\

you and i, we'll fly home; Chrissy Chambers/Claire Novak, PG-13
544 words; spoilers for 4.20 and 7.11; future!fic, angst, with a smidge of hope
not mine; title from 'Headfirst for Halos' by My Chemical Romance
They're so far from okay, but this, right here, right now - this isn't so bad.

It's two o'clock in the morning, on what has to be the longest stretch of empty highway in the world, and it's forty degrees and dropping outside but the top is down and Chrissy is fucking freezing. She would stop and pull it back up if she thought Claire wouldn't wake up, but damn if she doesn't look so peaceful. That's a rare thing for any hunter but especially for her, for them, when they've seen more shit in less than twenty years than most people see in a lifetime. Chrissy just pulls her jacket tighter and keeps driving.

The car was her dad's - he got it for her but she thinks of it as his because it's one of the few things she has left to remind her of him. It was a rusted piece of crap when he bought it, not long after he quit hunting, but it was all he could afford. They fixed it up on the weekends, when he didn't have work and she didn't have school, so it would be ready when she got her license. And it was good for a while. For a while they were almost a normal family, he was almost a normal dad, and she - well, hunting or not, she knew she would never be a normal girl, but she got pretty good at pretending.

And then it all went to shit and all that's left of her dad is his memory, his guns, and this car, with it's ugly paint job and the stain on the floorboard they could never get out and the angel dangling from the rearview mirror. Her dad didn't even believe in angels - Bigfoot, unicorns, and angels: those are the only things that really are just stories. But it was his mom's, he said, and then it was his, and now it's in the glove box, where Claire threw it, where it'll probably stay.

Chrissy's given up trying to figure that girl out. If she hadn't met her with a knife in her hand and blood on her face, she never would have taken Claire for a hunter. Nobody actually belongs in this life, but it just seems even more wrong for her - not that she isn't good at it, because she is. She's too good, maybe, for someone so young. But Chrissy can't help thinking it's a shame. Claire should have a home - not some beat-up convertible, but an actual home - a roof over her head and home-cooked meals every night, and Mom and Dad, and school and a whole life ahead of her. Maybe she even had that for a while, like Chrissy did, before whatever happened to make her the way she is.

Maybe she'll have it again one day. Maybe they both will - and hell, maybe they'll have it together, and maybe Hell will freeze over, and maybe angels and Bigfoot and unicorns are real, and maybe, maybe, maybe.

A cold hand covers her own and Claire smiles sleepily at her, lying with the seat all the way back, under the open sky. Chrissy can't help but smile back. They're so far from okay, but this, right here, right now - this isn't so bad.

Maybe they'll get by with what they've got.

fic: spn: krissy/claire, fanfiction, fic: spn

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