Finding Sanctuary Part 1
Title: Finding Sanctuary : AO3
Challenge: jimmybigbang
Author: midnightheir
Artist: slinkymilinky : Art Masterpost
Beta: tawg
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Claire Novak, Castiel, James ‘Jim’ Murphy, David Gideon, Sam & Dean Winchester. No pairings.
Warnings/Squicks: +All events in this story are expected to be Jossed by the end of S7. +Dub-con re angelic possession. +Second hand re-telling of an angelic massacre. +Dark and twisty nightmare scenarios with possible mild gore and mind games. +Menace, peril and a ‘malnourished’ youth. +Minimal Winchesters +Bittersweet, happy ending.
Word Count: 12 327
Summary: **AU S7 veers off by end of 7.03** The angels spoke to Claire for so long, pestering, questioning and interrogating her for more than two years. That was until the day her father’s face became a viral video and their empty promises became terrified cries that faded into silence. Now Claire dreams in monotone and knows things no one really should about monsters that disappeared long ago. Oh and sometimes she wonders what happened to Cas.
(Some events from 7.04 through 7.07 have happened in the background. 7.08 onwards are to be completely disregarded.)
In the great tradition of the last period before lunch all eyes in the classroom were trained to the wall clock. Tick-tick-tick.
“To recap, electrons orbit the nucleus in orbits that have a set size and energy, the energy of the orbit is related to its size and the lowest energy is found in the smallest orbit.”
In a second time honored tradition of all bored students the world over Claire continued to doodle idly in the margin of her chemistry notes. A circle with a jagged lightning bolt scrawled in the lower left quarter with a backwards three for extra decoration. Above it was the most highly decorative squiggle she’d ever divined. Intersecting lines that sprouted off into tiny haphazard shapes which dared to cross the margin-note line and disappear into a diagram of an atom. What was gibberish in algebra became patterns in art building up into an elaborate design that was never quite done. A line here, a dash there; forming incomplete sequences that tickled at the tip of her tongue. Clearing her throat she looked up again, Bohr’s atoms: very important for passing the year. Focus a necessity.
“Radiation is absorbed or emitted when an electron moves from one orbit to another. Study, a test will be happening in the next seven days.”
Honestly it was if the thing had a mind of its own. Barely noticing it, her hand was taking her pen on a fabulously wacky journey all over her note pad. With more zest than before lines and shapes were sprouting like mushrooms across the page. Slamming it down Claire reached for her bag. After three years of night time visits and poorly timed whispers Claire figured there was nothing that Heaven or The Host tm could toss her way that she couldn’t handle. ‘Creeper love is deeper love’ .This was new. She’d grown accustomed to the idea that there might be beady eyes in her less than innocent dreams about Justin Bieber trying to find new ways to catch her out, This was different and a touch freaky. A full frontal assault in the middle of the day was almost desperate.
“And you may go.” Mr Messner finished.
Claire’s hands shook, palms sweaty, and breathing sharp. What started out as a whisper that itched at the soft spot just behind the ear grew into a persistent buzz interfering with her concentration and focus. Book in bag, pen sent spiralling across the table to bounce onto the floor. Packing away her things she smiled brightly at her class mate. “I’ll be right out Stacie.” Teeth gritted she reached for her phone out of habit, a quick skim of Facebook before lunch for the latest gossip then out to the quad until afternoon lessons began.
‘You have 1 new message and three missed calls’
From: Mom
To: Claire
Sent: 11:01
Are you alright? Call me now x.
Frowning Claire tapped on the screen. Hurrying out of the path of oncoming students she brought the phone to her ear.
“Welcome to your Sprint voicemail service. You have three new messages. First message: honey I want you to go to Gram Sally after school. Something might be outside the house.” Amelia’s disembodied voice reported. “If you would like to repeat the message press 2, to delete press 3, for features and settings press 4.to save press 5.” Secreted between a wall of lockers decorated in school pride and hastily scrawled declarations of love Claire pressed ‘3’. “I haven’t taken the survival bag out of your trunk so everything you need should be right there. I want you to get an extra bag of rock salt, a water bottle and use the emergency credit card for funds,” she told her. “Leave school now.” Through the earpiece Claire heard her mom’s sigh. “Don’t worry about me I’ve got the spare one here, I’ll call you. If you would like to re-...” Heart pounding in her chest Claire struck ‘3’ again. “False alarm. Come home honey. End of messages. You have no new messages.”
Numbed she walked towards her locker, pulled out her lunchbox and netbook to shove into her bag, tugged the flap close and meandered towards the nearest exit phone still precariously gripped in hand.
“Claire!”
“I have a, er family emergency.” Claire stuttered walking out the door barely registering Stacie at her side. “My mom, she’s erm …” Drawing in a deep breath she glanced over, schooling her features into a mask. This wasn’t television and she wasn’t Buffy. There was simply no good time or easy way to sit a person down and tell them how incredibly complicated and petty the supernatural world was. “I got to go.”
*-*-*
WHO IS THIS MAN?
Is this one of the most elaborate hoaxes of modern time? Yesterday, in what can only be described as a day to remember of countless ‘miracles’, murders and mayhem, a single man was reported to be responsible for everything from a bloody slaughter to the healing of the blind. Sighted in over thirteen different states and with at least two confirmed appearances in Europe people are beginning to speculate whether this is a prank gone horrifically wrong. The man, reported to be James Novak, 38, of Pontiac Illinois disappeared from his home over three years ago and is described as a family man with strong religious views by a source at his previous place of employment. If seen the public are advised to not approach and contact local authorities immediately.
Instinctively Claire’s shoulders hunched down and the front page discarded. Three pages in a second smaller article in a side column piqued her interest.
HOME INVASION IN QUIET SURBURB LEAVES NEIGHBORHOOD SHAKEN
Two lines in and she crushed the paper between her palms revelling in the warm satisfaction that bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Caught under the strip lighting of a gas stop store Claire pressed herself up against the vacant space by a shelf of canned vegetables. In spite of having her hands shoved into the depths of her baggy pockets she could feel the bite of clammy palms. Anxiety threaded through her nervous system, igniting each cluster with a barely containable twitch. It didn’t matter if she was imagining it or not, her exposed back felt like it had a good old weighty target strapped onto it right now. Sweat and cheap alcohol filtered through the air of the gas stop store, the intermittent sound of her rapid heartbeat punctuated by the infrequent buzz of the door being automatically triggered to open with each new customer.
