SPN: The End of Innocence (8/9) [T]
Fandom:
Supernatural
Title:
The End of Innocence
Chapter 8:
Altered Perspectives
In which some things finally get sorted out.
Author:
lt_indigo
Pairing(s):
Dean/Cas (kind of)
Warning(s):
none
Disclamer:
Kripke owns, not me.
Word count:
4,564
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Author's note:
I know you don't want to hear any excuses about why this hasn't been done for so long, even though I've been posting fics fairly regularly. It was a whole inspiration thing.
What I know you do want to hear is that this story is actually now COMPLETE. Yes, you heard me, complete. I will be posting the final chapter and the epilogue very soon, once I have managed to code them.
Also, I know that canon has kind of kicked my ass a bit with regards to Claire and Jimmy. But I'm not changing it now to fit in with what we learned in TTWLB.
Claire delivered two new arrival packs to the newly-occupied cabin and, steeling herself, walked away, leaving Castiel in Dean’s company with two unknown women as chaperones. She wasn’t happy about it, but equally she couldn’t treat Cas like a child. She had to trust that he would come home once they were done talking, and not do something stupid.
She was too wound up to sleep, so she picked her book back up, using the story of the Woman in White to keep her awake. She only relaxed when Castiel slipped back in, looking tired and in pain. Claire glanced at her watch, and realised that it was nearly two in the morning, and it had been over twelve hours since his last set of painkillers. Hurriedly, she poured him a glass of water, forced him to sit on the edge of the bed and passed him the glass and his pills.
He groaned in relief as she knelt and undid the laces of his right boot.
“Ellen and Jo are hunters,” he said, as if he had heard all the questions Claire had been thinking earlier. “They used to own a retreat for hunters and…” He hesitated, his tired eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “I am uncertain if I should tell you, if you are going to read the gospels: I would not wish to spoil the story for you.”
Claire frowned up at him before she realised that Castiel, of all people, was teasing her with spoilers. That thought alone made her laugh. “I promise I won’t complain.”
“Sam saw Ellen and Jo as the mother and sister he never had, and Dean holds them in similar regard. Ellen was attacked by Azazel’s demons, and her home destroyed, approximately halfway through ‘Heart’ because she and her employees were helping Sam and Dean. It has been some time since Dean has seen them, however: he had not known until today that they had survived. I am pleased he has some family left: as you know, he is not taking the death of Bobby well.”
Claire stiffened, pausing with Cas' left boot half-off. "That," she growled, "is an understatement. And still no excuse."
Castiel sighed. "I know that you are still angry with him, and I understand that his actions towards me were wrong. But you of all people should understand how painful it is to lose your parent."
Claire pushed herself away from him, her eyes wide with shock. She swallowed hard, feeling her eyes fill with tears at his harsh reminder. As if she had done anything like Dean had.
"I can't believe you!"
He looked down at her coldly. "I have made mistakes: I killed your father. I took your last parent from you. I saw your pain after I did so. I know you understand how much Dean is hurting." His shoulders slumped, his eyes softened into something infinitely more human, but ancient. "Dean made a mistake in his pain. You forgive me every day for taking your father from you; perhaps you could also find it within your wonderfully caring heart to forgive him too."
Claire threw herself back and wrapped her arms around his, burying her head in his knees so that he wouldn't see the tears falling from her eyes. "I... You love him, don't you?" Suddenly, she needed to talk about it; this thing that had been haunting her since the day she set eyes on Dean Winchester again, all those months ago. “I remember that too.”
Castiel stroked a hand over her cheek before gently tipping her head up so that she was looking at him. He looked solemn, but not sorrowful like he had been earlier when she had given him a hint of just what he had left within her.
“I do,” he admitted. “And I will always love him, no matter what our circumstances force him to become.”
She steeled herself, knowing this would be difficult. “Is it… Is it possible that you didn’t just leave me with memories?”
He was getting quicker at working out what humans meant when they didn’t say everything: Castiel worked out exactly what she meant, and reached out to cup her cheek, his eyes wide and sad.
“It… It shouldn’t be possible,” he said slowly, “but, as you know, what I feel for Dean is something unique among angels; something that also should not be possible.”
She leaned into the warmth of his palm, needing that, and much more comfort than she was currently getting from the floor.
“So, basically, what you’re saying is that you’re special, and you might have fucked up because of it?”
