(Gragnis you need to find Claire, she is in trouble)
You looked up from the list of demon names in front of you, your eyes subconsciously fixing on the king of Hell as you listened to the prayer.
(She is going to do something very stupid)
“What are you looking at?” Crowley shot at you after he noticed you stare. “You should be looking at those names, there, since you were so keen on taking a break long enough to let twelve demons get out within three hours.”
(Gragnis help)
Castiel’s voice was pleading in your mind, the vulnerability in his begging enough to take your mind from the list in front of you, entirely. Crowley seemed to notice your sudden shift in attention, because he snapped a finger, making sure that it was in your line of sight, and let out a loud “Hey!” in an attempt to refocus your concentration. That, of course, did not work, and within a second you found yourself flying to Claire—who was apparently in a convenience store.
There were only three people in the building at that point: the person behind the desk, a person checking out, and a teenager wearing a dark hoodie, the hood of which was pulled up to cover her head. You immediately recognized the shape of the body as being that which belonged to Claire Novak, and when you saw that she was holding something in her pocket that had the same outline as a gun, you were quick to walk up to her. Reaching a hand out and grabbing on to her upper arm, you spun the girl around and smiled.
“You need money, Love?” You asked her, your eyes dropping from her startled expression to the gun that she was concealing in her pocket. “You could have just asked instead of committing a felony.”
Claire tried to twitch her arm from your grasp but you were too strong for her, electing, instead, to pull her out of the store after giving a small, everything-is-okay wave to the apparently concerned person behind the desk. Much to your surprise, at the exact time that Claire’s foot hit the ground outside of the convenience store, a 1967 Impala squealed into the parking lot and stopped a few feet in front of you.
Castiel jumped from the backseat and ran toward you and Claire, his eyes wide as he leaned down to look her in the eyes. He did a quick, surprisingly human search of Claire, putting his hands on each of her cheeks and moving her head from one side to the other while he hunted for any evident harm that had been done to her. Claire fought him, slapping at the angel until he finally backed away.
“What were you thinking?” He asked, ready to go on with a parental rant, but Claire had other ideas.
“Screw you.” She yelled at the angel before looking at the two Winchesters, who were now standing on either side of Castiel. When Dean raised his arms and told the teen to calm down, she scoffed. “Eat me, Hasselhoff.”
She turned to leave but you grabbed her by the arm, bringing her back to the circle of parental guidance while Sam said “Claire, hold on a second. Look, I’m—“
“Sam.” Claire snapped back at him, then nodded to the older Winchester. “Dean. We’ve met, remember?” She jerked her arm away from you and you released her slowly, a silent reminder that if she tried to run again, you were only going to be a few steps behind her.
“Claire, were you going to…” Castiel looked at you, his eyes begging a question that you answered with a simple nod. He turned back to the girl. “Were you going to rob that convenience store?”
“So what if I was?”
“That’s wrong, Claire.” Castiel responded, making Claire laugh a sick, humorless laugh that seemed to echo off every surface within a hundred-foot radius.
“’Wrong,’ Castiel? You want to talk to be about wrong?” She took a step toward the angel, her voice quivering while she spoke, but she did well to hide the sadness by masking it with anger. “You killed my dad, you have no right telling me what’s wrong.”
“I did not.”
“Really?” Claire paused and took a few steps back, her head shaking from side to side as she spoke. “Last I checked, he would still be around if it wasn’t for you. So would my mom. I would have a family.”
“Claire, I’m—“
With an impressive amount of speed Claire whipped the gun from her pocket and pointed it at Castiel, her hands quivering with the emotions that coursed through her, but her aim solid all the same. Castiel reached a hand out and took a step closer, likely ready to begin pleading with her, but she shook her head. “Don’t.”
Castiel’s eyes were sad as he shrugged, his voice almost pitying when he said “That won’t hurt me.”
Claire seemed to consider this a moment before letting a quick “Fine,” escape her lips. Turning her hips as well as her upper body, Claire turned the gun to her right, now pointing it to some area between the Winchesters. The motion was quick and desperate, and seeing the guys being held under the gunpoint of an emotional teenage girl made your heart jump. Your reactions took over within a split second of identifying the threat and in a couple, small seconds you held in the gun in one hand while the other arm was wrapped tightly around Claire Novak’s fighting upper body. You slipped the gun into the pocket of your jacket before letting her go, upon doing which you had to dodge an angry fist from the girl.
“You don’t even know what they did!” She screamed at you, the force of the yell enough to make her bend over slightly at the waist before pointing at Castiel. Turning to him, she screamed “I prayed to you every single night, Castiel. I begged you to bring my dad back, to put my family back together.”
“I know, Claire, I—“
“My father was a good man,” Claire’s teeth were gritted as she said this, her voice no longer in a yell but still equally as bitter. “What the hell kind of world is it that the good get punished, get killed, while creatures like you get to live?”
“I’m sorry, Claire.”
“Don’t.” Claire held a hand up toward the angel and shook her head, the finger quivering as she jabbed it toward him once again. “Don’t.” She repeated. “You might feel guilty, but you’re not sorry.”
“Claire, listen,” Sam said, his hands outstretched toward the teen while he spoke. “What are you going to do, huh? Go back to Randy?”