It’s easier said than done; planning for a road trip of indeterminable length. Sure she’d sat with her friends at lunch and they’d fantasised about the open road and parent-free living. Stranded in a Sip-N-Go on the way out of town had a way of killing the adventure. Grimacing Claire threw in a can of good old reliable Heinz Baked Beans before lugging her wares to the till. “Bag of rock salt and Tydenol too.” A tight smile spread over her face while cold fingers pulled out a twenty dollar bill.
Out in the car Claire stared at the second bag stuffed in the back of the trunk, with a bag of rock salt now thrust upon it like a blanket. A handy holdall for all your unfortunate demonic or angelic needs, crow bar, water, a few hastily written chants and a little Enochian mumbo-jumbo. Digging out a sharpie from her school bag Claire tugged the trunk door of her Prius down. In the corner of the rear window she began, the lines and circles coming out like water from an open tap. Bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight and surrounded by vapors of gasoline anxiety evaporated to be replaced by the stark relief that something so natural and human could provide. Fervently she worked, an echo of a previous time small devils traps leading into ornate abstract, jagged, asymmetrical shapes. Time continued to tick past and her art spread from the outer edge towards the center of the pane.
“Excuse me?”
“Hmm.” Lips pressed together in concentration split apart, head jerked to one side and up to view the attendant.
“Are, you okay?”
Blinking slowly Claire turned back to her art. “I’m.” ‘confused’ “fine.” Forcing a smile she moved briskly to the driver’s seat and disappeared inside. Releasing a held breath Claire jarred the key into the ignition and pulled away.
*-*-*
Air rushed round her ankles, spiralled up splayed exposed flesh to dance in her hair. It kissed the back of her neck and ran down across the forefront of the cheesy virginal white smock Claire always seemed to be sporting these days. Blues meshed with silvery greys to expand and contract before pulling together to form statues of spectacularly bizarre creatures. Reared up on two legs a unicorn perched atop a globe, from behind trees peeked monkeys and elves their eyes locked onto her silhouette. Wrapped in their tails hung decorated crystalline balls. Held proudly in the hands of satyr two perfect spheres - exactly like the others blue and decorated with the outline of continents and polar caps. Crisp strands of grass poked up to tickle at her feet with every step taken. It was like stumbling into Alice In Wonderland without the spooky twins. Again a second gust of wind swept through spinning precariously balanced creatures about until they faced away from her. Edging closer to the collection of monkeys cracks began to appear all around her, soft edges grew pointed and barbed cutting into the balls of her feet.
“Hello?”
Viscous dark liquor began to ooze from the cracks coating the blue earths littered round her. From the orifices of the animals black slime continued to bubble up with a sickening pop-pop-pop. Each tiny sound serving to punctuate and highlight the quiet that hung over this place. Facial features distorted and mis-aligned shattering at the edges of the statues by pointed fangs that tore through. Bursting bubbles splattered the slime across the body of the unicorn, separating out into familiar Enochian scrawl. “No, no, no!” Fake-blood from dream wounds trickled down to merge with the pool of liquid that was beginning to flood the entire area. Blue earths were swallowed whole with the animals that had held or played with them, swept away in a wave of slime.
Distorted by distance and completely inhumane, a voice taunted her, “Claire.”
Pulling back Claire sought the entrance from this screwed up garden of messed up Eden. Heart pounding and lungs gasping for air her hands wrapped round the edges of a mysteriously stationed lamppost and she pulled, thrashed and fought her way clear.
Wrapped in a sleeping bag liner and summer blazer Claire jerked upright in the back of her car. A hand hung over her thundering heart and Claire willed it to cease and desist, it was just a dream. A freaky, funky new style dream to go with the weird panic that’d swallowed her whole before she left home. There were no monsters out to get her, no demons lurking in the pre-dawn shrubbery. This was a hiccup in the scheduled programming of her almost normal teenage life.
Tomorrow night there’d be a motel, a bed, some real food, and a destination. This ungodly hour in the morning she’d sit in the back of her car and do what any other self respecting girl her age would do - play Angry Birds.
*-*-*
Sal’s Sunnyside Motel and Michelle its night manager had zero right to be this cheery at this time in the morning. Claire was calling it: pod-person observing the ways of humans before trying to take over. An interesting idea if not for all the chaos her uneasy gut was telling her would follow. Rolling her car to a halt in a feat of driving that would make all the guys everywhere laugh, Claire stumbled out and wandered in pulling her sweat stained blazer round her skanky figure. Lank hair with greasy roots was a look she was absolutely going to bring back. Huddled in the lobby a thin smile pasted across her washed out face she waited for Michelle to come bounding back out of the rear like the enthusiastic Labrador puppy she must’ve been in a previous life.
“Now this is ya room key, that’s 218 just go out the door long to the end of the row and ya’ll find yourself tuckered right into the corner.” Michelle waved the cracked plastic tog in Claire’s face. “Breakfast is in a couple of hours if ya feel like staying up. Just hop over to the diner and tell them ya staying with us. Check out’s spot on eleven, money’s upfront.”
“Thank you. I’m lookin-.”
“Things to do? Of course, brochures are all stacked over there. Maps and gas from the truck stop two miles north up the interstate.”
Digging deep Claire mustered up all the shattered scraps of strength she could find left in her exhausted frame, “An ATM actually.” She countered.
Michelle had the decency to look flustered, “The truck stop is probably the best bet for that too, Honey.”
At a worn table that reeked of polish Claire stopped to collect brochures. State fairs, small towns left to ruin by the interstate when it was built to completely bypass them. Slices of nostalgia and whimsy scattered over a water damaged surface, neatly alphabetized in a plastic and wire wall hanging directly behind it. The tip of one finger flicked over the edges, separating out pamphlet after pamphlet looking for some kind of blind inspiration. An omen of where to go or what to do next would be especially awesome. Ghost hunts and flower shows advertised side by side. Taking them both she walked out into a parking lot with the infrequent scent of burnt coffee and fried eggs wafting over it.