He gave an aborted, sad snort of laughter. “Essentially. I am sorry, though: I never meant to leave you with anything other than information that would save you if and when the time came. I certainly never meant…”
She pushed herself to her feet and snuggled in at his side instead. “I know.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, just as her father used to do when he hugged her. It was so familiar that her heart ached.
“Claire? Is this why you are so angry with Dean? I have observed that it is only those that we love who can cause such anger.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that, looking up at him with incredulous eyes. “I’m angry with him because he hurt you, you idiot! I might be in love with Dean, but I love you too.”
His whole face lit up incredulously.
“Seriously? You can’t still be that bad at reading human behaviour!”
His eyebrows raised fractionally. “You underestimate me.”
She seriously couldn’t help it: laughter bubbled up, emerging as unattractive, snorting giggles. Her eyes were squeezed closed as she doubled over, her head coming to rest on Castiel’s chest as he laughed at her, a rich chuckle that warmed her heart just as much as his gentle teasing had.
.oOo.
Claire’s heart was light when she awoke later in the morning and went for a late breakfast. She felt that a weight had been lifted during her brief but frank discussion with Castiel and, somewhere along the way, she had actually started feeling sorry for Dean. That didn’t mean she had forgiven him, but she did understand his pain. She was lucky because she still had Castiel, but until last night, Dean had believed he had no-one: his biological parents and surrogate father were all dead; his brother was lost to the Devil; his surrogate mother had disappeared without a trace and then he had lost the man he loved through his own foolish actions. Presuming that Dean actually did love Castiel back, of course, and she was sure he did.
Perhaps Castiel was right: perhaps she did have it within her to forgive Dean after all.
“Claire?”
Her eyes flew up to find the object of her musings standing at the table, hands respectfully behind his back. He had the decency to look contrite, but there was a little flicker of hope in his eyes.
“Can I help you, Dean?” she asked, not as flintily as she would have liked. Dammit, Cas’ words had gotten under her skin.
“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now,” he said, that aura of respect permeating his voice too, “but I was hoping you would join the planning meetings. Bobby’s research was invaluable to us and I know he trusted you to step up if something ever happened to him.”
Claire was speechless: she knew that Bobby had trusted her, because there was no way he would have let her anywhere near his precious books if he didn’t, but she was just a kid!
“I could really use your brain power to help figure out this Kansas City thing,” Dean continued. His hands wandered to the back of the chair opposite her, and she nodded her permission wordlessly. He sat gratefully and leaned over slightly, his tone conspiratorial.
“I mean, there’s obviously something going on there. Why else would it be completely clean when it’s surrounded by Croat cities?”
She frowned. “Didn’t you find anything while you were there?”
He scowled. “No, and neither did Ellen and Jo. Could have used your magic eyes out there. It’s just too… normal. It’s weird. It was like going back in time.”
The idea of somewhere untouched kind of blew Claire’s mind. She couldn’t even imagine people in their own homes, a city that was still going about its business as normal, rather than the camp, where everyone was just focussed on survival. The world she had been reading about in ‘Supernatural’ seemed like a lifetime ago.
“I’ll see what I can dig up,” she said.
Dean gave her a tentative smile. “Thanks. For now, we’re meeting in my cabin at nine, try and get some kind of idea what we might be looking for. Between us, you and Cas, we can probably get some inspiration.”
Claire looked down at her watch, noting that she had a whole twenty-five minutes. Dean seemed to notice her consternation about this.
“Don’t worry - we’re not exactly expecting you to pull a miracle out of your ass right now. I just want you to meet Ellen and Jo and see if we can bounce some ideas around. That sounded a bit like a corporate asshole, didn’t it?”
Claire giggled despite herself. “Yeah, a little bit.”
Dean’s eyes softened further. “That’s so far from what it was supposed to be. So, nine?”
She dipped her spoon into her cooling bowl of oatmeal, making her intent to finish her breakfast clear. “I’ll be there,” she assured him. “Do you want me to tell Cas, or are you going to see him now?”
He sat back, stunned. “You would trust me to do that?”
She gave him a calculating look. “Just make sure he takes his painkillers. And grab his ring for sitting.”
His face fell, his shoulders slumped and he nodded solemnly. “I will.”
He managed to keep his head held high as he headed out, but Claire knew she had pretty much kicked him while he was struggling to get back on his feet, and even though she had enjoyed the brief moment of vindictiveness, she now felt really bad for doing it.
“Dean?” she called out over the empty commissary.
He turned back to her with a frown.
“I’m sorry. That was bitchier than I meant it.”