Your eyebrows crinkled and you looked at Dean for an explanation, but he held his gaze on Claire; while you had originally looked at him to get a brief, albeit sudden explanation as to whom this Randy was, your attention was immediately swerved. Dean’s face was dark, much more than it had been when you’d last seen him, and your stomach dropped in an instant. He was much worse. The shadows emitting from his eyes were strong, even darker than the natural shadows that were being projected across his features from the light of the gas station; his cheeks even looked hollow, the area around his mouth was lowlighted with the darkness. While his expression said ‘strong’ and ‘confident,’ you saw past it. You saw that what he was up against had gotten significantly stronger, that he was scared. That the extent of his fight had changed dramatically, and not for the better.
Claire spoke up, which tore your gaze back to her. “How do you know about Randy?”
“Dustin.” It was Dean who spoke up this time, and in a moment Castiel had chimed in.
“He’s using you, Claire.”
Claire looked at Castiel, and while you couldn’t see her expression first hand you imagined that there was a certain element of disbelief there, dislike. “But he was there for me after you single-handedly ripped apart my family. When things got bad, when they got real damned bad realdamned fast, he was there. He’s my family, Castiel, not you.” Claire shook her head and backed away from Castiel, the movement slowly bringing her closer to you. “You can go to Hell.” She said, still backing up. When she finally backed directly into you she turned, facing you with an accusatory finger-point and tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know who you are, but you can go to Hell, too. Stay out of my life.”
With that she ran.
The four of you looked at each other while you considered whether to go after her or let her run, but when Sam put his hands in his pockets, shook his head, and looked down at the ground, you knew that the decision to let her run had been made.
“So you’re just going to let her go back?” You asked Castiel, your arm lifting itself to gesture toward the girl that had disappeared. “You’re done fighting?”
“She doesn’t want to come with me.” Castiel said. “I believe she has justification.”
“Why do you even care?” Dean asked you, his eyes narrowing while he nodded his head in your direction. When you turned to face him and saw the disgust in his eyes, your heart dropped. “It’s not like you have the capacity to show worry to someone you know, let alone someone you don’t.”
“She helped me.” Castiel explained, turning to Dean and shaking his head. “I brought her into this.”
“You trusted her?” Dean’s arm raised and limply gestured toward you. He scoffed. “Cas, come on.”
“Dean,” Sam interjected, but Dean shook his head.
“Well, am I wrong?” He asked Sam, defensively, before turning back to you. “This isn’t your problem, Y/N.”
You considered holding silence, something you were frighteningly good at doing as of late, but a mixture of worry for the girl and frustration toward Dean made your mouth open, made you finally say what you had been thinking for so long.
“It’s not my problem, Dean?” You asked, and when Sam opened his mouth to speak you raised a hand and slammed your fingers together, mentally pulling his mouth closed. Dean saw his brother’s reaction to your mental surge—something you had always tried to avoid using on the Winchesters—and opened his mouth to speak as well, but you continued without giving him a chance to interject. “Well since you’re so damned good at telling me what my problem is or isn’t, why don’t you elaborate? I have spent the last few weeks trying to help you, trying to show you that I don’t want to be the wicked creature I was destined to be, and honestly I was hoping that you of allpeople would understand what that’s like. You’re mad,” You dropped your hand, freeing Sam’s mouth, and simply let it hang at your side. “I get it. Be mad, you have every right and I’m not telling you that you should forget all of the shit I let you go through, but stop telling me what things are considered ‘my problem.’” You used air quotes around the final two words. “It just so happens that I actually care about the girl because I can relate to her, so I decided to help. Stop,” you pointed a finger at Dean, pressing it against his chest. “Shaming me for helping, only to shame me for not helping. Pick one or the other, Dean, or shut the hell up about it.”
Silence fell and you took a few steps back, your eyes locked on Dean’s a few seconds, the silence filling all gaps of thought for some time. Finally, you spoke once again.
“I’m trying to help as much as I can, trying to do the impossible and show you that I’m sorry for being a shit friend, if you can even call me that. I know I can’t,” you shrugged, “I know I will never be able to undo what’s already been done, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try.”
You waited a moment, half expecting someone to speak up, to interject an opinion or a damning sentence, and were surprised when no one did. After several seconds of silence fell you took a few steps backward, your head shaking from side to side before you shrugged. “I’m trying.” Was all you said before you turned with intention of walking to the back of the store before flying off, but Sam’s voice stopped you.
“Have you been looking for cures to the Mark, Y/N?”
“Of course I have.” You turned to face the trio once again, ignoring Dean for fear of breaking down, turning your gaze to Sam, instead. “Every second of free time I have is devoted to it.”
From the corner of your eye you saw Dean’s expression change, hardly anything obviously noticeable, but something you sensed all the same. His eyes, which had been hardened and cold gained a type of warmth, the muscles around his mouth became less tense and he calmed slightly; his weight shifted, his shoulders relaxed. He looked genuinely surprised by your answer.
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t much care what he had to say and within the blink of an eye you found yourself back in Crowley’s office, sitting on your stack of books, the list of names back in your hand. Crowley looked up at you, not startled as he had apparently gotten used to your frequent coming and going, but you sensed he was going to say something. Unwilling to discuss the details of your sad excuse for a personal life, you simply raised a hand and touched your fingertips together, silencing the king of Hell just as you did Sam Winchester.