A thread bare carpet, lumpy mattress with a faint tinge of bleach clogging up musty air, gross didn’t even begin to cover it. Curled atop starched sheets Claire stared blankly at the window, early morning light casting grey shadows over her. Leaflets scattered across the bedspread their pages folded and torn. Beneath her grip stiff cotton gathered to be smoothed out again. Mom was laying low with no idea of what was going on or how to get her back. No contact because there was no safe way of checking in. She’d pray except there was no sign that anyone was listening. More cloth pressed between her fingers stretched taut under the pressure. Senior year of high school was meant to be Hell not some on the fly trip. Stifling a yawn she pressed her head down into the crook of her arm. This sucked.
*-*-*
The forecourt was crowded with cars by the time Claire arrived. Peering out from beneath the flap Claire caught a glimpse of her gaunt features in the rear view mirror. Mascara and blush couldn’t hide the dark bags that hung beneath her eyes or the haunted expression that lurked beneath her gaze. Claire ran her fingers through her hair tugging it back into a crude ponytail. Sooner or later she’d sleep through the night and make up for some of the blagh that was weighing her down.
Unlike the last store this one buzzed with energy. Strangers milled and loitered about picking up gum, reading headlines before shoving the papers back into the stand, gaze set on the timestamp on the security tape pitched up above the attendant’s head. Here Claire disappeared into the cramped space and throng. Ears picked up words that washed over her. Arms wrapped round her middle Claire targeted candy and twizzlers scooping them up in her palm. Balanced against her front she hit up the magazine stand next deliberately bypassing the papers and their follow up expose on her dad.
Icy air blasted out of the cooler when collecting strawberry milk bringing goose bumps up across her forearms. Condiments balanced, Claire caught the lip of the fridge door with the toe of her foot. With a neat jerk the door swung back on itself, capturing the reflection of another customer nearby. Black-grey smoke billowed under the faded image of a guy standing behind her. Stunned Claire side stepped her back banging into the next fridge in the row while cold fear tore through the pit of her stomach. Eyes locked onto him looking for confirmation of the demon she’d seen there.
“Can I help you?”
“It’s …” smooth human skin and sceptical human eyes glanced at her. “Nothing.” Claire shook her head pushing the image to the back of her mind.
’Great’A side order of crazy to go with exhaustion and lousy hair. Claire snagged an atlas from a stack by the register and paid for her stuff.
“Alright then.” Time to kick this adventure up a gear and make a plan! Pen out she flipped the book over in her hands, folding the back cover on itself to read through the index. Tip of the ballpoint skimmed over the page putting little asterisks by names that made her smile. ‘Blue Earth, MI?’ Brows knitted together trying to place it; geographically speaking the county was pretty huge. “Blue Earth.” Sounding the words out Claire grinned her eye drawn to the town of the same name. There was a familiarity to it, a homeliness that less than a week on the road had left her yearning for. “Aw Man.”
She was going to need more gas.
*-*-*
Welcome To Blue Earth. Population: 3209
Driven into the ground on a wooden stake a home made sign had been placed, twenty one of the most reassuring letters carefully painted on.
The Safest Place On Earth.
It was single-handedly the most comforting thing that Claire had seen in days.
Silvery mist hung over the skyline, shrouding the green-black heads of tall trees in a protective blanket. Unlike the fair weather she’d encountered for the best part of her ‘adventure’ the change in temperature made everything feel more grounded. Up and down the streets buildings were haphazardly strewn, their fronts painted white and their signs remarkably quaint. Laced between familiar store fronts Claire spotted quaint throwbacks to pictures in her history textbook. “Ye Olde Barre?” Head ducked down to peer round the rear view mirror shaking back and forth ever so slightly. At the periphery of her vision a grocery store was tucked two actual doors down. This place was amazing with such a tender old fashioned buzz to it. People walked up and down the sidewalk carrying brown paper bags loaded with stuff, they stopped and they talked just like they did back at her home.
It wasn’t obvious at first. The way people came out and criss-crossed the main street Claire drove up, or how they seemed to watch her car as it cruised by. However by the time Claire reached the intersection for either the interstate or the next town over she saw flashes of it. Faces of men who’d been walking the street two blocks over casually glancing at her car, the same three kids her age chilling at the corner, their faces neutral. Gritting her teeth Claire moved onwards eyes focused on the road ahead and fingers reflexively gripping tighter on the steering wheel. In the pit of her stomach nerves electrified and sang, blood rang in her ears. This place wasn’t safe or secure or way off the grid. This place was like that place in that movie where everyone had been inbred and ate the stragglers. She’d seen that movie and she knew the kinds of things that were really out there and Claire Ruth Novak was not going to be the appetiser at some screwed up buffet. The palm of her hand caught the worn end of the indicator intent on exiting the town before she got a flat that would totally seal her doom. Fumbling with the gear stick Claire struggled to turn the car round the corner her gaze skimming over the kids on the corner, church at the end of the block and parked cars scattered up the side of the road.
If panic was a wonderful motivator then anger was a direct line to courage. Stained glass windows glinted in daylight winking at Claire in her wing mirrors. Framed in plastic and a line of silver paint the likeness of her dad swept briefly by, stern faced and staring coldly inwards. Tyres screeched on the tarmac, Claire’s hair positively swished when she turned back to stare in disbelief, “What. The Hell?”
There was a car park, or a driveway, at the rear of the church. Claire wasn’t really sure and right now she didn’t exactly care. Popping the lid of her trunk she dumped the contents of her school bag onto the tiny patch of exposed carpet left there. Rifling through her bag of supplies Claire hauled out a half litre of holy water, her pen knife, bottle of salt, and pre-recorded exorcism. Tossing them into her shoulder bag she suited up, hand moving to her chest to check for the reassuring weight of a protective charm. Fingers wrapped round the lip of the door and tugged down, hard. This was creepy and weird and so very wrong and someone was going to tell her what was going on.
“Enochian and a little Aramaic if I’m not mistaken.” A man stood there at the hood of her car, arms folded across his chest barely hiding the hand hold walkie-talkie he had in one hand. Head tilted forward he indicated where the trunk door had been a second before. Around his neck a white dog collar was tucked into the top of a black shirt. “I haven’t seen that in a very long while.” He admitted, expression warmer than the folded arms and uneven gait might suggest. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you straight into my home. You seem a little young to be hunting.”
‘Hunting?’ Claire’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly, “So how do we do this?” Slowly she reached into her bag hand scrabbling round for the water bottle. “I’ve got holy water.”