He nodded his understanding. “I get that you're still pissed. I'm pissed with myself, and I ain't making any excuses.”
“I still shouldn’t have said it like that. Yes, Dean, I trust you.”
That faint glimmer of hope was back, which Claire was stupidly glad of. A demoralised Dean was no good for the rest of the camp. At least, that’s what she told herself as he nodded and left her to the remainder of her breakfast.
.oOo.
“That was pretty much half an hour you could have spent researching, wasn’t it?”
Cas and Ellen had followed Dean out at the end of the meeting to go rally the troops, leaving Claire and Jo behind.
“Yeah, pretty much. You really didn’t find anything at all?”
Jo shook her head. “Mom and I spent a few days there and came up with nothing. It was freaky how much nothing we found, actually. You’ve got no idea how weird it is, seeing somewhere that’s still practically normal. I mean, there’s still people doing actual jobs, and kids going to school and everything.”
“School? God. I was supposed to start high school this year. Like any of that matters.”
Jo snorted. “Tell me about it. I hated school; it just seemed so completely pointless when I knew all about what was out there. My dad was a hunter, and I couldn’t wait to get out there myself. So, what about you? How did you get the research gig?”
Claire shrugged and collected up her notes. “Cas possessed me for a few minutes, before the apocalypse started. There was this whole thing… It’s complicated. But he left behind a load of useful information, and a few almost useless superpowers.” She sighed. “Dean thought I’d be able to help Bobby out. All I helped him do was get killed.”
Jo frowned. “I’d be willing to put money on that not being true.” She shifted closer to Claire on Dean’s battered old sofa. “My dad hardly ever hunted with a partner, but one time he went out with a friend, and he died. Mom blamed his partner, and when I found out, I did too without hearing all the facts.”
“I assume the moral is that even though the partner was there, it wasn’t his fault?”
“No, it wasn’t. My dad’s friend, John Winchester, was the one who pulled the trigger, but only because my dad was already dying and in pain.”
Claire wished she was surprised that it had been Dean’s father. But that was the way her life seemed to work these days: everything in the camp revolved around him because he was their leader, but even when strangers came to the camp, they were something to do with Dean.
“You weren’t the one who killed Bobby, were you?”
Claire shook her head, her eyes firmly fixed on her hands. “No, the demon did. But it was because I couldn’t exorcise it fast enough! She…”
Jo put an arm around her. “It wasn’t your fault then,” she said firmly. “You were trying to save Bobby. Can I share another piece of wisdom? You can’t save everyone. Now more than ever. Even before this crapfest, we couldn’t save everyone. Every hunter you’ll ever meet lost someone. And we’re only human.”
Claire thought for a while, then nodded slowly. Jo was making sense. Claire was only human, and it hadn’t been anything human that had killed Bobby.
Jo squeezed gently before standing and stretching her arms up to the ceiling. “Come on. I’m great at the research. Let’s see what we can find.”
.oOo.
Claire and Jo raided Castiel’s files first, and found the name of every resident who was from Kansas or Missouri. It was a shockingly short list. And none of them were particularly helpful: some knew about supposedly haunted buildings in Kansas City, but there didn’t seem to be anything particularly special about the place. There were the normal rumours about haunted buildings et cetera, but nothing that would particularly make it stand out.
After lunch (where they had hit up the last person on their list, Rhonda, who was from St Louis), they headed to Bobby’s cabin to hit the books. Bobby had kept some tomes on folklore and myths across the US, and there might be something in Pastor Jim’s research that could help them too. But it was the gospels that caught Jo’s eye.
“Oh, I love these,” she said with a laugh as she picked the topmost one out. “I read them all, hid them under my bed because Mom would have had a fit if she found out I was reading stories she was in. Me too, which is kind of embarrassing, but I kick my fair share of ass. I know it’s wrong, but ‘Mystery Spot’ is my favourite. How far have you got?”
Claire shrugged. “I read the first one last night. Apparently Bobby had a hunch there was something useful in them, figured I owed it to him to find out what.”
Jo frowned. “He thought so? There’s not a lot of actual detail in them, you know; just enough to make it believable for someone who isn’t already a hunter. But maybe Bobby’s seen something that didn’t click with me.”
Claire sat down with a thump and pulled one of Pastor Jim’s boxes over. “Chuck - he’s the author - he said the same thing. Thought maybe Bobby might have been thinking of something that wasn’t even published. But I’m going to read them anyway, and see. There might be something, after all.”
