Drabble: Claire Asks Nicely
Title: Claire Asks Nicely
Fandom: Supernatural
Wordcount: 300
Notes: For a prompt on tumblr.
Claire is bound to a chair in a warehouse on Bonnie Lane and an angel is whispering in her ear. She should be home writing a book report on Gregor the Overlander, but no, she is tied to the chair so she cannot run around while they kill her. It is too terrifying to think about, really, so she doesn’t and-a blink, a feeling like a car trip packed into a moment, all the long waiting and the unwinding miles under her feet, and suddenly those feet are in sneakers on bubbling asphalt in North Carolina. A blink, and Claire is seventeen and hunting down a being that freed her, that snapped her ropes and boiled the demons inside their bodies. Following a trail through a parking lot.
Sometimes she thinks the angel burnt up a bit of her insides the way it burned away the ropes. But she was a tool to the angel the same way her mother was a tool for the demons, and Claire isn’t really rooting for anyone, now.
Claire is twelve and just wants her Daddy back. Claire is seventeen and ready to burn up an angel to get him. Because she wasn’t freed when the ropes slid away from her body; hell, the angel was just trying to save some drifters, some guys she’s never known, really, besides the names they gave. Claire doesn’t have an angel around who will swing to her rescue by burning in the body of a little girl from Pontiac. Claire just has Claire, thanks, and the only way she’s ever getting free is if she steps out alone on that American road, if she does it at twilight and taps her heels three times and asks real nice, and then she’ll whisk herself away.
Fandom: Supernatural
Wordcount: 300
Notes: For a prompt on tumblr.
Claire is bound to a chair in a warehouse on Bonnie Lane and an angel is whispering in her ear. She should be home writing a book report on Gregor the Overlander, but no, she is tied to the chair so she cannot run around while they kill her. It is too terrifying to think about, really, so she doesn’t and-a blink, a feeling like a car trip packed into a moment, all the long waiting and the unwinding miles under her feet, and suddenly those feet are in sneakers on bubbling asphalt in North Carolina. A blink, and Claire is seventeen and hunting down a being that freed her, that snapped her ropes and boiled the demons inside their bodies. Following a trail through a parking lot.
Sometimes she thinks the angel burnt up a bit of her insides the way it burned away the ropes. But she was a tool to the angel the same way her mother was a tool for the demons, and Claire isn’t really rooting for anyone, now.
Claire is twelve and just wants her Daddy back. Claire is seventeen and ready to burn up an angel to get him. Because she wasn’t freed when the ropes slid away from her body; hell, the angel was just trying to save some drifters, some guys she’s never known, really, besides the names they gave. Claire doesn’t have an angel around who will swing to her rescue by burning in the body of a little girl from Pontiac. Claire just has Claire, thanks, and the only way she’s ever getting free is if she steps out alone on that American road, if she does it at twilight and taps her heels three times and asks real nice, and then she’ll whisk herself away.