The tension in her host’s body evaporated with a soft laugh. “Do you now? Well I’ll drink yours if you’ll drink mine.” He placed the walkie-talkie down onto the hood followed by a small, sealed test tube of liquid. “Walk around.”
Claire put the bottle down on the roof before edging round, her gaze remained locked onto him. Old, kind of good looking for his age, laugh lines lost amongst the wrinkles. A carefully groomed beard that was full of flecks of grey. Wetting her lips she picked up the vial digging her nail under the seal to prise it off. Sniffing at the contents Claire grimaced slightly, icy cold she poured it onto the back of her hand when the man looked across at her. Palms up, fingers splayed she waited, amazed when he took a small sip. “We’re cool now.”
“Absolutely, I’m Pastor David Gideon.” His head tilted down studying the graffiti she’d impulsively added to her car “A demonic ward too.”
“Yea.” Biting into her lower lip she added quickly “Keeps them out my car.”
Screwing the lid back onto Claire’s bottle Pastor Gideon turned on his heel, an arm extended out to invite her inside.
The nave of the church smelt of smoke and sandalwood. A green carpet stretched over the ground to stop by the stone steps that led up to the font. It was smaller than the one Claire went to with her parents in Pontiac, as old fashioned as the grocery store and bar. Claire slid into the third pew hands resting on the seat of the row in front. Bathed in color from the stained glass she stared at the profile of her dad. Standing, old trench coat flowing round his figure, the same cheap suit he’d worn when he’d left home over three years ago. Only to get shot in it.
“It’s not much to look at but that’s a real honest to God angel.” Pastor Gideon told her from where he lent against the end of the pew she sat on. “Castiel and he saved this parish.”
“That’s my Dad.” Claire corrected, “Castiel’s something else. Different, scalding hot and completely overwhelming.”
Carpet muffled footfalls when Gideon moved to sit near her. His clothes crumpled where he sat and rustling when he slid along until he sat within an arm’s reach of Claire. “That must be an honor. To be in service of Heaven like that.”
“It’s weird.” Absently the tips of Claire’s fingers circled near her temple. “Freaky.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.”
Words stuck to the tip of her tongue. The glass lacked cracks or remodelling, “How, why is my dad in the window?”
David’s gaze lifted from her profile to the window, a small huff of air coming from his lips. “In return for loyalty and shelter Castiel came here and un-damned the parishioners and myself.” Pausing for a moment he continued “He’d recovered much of his might.”
Claire felt her jaw clench. “They’re not the same.” She spat. “Pictures of my Dad are in the newspaper and in your window. Castiel does whatever she wants…”
“Okay, okay.” A wry smile spread, “I’ve seen the video clip, it’s not the angel I know of.” He met Claire’s gaze evenly, “That’s something else. A monster killed my daughter and stole her face not so long ago. After something like that the concept of ‘evil twins’ is easy to accept. It was no one I’m familiar with.”
Sullen faced Claire glanced down at her lap where her fingers threaded the strap of her school bag back and forth across her palms. Hair fell down over her face, frayed tips brushing over her forearms. It felt better being somewhere where she could talk about the spooky stuff that so rudely interrupted her life.
“You look exhausted …” There was a distinct shift in the Pastor’s tone and tact, softer and kinder again.
He certainly wasn’t wrong; the color was gone from her face and she could smell the day old sweat on her skin and clothes. “Claire.” She admitted drawing hair back to tuck behind her ear sheepishly and half a tired smile spreading on her face. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“There’s space in the refectory if you want somewhere secure to spend the night.” he offered, “There’s a hot shower, demon proofing, and fresh food in the cupboard.” Gideon paused, “In the morning I’ll find somewhere for you to stay.”
Without a word Claire weighed her options. Another night alone in a lonely motel room versus the back seat of her car. A proper bed in a real building sounded rather awesome. “Okay, let me get my stuff.”
*-*-*
In the absence of voices and madness Technicolor swirled about her. Warped and too bright it would grow into flamingos and pixies, their eyes empty glaciers and their mouths the most hideous maws. Teeth, jagged and sharp, splintered through the gaps, heads twisted on their necks watching where she walked, springing to life and searching until they found her tucked out of sight. Behind uneven fence lines, beneath weeping willows distorted creatures roamed, their beauty tainted by an ancient evil that made her skin crawl in the waking world. Bare feet pressed into damp earth carrying Claire deeper into a forest of palm trees and old oaks that was haphazardly developing as she moved. Across the bark marks appeared symbols that had infected her waking life, slipped into algebra and art formed again and again. The scent of sewage swept into the area, choking her lungs. With a hand to her face Claire desperately moved sideways no longer caring if her dream-clothes got tore up or her flesh became as contaminated as the dream-scape. “Wake up.” she hissed, eyes drawn to the sigils again. “Wake up and get out of here.” Around her ankle a barbed vine wrapped tightening fiercely to force Claire to a halt. Heaving breaths came with alarming frequency whilst fingers coiled into the thick flesh pulling sharply, off shoots sprouted coiling up Claire’s arms pulling her into a tight knot. “Let. Me. Go.” she shrieked. Forced to her knees she looked up from behind sweat soaked hair eyes once again settling down upon words. “Ra-a-gah, yi-oh-es, ve-nu-kno,” Gibberish turned to English. Claire dug her heels into the ground urgently looking for the rest, struggling back vines snapped from her forearms, “Knochi-oh-es, pe-teh, ah-ma-la dei, zug.”
Panting hard the plant life retreated and the forest faded leaving the outline of a tiny church etched into a silvery blue backdrop. Balanced on the balls of her feet Claire stared at the outline, watched it warp and twist into the shape of a blue earth only to fragment and shatter. Brushing imaginary dirt from her arms blackness followed shortly after.
“Oh. My. God” she groaned rolling onto her back the back of one hand slapping down onto Claire’s already sweaty forehead. In spite of bedding, hair and clothes alike stuck to her skin making the marching band doing laps on her forehead the second worst thing she was forced to deal with right then. Fumbling round on the side of the bed stand her fingers brushed the lip of the Tydenol. Steeling herself for one impromptu snatch and grab she managed to snag it without having the band in her skull add break dancing to their list of super cool tunes they were beating out. Forcing two tablets down her dried out throat she closed her eyes and waited for it to be over.