Jo put the book carefully back into the box with its friends. “Maybe. You want me to check with the folklore?”
“Sure.”
Claire flipped quickly, immediately discounting any document that looked older than three hundred and anything that wasn’t written in English. They could be dealt with at a later date for her own research: this Kansas City thing was her main priority right now.
“A local library would be better, wouldn’t it?” Claire asked after a while. “I know I’m new to this, but surely they would have things about local legends?”
Jo looked up from the book she was pouring over. “Sure. Mom and I spent some time in the library while we were there. We got nothing.”
Something nagged at Claire: something Bobby had said before their ill-fated trip out of the camp. “What about the college library?”
Jo froze. “Crap. Dammit, see, this is why the internet was easier.”
.oOo.
The next morning, after hours of flipping through the extensive but uncatalogued library got her nowhere, Dean readily admitted that the Kansas City libraries would be more useful to them when he stuck his head round to see how Claire was getting on. (Jo had spent the whole of the previous day with her, but was helping her mom out with something or other.)
“Plus, having your eyes on the ground wouldn’t hurt,” he said. “In case there’s something supernatural.”
She froze, staring unblinkingly at him.
“Me?” she stammered eventually. “I’m no good in the field. Look what happened…”
He silenced her with a glance. “Chuck told me that without your exorcism spell, he probably wouldn’t have come back either,” he told her gently. “He said you kept your head, and that your spidey senses stopped you from getting caught too.”
He sighed and sat down in the chair Cas normally used when he was helping Claire out, hands clasped and hanging between his legs, his expression open.
“I know you’re worried about the rest, but we’re training this afternoon. It would be great if you came.”
“I… I can’t,” Claire whispered, forcing the sound past the lump forming in her throat; the lump that had started the moment Dean had suggested that she leave the safety of the camp again.
His mouth twisted into a grimace briefly before smoothing out. “Okay,” he said, resignedly. “Okay. I just thought…” He reached out as if to hug her, but stopped at the last moment, before he actually touched her. Last week he wouldn’t have hesitated, he would have comforted her without reservation. And as much as she was angry at Dean - and she was - she missed the feeling that he was family.
It was only after he left her alone in the library that Claire realised why he had asked her. He, Ellen and Jo were all experienced hunters and researchers, much more so than her; it was her ESP, her ‘angel eyes’. It was the role Cas normally fulfilled on their excursions into the world outside: Cas was human the same way Claire was - with some added extras. Dean needed her to spot a supernatural threat to his men while Cas was recovering.
She sat back in her chair, her head tipping back as she groaned. This thing with Kansas City was too weird: there had to be something supernatural going on to keep it safe. And she could see things that no-one else could.
They needed her.
.oOo.
Dean gave Claire a nod and a slight smile as she joined the militia training that afternoon. Cas looked startled; Dean clearly hadn’t mentioned this idea to him.
She smiled as she watched the men and women working on knife skills; this was something she could do. Dean handed her a blade as she approached the targets set up for throwing practice. Most of the people there were doing badly - it was hard to throw a knife accurately - even those who were hitting the target itself were nowhere near the centre.
Risa sneered as Claire stepped forward: she had been cold towards Claire ever since the day she had arrived and corrected the faulty devil’s trap, but Risa had also seen Claire’s disastrous attempt at shooting. What she had not been present for was the day Claire had kicked most of the guys’ butts when armed with a knife. The others had been there, and were standing back respectfully.
The angel blade Dean had slipped her flew cleanly from her hand with a minimum of movement, hitting the dead centre of the target. She tried not to look smug at the look on Risa’s face. Behind her, though, Dean wasn’t doing as well: he was grinning openly and giving Claire a thumbs-up. Cas was also smiling, much more subtly, and with more than a hint of pride in his eyes.
Claire retrieved the blade and turned it in her hand. Last time she had been here, she had used one of the training knives that was all but blunt, and when they had gone to Sioux Falls, Dean had given her his demon-killing blade. She had wielded both with confidence, but neither had felt as good in her hand as this one. This was what her implanted muscle memory was used to; the weight and balance absolutely perfect.
It was Dean who stepped into the sparring ring, the demon-killing knife ready in his hand.
“Show me what you’ve got, kid,” he challenged.
.oOo.
Jane tutted as she carefully stitched up the shallow gash on Claire’s bicep. Dean sat opposite her, grinning ruefully as he pressed gauze to a similar wound on his own arm, waiting his turn under the doctor’s needle despite insisting he could do it himself.