Frankly at this point, Claire had preferred the angels.
Part II
Challenge: jimmybigbang
Author: midnightheir
Artist: slinkymilinky : Art Masterpost
Beta: tawg
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Claire Novak, Castiel, James ‘Jim’ Murphy, David Gideon, Sam & Dean Winchester. No pairings.
Warnings/Squicks: +All events in this story are expected to be Jossed by the end of S7. +Dub-con re angelic possession. +Second hand re-telling of an angelic massacre. +Dark and twisty nightmare scenarios with possible mild gore and mind games. +Menace, peril and a ‘malnourished’ youth. +Minimal Winchesters +Bittersweet, happy ending.
Word Count: 12 327
Summary: **AU S7 veers off by end of 7.03** The angels spoke to Claire for so long, pestering, questioning and interrogating her for more than two years. That was until the day her father’s face became a viral video and their empty promises became terrified cries that faded into silence. Now Claire dreams in monotone and knows things no one really should about monsters that disappeared long ago. Oh and sometimes she wonders what happened to Cas.
(Some events from 7.04 through 7.07 have happened in the background. 7.08 onwards are to be completely disregarded.)
In the great tradition of the last period before lunch all eyes in the classroom were trained to the wall clock. Tick-tick-tick.
“To recap, electrons orbit the nucleus in orbits that have a set size and energy, the energy of the orbit is related to its size and the lowest energy is found in the smallest orbit.”
In a second time honored tradition of all bored students the world over Claire continued to doodle idly in the margin of her chemistry notes. A circle with a jagged lightning bolt scrawled in the lower left quarter with a backwards three for extra decoration. Above it was the most highly decorative squiggle she’d ever divined. Intersecting lines that sprouted off into tiny haphazard shapes which dared to cross the margin-note line and disappear into a diagram of an atom. What was gibberish in algebra became patterns in art building up into an elaborate design that was never quite done. A line here, a dash there; forming incomplete sequences that tickled at the tip of her tongue. Clearing her throat she looked up again, Bohr’s atoms: very important for passing the year. Focus a necessity.
“Radiation is absorbed or emitted when an electron moves from one orbit to another. Study, a test will be happening in the next seven days.”
Honestly it was if the thing had a mind of its own. Barely noticing it, her hand was taking her pen on a fabulously wacky journey all over her note pad. With more zest than before lines and shapes were sprouting like mushrooms across the page. Slamming it down Claire reached for her bag. After three years of night time visits and poorly timed whispers Claire figured there was nothing that Heaven or The Host tm could toss her way that she couldn’t handle. ‘Creeper love is deeper love’ .This was new. She’d grown accustomed to the idea that there might be beady eyes in her less than innocent dreams about Justin Bieber trying to find new ways to catch her out, This was different and a touch freaky. A full frontal assault in the middle of the day was almost desperate.
“And you may go.” Mr Messner finished.
Claire’s hands shook, palms sweaty, and breathing sharp. What started out as a whisper that itched at the soft spot just behind the ear grew into a persistent buzz interfering with her concentration and focus. Book in bag, pen sent spiralling across the table to bounce onto the floor. Packing away her things she smiled brightly at her class mate. “I’ll be right out Stacie.” Teeth gritted she reached for her phone out of habit, a quick skim of Facebook before lunch for the latest gossip then out to the quad until afternoon lessons began.
‘You have 1 new message and three missed calls’
From: Mom
To: Claire
Sent: 11:01
Are you alright? Call me now x.
Frowning Claire tapped on the screen. Hurrying out of the path of oncoming students she brought the phone to her ear.
“Welcome to your Sprint voicemail service. You have three new messages. First message: honey I want you to go to Gram Sally after school. Something might be outside the house.” Amelia’s disembodied voice reported. “If you would like to repeat the message press 2, to delete press 3, for features and settings press 4.to save press 5.” Secreted between a wall of lockers decorated in school pride and hastily scrawled declarations of love Claire pressed ‘3’. “I haven’t taken the survival bag out of your trunk so everything you need should be right there. I want you to get an extra bag of rock salt, a water bottle and use the emergency credit card for funds,” she told her. “Leave school now.” Through the earpiece Claire heard her mom’s sigh. “Don’t worry about me I’ve got the spare one here, I’ll call you. If you would like to re-...” Heart pounding in her chest Claire struck ‘3’ again. “False alarm. Come home honey. End of messages. You have no new messages.”
Numbed she walked towards her locker, pulled out her lunchbox and netbook to shove into her bag, tugged the flap close and meandered towards the nearest exit phone still precariously gripped in hand.
“Claire!”
“I have a, er family emergency.” Claire stuttered walking out the door barely registering Stacie at her side. “My mom, she’s erm …” Drawing in a deep breath she glanced over, schooling her features into a mask. This wasn’t television and she wasn’t Buffy. There was simply no good time or easy way to sit a person down and tell them how incredibly complicated and petty the supernatural world was. “I got to go.”
*-*-*
WHO IS THIS MAN?
Is this one of the most elaborate hoaxes of modern time? Yesterday, in what can only be described as a day to remember of countless ‘miracles’, murders and mayhem, a single man was reported to be responsible for everything from a bloody slaughter to the healing of the blind. Sighted in over thirteen different states and with at least two confirmed appearances in Europe people are beginning to speculate whether this is a prank gone horrifically wrong. The man, reported to be James Novak, 38, of Pontiac Illinois disappeared from his home over three years ago and is described as a family man with strong religious views by a source at his previous place of employment. If seen the public are advised to not approach and contact local authorities immediately.
Instinctively Claire’s shoulders hunched down and the front page discarded. Three pages in a second smaller article in a side column piqued her interest.
HOME INVASION IN QUIET SURBURB LEAVES NEIGHBORHOOD SHAKEN
Two lines in and she crushed the paper between her palms revelling in the warm satisfaction that bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Caught under the strip lighting of a gas stop store Claire pressed herself up against the vacant space by a shelf of canned vegetables. In spite of having her hands shoved into the depths of her baggy pockets she could feel the bite of clammy palms. Anxiety threaded through her nervous system, igniting each cluster with a barely containable twitch. It didn’t matter if she was imagining it or not, her exposed back felt like it had a good old weighty target strapped onto it right now. Sweat and cheap alcohol filtered through the air of the gas stop store, the intermittent sound of her rapid heartbeat punctuated by the infrequent buzz of the door being automatically triggered to open with each new customer.
It’s easier said than done; planning for a road trip of indeterminable length. Sure she’d sat with her friends at lunch and they’d fantasised about the open road and parent-free living. Stranded in a Sip-N-Go on the way out of town had a way of killing the adventure. Grimacing Claire threw in a can of good old reliable Heinz Baked Beans before lugging her wares to the till. “Bag of rock salt and Tydenol too.” A tight smile spread over her face while cold fingers pulled out a twenty dollar bill.
Out in the car Claire stared at the second bag stuffed in the back of the trunk, with a bag of rock salt now thrust upon it like a blanket. A handy holdall for all your unfortunate demonic or angelic needs, crow bar, water, a few hastily written chants and a little Enochian mumbo-jumbo. Digging out a sharpie from her school bag Claire tugged the trunk door of her Prius down. In the corner of the rear window she began, the lines and circles coming out like water from an open tap. Bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight and surrounded by vapors of gasoline anxiety evaporated to be replaced by the stark relief that something so natural and human could provide. Fervently she worked, an echo of a previous time small devils traps leading into ornate abstract, jagged, asymmetrical shapes. Time continued to tick past and her art spread from the outer edge towards the center of the pane.
“Excuse me?”
“Hmm.” Lips pressed together in concentration split apart, head jerked to one side and up to view the attendant.
“Are, you okay?”
Blinking slowly Claire turned back to her art. “I’m.” ‘confused’ “fine.” Forcing a smile she moved briskly to the driver’s seat and disappeared inside. Releasing a held breath Claire jarred the key into the ignition and pulled away.
*-*-*
Air rushed round her ankles, spiralled up splayed exposed flesh to dance in her hair. It kissed the back of her neck and ran down across the forefront of the cheesy virginal white smock Claire always seemed to be sporting these days. Blues meshed with silvery greys to expand and contract before pulling together to form statues of spectacularly bizarre creatures. Reared up on two legs a unicorn perched atop a globe, from behind trees peeked monkeys and elves their eyes locked onto her silhouette. Wrapped in their tails hung decorated crystalline balls. Held proudly in the hands of satyr two perfect spheres - exactly like the others blue and decorated with the outline of continents and polar caps. Crisp strands of grass poked up to tickle at her feet with every step taken. It was like stumbling into Alice In Wonderland without the spooky twins. Again a second gust of wind swept through spinning precariously balanced creatures about until they faced away from her. Edging closer to the collection of monkeys cracks began to appear all around her, soft edges grew pointed and barbed cutting into the balls of her feet.
“Hello?”
Viscous dark liquor began to ooze from the cracks coating the blue earths littered round her. From the orifices of the animals black slime continued to bubble up with a sickening pop-pop-pop. Each tiny sound serving to punctuate and highlight the quiet that hung over this place. Facial features distorted and mis-aligned shattering at the edges of the statues by pointed fangs that tore through. Bursting bubbles splattered the slime across the body of the unicorn, separating out into familiar Enochian scrawl. “No, no, no!” Fake-blood from dream wounds trickled down to merge with the pool of liquid that was beginning to flood the entire area. Blue earths were swallowed whole with the animals that had held or played with them, swept away in a wave of slime.
Distorted by distance and completely inhumane, a voice taunted her, “Claire.”
Pulling back Claire sought the entrance from this screwed up garden of messed up Eden. Heart pounding and lungs gasping for air her hands wrapped round the edges of a mysteriously stationed lamppost and she pulled, thrashed and fought her way clear.
Wrapped in a sleeping bag liner and summer blazer Claire jerked upright in the back of her car. A hand hung over her thundering heart and Claire willed it to cease and desist, it was just a dream. A freaky, funky new style dream to go with the weird panic that’d swallowed her whole before she left home. There were no monsters out to get her, no demons lurking in the pre-dawn shrubbery. This was a hiccup in the scheduled programming of her almost normal teenage life.
Tomorrow night there’d be a motel, a bed, some real food, and a destination. This ungodly hour in the morning she’d sit in the back of her car and do what any other self respecting girl her age would do - play Angry Birds.
*-*-*
Sal’s Sunnyside Motel and Michelle its night manager had zero right to be this cheery at this time in the morning. Claire was calling it: pod-person observing the ways of humans before trying to take over. An interesting idea if not for all the chaos her uneasy gut was telling her would follow. Rolling her car to a halt in a feat of driving that would make all the guys everywhere laugh, Claire stumbled out and wandered in pulling her sweat stained blazer round her skanky figure. Lank hair with greasy roots was a look she was absolutely going to bring back. Huddled in the lobby a thin smile pasted across her washed out face she waited for Michelle to come bounding back out of the rear like the enthusiastic Labrador puppy she must’ve been in a previous life.
“Now this is ya room key, that’s 218 just go out the door long to the end of the row and ya’ll find yourself tuckered right into the corner.” Michelle waved the cracked plastic tog in Claire’s face. “Breakfast is in a couple of hours if ya feel like staying up. Just hop over to the diner and tell them ya staying with us. Check out’s spot on eleven, money’s upfront.”
“Thank you. I’m lookin-.”
“Things to do? Of course, brochures are all stacked over there. Maps and gas from the truck stop two miles north up the interstate.”
Digging deep Claire mustered up all the shattered scraps of strength she could find left in her exhausted frame, “An ATM actually.” She countered.
Michelle had the decency to look flustered, “The truck stop is probably the best bet for that too, Honey.”
At a worn table that reeked of polish Claire stopped to collect brochures. State fairs, small towns left to ruin by the interstate when it was built to completely bypass them. Slices of nostalgia and whimsy scattered over a water damaged surface, neatly alphabetized in a plastic and wire wall hanging directly behind it. The tip of one finger flicked over the edges, separating out pamphlet after pamphlet looking for some kind of blind inspiration. An omen of where to go or what to do next would be especially awesome. Ghost hunts and flower shows advertised side by side. Taking them both she walked out into a parking lot with the infrequent scent of burnt coffee and fried eggs wafting over it.