Their fight had started off tentative, with both of them wary of the very real edges on the blades, but Claire’s mindset had slipped as she caught sight of Cas at the edge of the ring, watching them both, and she remembered how Dean had hurt him. Dean had been forced to defend himself for real, and they had both gotten some perverse enjoyment from the exhilaration of the fight, once Dean had put his foot down and put a stop to Claire’s profuse apologies by assuring her it was his fault - he should never have challenged her knowing what her state of mind was like.
“I still want to see you two fight one day,” he said, his eyes dancing between Claire and Cas. “She’s got your moves, Cas.”
“Of course she does,” Cas responded. “I taught Claire.”
He sounded proud, and when Claire looked over at him, she could see it in his eyes too. She had acquitted herself well against a fully-grown hunter at least twice her size, using the knowledge he had imparted in those precious few minutes they had shared a body.
“Kid, if you ever doubted your skills, stop.”
Claire turned her attention back to Dean. “As long as I’ve got a knife in my hand,” she countered.
“So don’t drop it,” Dean suggested with a casual shrug. “So you’re not the best shot: there’s plenty of marksmen here, but not one of my men can do what you can at close quarters.”
Claire sighed. “Okay, okay; I’ll think about it.”
Dean looked taken aback for a moment before he laughed. “You even glare at me like he does.”
.oOo.
When they returned to the training area, Risa had located a bow and arrows, and handed them to Claire.
“Thought you might have better luck with this,” she said brusquely. “It’ll give you more range than the blade.”
Claire took it warily and tested out the balance of the bow to get a feel for it. “Thank you.”
At the targets, Claire experimented for a while, getting a feel for the arrows and how they would fly, drawing, balancing everything together, before she took her first shot.
It hit the target, but high and slightly off to the left. Of course, the arrow was much faster than the blade, and the fletching had affected its flight too. The second arrow was much better, and by the fifth, Claire was able to hit the bull’s-eye every time. She was grinning from ear to ear as she retrieved the arrows.
“It’s very Katniss Everdeen,” she said as she tucked the arrows back into the quiver. Expecting smiles, she was surprised to find blank faces all around.
“‘The Hunger Games’?” she prompted, but there was no flicker of recognition from anyone, and she sighed. “I guess it’s too new; it didn’t get time to be famous.” In fact, Claire hadn’t even got a chance to read the brand new one, ‘Mockingjay’, before the Croats appeared and the world changed forever. She made a note to see if she could ‘borrow’ a copy from the Kansas City library while she was there - if she went, of course - so that she could find out how the story ended.
.oOo.
After the meal that evening, she stopped by the library to switch out her copies of ‘Supernatural’ and ‘Wendigo’ for ‘Mystery Spot’, and she settled down early to read it. When Cas returned a couple of hours later, he questioned why she was suddenly reading the series out of order.
“Jo said it was her favourite,” Claire said. “And, I don’t know, I just felt like I should read it tonight instead of waiting.”
Cas eyed it warily. “I found the Trickster to be unsettling,” he admitted. “Demi gods should not have the ability to alter reality to the degree that he does. I wondered if Chuck might have used some artistic license with this particular tale to make it seem more exciting to his readers.”
It seemed unlikely to Claire: once he had seen the books in the library, Dean had grumbled about just how accurate Chuck had been in his narratives. In fact, he had growled at her not to read certain books in the series. Jo had stifled her laughter and, when he left in a huff, told her that those were the ones Dean appeared naked in. Vividly naked.
“So, what does have the power to create false realities and time loops?” Claire asked, almost innocently.
“Angels are capable of time travel,” Cas said reluctantly. “As are a small number of demi gods. But the level of manipulation of reality involved in what is described? Even I could not have done it at the height of my powers, when I still had all of my grace.”
That didn’t leave much, really, Claire surmised quickly: seraphs and archangels. Maybe there was a reason she had been drawn to reading so far ahead after all?
Cas was looking oddly at her. As she marked her page, already well into the book, he pulled a small something from his pocket and held it out to her.
It was chocolate. A bar of her favourite: Cadbury’s Dairy Milk. Chocolate was like gold dust these days - Jane had actually reclassified it as a prescription drug.
“Happy birthday, Claire,” he said simply.
She hadn’t even realised the date. And she couldn’t believe that not only had he realised that it was special for her, but had gone out of his way to procure something so rare and so special for her. She hugged him tightly and they shared the chocolate between them; a little celebration in the middle of war.
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