A thread bare carpet, lumpy mattress with a faint tinge of bleach clogging up musty air, gross didn’t even begin to cover it. Curled atop starched sheets Claire stared blankly at the window, early morning light casting grey shadows over her. Leaflets scattered across the bedspread their pages folded and torn. Beneath her grip stiff cotton gathered to be smoothed out again. Mom was laying low with no idea of what was going on or how to get her back. No contact because there was no safe way of checking in. She’d pray except there was no sign that anyone was listening. More cloth pressed between her fingers stretched taut under the pressure. Senior year of high school was meant to be Hell not some on the fly trip. Stifling a yawn she pressed her head down into the crook of her arm. This sucked.
*-*-*
The forecourt was crowded with cars by the time Claire arrived. Peering out from beneath the flap Claire caught a glimpse of her gaunt features in the rear view mirror. Mascara and blush couldn’t hide the dark bags that hung beneath her eyes or the haunted expression that lurked beneath her gaze. Claire ran her fingers through her hair tugging it back into a crude ponytail. Sooner or later she’d sleep through the night and make up for some of the blagh that was weighing her down.
Unlike the last store this one buzzed with energy. Strangers milled and loitered about picking up gum, reading headlines before shoving the papers back into the stand, gaze set on the timestamp on the security tape pitched up above the attendant’s head. Here Claire disappeared into the cramped space and throng. Ears picked up words that washed over her. Arms wrapped round her middle Claire targeted candy and twizzlers scooping them up in her palm. Balanced against her front she hit up the magazine stand next deliberately bypassing the papers and their follow up expose on her dad.
Icy air blasted out of the cooler when collecting strawberry milk bringing goose bumps up across her forearms. Condiments balanced, Claire caught the lip of the fridge door with the toe of her foot. With a neat jerk the door swung back on itself, capturing the reflection of another customer nearby. Black-grey smoke billowed under the faded image of a guy standing behind her. Stunned Claire side stepped her back banging into the next fridge in the row while cold fear tore through the pit of her stomach. Eyes locked onto him looking for confirmation of the demon she’d seen there.
“Can I help you?”
“It’s …” smooth human skin and sceptical human eyes glanced at her. “Nothing.” Claire shook her head pushing the image to the back of her mind.
’Great’A side order of crazy to go with exhaustion and lousy hair. Claire snagged an atlas from a stack by the register and paid for her stuff.
“Alright then.” Time to kick this adventure up a gear and make a plan! Pen out she flipped the book over in her hands, folding the back cover on itself to read through the index. Tip of the ballpoint skimmed over the page putting little asterisks by names that made her smile. ‘Blue Earth, MI?’ Brows knitted together trying to place it; geographically speaking the county was pretty huge. “Blue Earth.” Sounding the words out Claire grinned her eye drawn to the town of the same name. There was a familiarity to it, a homeliness that less than a week on the road had left her yearning for. “Aw Man.”
She was going to need more gas.
*-*-*
Welcome To Blue Earth. Population: 3209
Driven into the ground on a wooden stake a home made sign had been placed, twenty one of the most reassuring letters carefully painted on.
The Safest Place On Earth.
It was single-handedly the most comforting thing that Claire had seen in days.
Silvery mist hung over the skyline, shrouding the green-black heads of tall trees in a protective blanket. Unlike the fair weather she’d encountered for the best part of her ‘adventure’ the change in temperature made everything feel more grounded. Up and down the streets buildings were haphazardly strewn, their fronts painted white and their signs remarkably quaint. Laced between familiar store fronts Claire spotted quaint throwbacks to pictures in her history textbook. “Ye Olde Barre?” Head ducked down to peer round the rear view mirror shaking back and forth ever so slightly. At the periphery of her vision a grocery store was tucked two actual doors down. This place was amazing with such a tender old fashioned buzz to it. People walked up and down the sidewalk carrying brown paper bags loaded with stuff, they stopped and they talked just like they did back at her home.
It wasn’t obvious at first. The way people came out and criss-crossed the main street Claire drove up, or how they seemed to watch her car as it cruised by. However by the time Claire reached the intersection for either the interstate or the next town over she saw flashes of it. Faces of men who’d been walking the street two blocks over casually glancing at her car, the same three kids her age chilling at the corner, their faces neutral. Gritting her teeth Claire moved onwards eyes focused on the road ahead and fingers reflexively gripping tighter on the steering wheel. In the pit of her stomach nerves electrified and sang, blood rang in her ears. This place wasn’t safe or secure or way off the grid. This place was like that place in that movie where everyone had been inbred and ate the stragglers. She’d seen that movie and she knew the kinds of things that were really out there and Claire Ruth Novak was not going to be the appetiser at some screwed up buffet. The palm of her hand caught the worn end of the indicator intent on exiting the town before she got a flat that would totally seal her doom. Fumbling with the gear stick Claire struggled to turn the car round the corner her gaze skimming over the kids on the corner, church at the end of the block and parked cars scattered up the side of the road.
If panic was a wonderful motivator then anger was a direct line to courage. Stained glass windows glinted in daylight winking at Claire in her wing mirrors. Framed in plastic and a line of silver paint the likeness of her dad swept briefly by, stern faced and staring coldly inwards. Tyres screeched on the tarmac, Claire’s hair positively swished when she turned back to stare in disbelief, “What. The Hell?”
There was a car park, or a driveway, at the rear of the church. Claire wasn’t really sure and right now she didn’t exactly care. Popping the lid of her trunk she dumped the contents of her school bag onto the tiny patch of exposed carpet left there. Rifling through her bag of supplies Claire hauled out a half litre of holy water, her pen knife, bottle of salt, and pre-recorded exorcism. Tossing them into her shoulder bag she suited up, hand moving to her chest to check for the reassuring weight of a protective charm. Fingers wrapped round the lip of the door and tugged down, hard. This was creepy and weird and so very wrong and someone was going to tell her what was going on.
“Enochian and a little Aramaic if I’m not mistaken.” A man stood there at the hood of her car, arms folded across his chest barely hiding the hand hold walkie-talkie he had in one hand. Head tilted forward he indicated where the trunk door had been a second before. Around his neck a white dog collar was tucked into the top of a black shirt. “I haven’t seen that in a very long while.” He admitted, expression warmer than the folded arms and uneven gait might suggest. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you straight into my home. You seem a little young to be hunting.”
‘Hunting?’ Claire’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly, “So how do we do this?” Slowly she reached into her bag hand scrabbling round for the water bottle. “I’ve got holy water.”
The tension in her host’s body evaporated with a soft laugh. “Do you now? Well I’ll drink yours if you’ll drink mine.” He placed the walkie-talkie down onto the hood followed by a small, sealed test tube of liquid. “Walk around.”
Claire put the bottle down on the roof before edging round, her gaze remained locked onto him. Old, kind of good looking for his age, laugh lines lost amongst the wrinkles. A carefully groomed beard that was full of flecks of grey. Wetting her lips she picked up the vial digging her nail under the seal to prise it off. Sniffing at the contents Claire grimaced slightly, icy cold she poured it onto the back of her hand when the man looked across at her. Palms up, fingers splayed she waited, amazed when he took a small sip. “We’re cool now.”
“Absolutely, I’m Pastor David Gideon.” His head tilted down studying the graffiti she’d impulsively added to her car “A demonic ward too.”
“Yea.” Biting into her lower lip she added quickly “Keeps them out my car.”
Screwing the lid back onto Claire’s bottle Pastor Gideon turned on his heel, an arm extended out to invite her inside.
The nave of the church smelt of smoke and sandalwood. A green carpet stretched over the ground to stop by the stone steps that led up to the font. It was smaller than the one Claire went to with her parents in Pontiac, as old fashioned as the grocery store and bar. Claire slid into the third pew hands resting on the seat of the row in front. Bathed in color from the stained glass she stared at the profile of her dad. Standing, old trench coat flowing round his figure, the same cheap suit he’d worn when he’d left home over three years ago. Only to get shot in it.
“It’s not much to look at but that’s a real honest to God angel.” Pastor Gideon told her from where he lent against the end of the pew she sat on. “Castiel and he saved this parish.”
“That’s my Dad.” Claire corrected, “Castiel’s something else. Different, scalding hot and completely overwhelming.”
Carpet muffled footfalls when Gideon moved to sit near her. His clothes crumpled where he sat and rustling when he slid along until he sat within an arm’s reach of Claire. “That must be an honor. To be in service of Heaven like that.”
“It’s weird.” Absently the tips of Claire’s fingers circled near her temple. “Freaky.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.”
Words stuck to the tip of her tongue. The glass lacked cracks or remodelling, “How, why is my dad in the window?”
David’s gaze lifted from her profile to the window, a small huff of air coming from his lips. “In return for loyalty and shelter Castiel came here and un-damned the parishioners and myself.” Pausing for a moment he continued “He’d recovered much of his might.”
Claire felt her jaw clench. “They’re not the same.” She spat. “Pictures of my Dad are in the newspaper and in your window. Castiel does whatever she wants…”
“Okay, okay.” A wry smile spread, “I’ve seen the video clip, it’s not the angel I know of.” He met Claire’s gaze evenly, “That’s something else. A monster killed my daughter and stole her face not so long ago. After something like that the concept of ‘evil twins’ is easy to accept. It was no one I’m familiar with.”
Sullen faced Claire glanced down at her lap where her fingers threaded the strap of her school bag back and forth across her palms. Hair fell down over her face, frayed tips brushing over her forearms. It felt better being somewhere where she could talk about the spooky stuff that so rudely interrupted her life.
“You look exhausted …” There was a distinct shift in the Pastor’s tone and tact, softer and kinder again.
He certainly wasn’t wrong; the color was gone from her face and she could smell the day old sweat on her skin and clothes. “Claire.” She admitted drawing hair back to tuck behind her ear sheepishly and half a tired smile spreading on her face. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“There’s space in the refectory if you want somewhere secure to spend the night.” he offered, “There’s a hot shower, demon proofing, and fresh food in the cupboard.” Gideon paused, “In the morning I’ll find somewhere for you to stay.”
Without a word Claire weighed her options. Another night alone in a lonely motel room versus the back seat of her car. A proper bed in a real building sounded rather awesome. “Okay, let me get my stuff.”
*-*-*
In the absence of voices and madness Technicolor swirled about her. Warped and too bright it would grow into flamingos and pixies, their eyes empty glaciers and their mouths the most hideous maws. Teeth, jagged and sharp, splintered through the gaps, heads twisted on their necks watching where she walked, springing to life and searching until they found her tucked out of sight. Behind uneven fence lines, beneath weeping willows distorted creatures roamed, their beauty tainted by an ancient evil that made her skin crawl in the waking world. Bare feet pressed into damp earth carrying Claire deeper into a forest of palm trees and old oaks that was haphazardly developing as she moved. Across the bark marks appeared symbols that had infected her waking life, slipped into algebra and art formed again and again. The scent of sewage swept into the area, choking her lungs. With a hand to her face Claire desperately moved sideways no longer caring if her dream-clothes got tore up or her flesh became as contaminated as the dream-scape. “Wake up.” she hissed, eyes drawn to the sigils again. “Wake up and get out of here.” Around her ankle a barbed vine wrapped tightening fiercely to force Claire to a halt. Heaving breaths came with alarming frequency whilst fingers coiled into the thick flesh pulling sharply, off shoots sprouted coiling up Claire’s arms pulling her into a tight knot. “Let. Me. Go.” she shrieked. Forced to her knees she looked up from behind sweat soaked hair eyes once again settling down upon words. “Ra-a-gah, yi-oh-es, ve-nu-kno,” Gibberish turned to English. Claire dug her heels into the ground urgently looking for the rest, struggling back vines snapped from her forearms, “Knochi-oh-es, pe-teh, ah-ma-la dei, zug.”
Panting hard the plant life retreated and the forest faded leaving the outline of a tiny church etched into a silvery blue backdrop. Balanced on the balls of her feet Claire stared at the outline, watched it warp and twist into the shape of a blue earth only to fragment and shatter. Brushing imaginary dirt from her arms blackness followed shortly after.
“Oh. My. God” she groaned rolling onto her back the back of one hand slapping down onto Claire’s already sweaty forehead. In spite of bedding, hair and clothes alike stuck to her skin making the marching band doing laps on her forehead the second worst thing she was forced to deal with right then. Fumbling round on the side of the bed stand her fingers brushed the lip of the Tydenol. Steeling herself for one impromptu snatch and grab she managed to snag it without having the band in her skull add break dancing to their list of super cool tunes they were beating out. Forcing two tablets down her dried out throat she closed her eyes and waited for it to be over.
Frankly at this point, Claire had preferred the angels.
Part II