Aftermath • supernatural

two

t w o

     Claire Novak, unlike most assumptions spilled about her, does a pretty good job handling her anger issues. She's friendly most days, just, not around idiots blasting loud music. Especially if that music isn't good music.

     She meant for the rock to hit the wall behind him, not for him to move, get hit by it, and land on the ground next to her. Now, he's in her motel room because, goddamnit, she's a nice person.

     "Am I in the hospital?" The bed creaks under his weight. She quickly moves the glass of water off the nightstand before his hand knocks it off. Reaching for glasses, alarm clock, she doesn't understand his motive here.

His eyes open slowly as he shifts his body weight to sit up. He meets her gaze, although she's not really sure he's fully aware of her presence or his location. She prays she didn't give him a concussion.

"Here," she hands him the glass of water, "drink this."

He takes it, his hand shaking slightly. Not too street-wise, she notices. She wouldn't take anything from a stranger who (not the point here) kidnapped her. It's just common sense, for hunters at least; sort of like how she laced half the glass with holy water.

He downs the cup in one go, wiping his mouth with his arm. In a horrific attempt to set the it back on the nightstand, the glass hits the floor instead, shattering.

Claire winces.

"It's...it's okay." She gets up off the adjacent bed, looking around for something to sweep the glass up with. Heading to the minuscule closet in the corner, she calls back. "I'm Claire, by the way."

"Ben. That's my name. Ben Braeden."

She sighs. From the moment she watched his body begin its descent to the ground, she knew it was the one person fate twisted it to be. His hair, his voice, it was the exact man she came to this town for. And, like she always does, she made first appearances something...memorable.

There's a small broom and tray nestled in the back of the space; she grabs them both and goes to clean up the mess. She's about halfway done when he starts asking real questions.

"Where am I? Did you...this isn't my home, is it?" He looks down at her, curling his toes against the bed sheets.

She decides in this moment that it's go big or go home, no matter the situation.

"You're in my motel room. I dragged you here using my upper body strength and a shitty pickup truck." She continues on, watching his expression change rapidly. "Oh, and I know more about you than you probably do. I'm kinda great at stalking."

He chokes.

     "It's not for reasons you'd think, though." She watches him, his breathes ragged, his eyes wide in terror. He has yet to move still. "I'd say I'm sorry but I struggle with this whole sympathy thing. I can and will promise to not waste your time, or hit you with any more rocks. Just hear me out."

     He gazes over at the motel room's door.

    He jumps up, heading for it. Claire grabs his arm, pulling him towards her until their eyes are inches apart.

    "I'm the reason your mother's dead."

    And with that, he punches her.

• • •

    She's laying on the carpet now. The stench of mildew and cheap wine drives her brain through endless loops of nothingness. The boy, Ben, is screaming above her. He's yelling out curses through tears, although she can't make a single word out. It's as if her brain's on static, a square television ripped from the wall and smashed against the floor. Only the electrical cable remains intact.

    After what feels like the entire Stone Age, Claire begins to regain her sense of composure and awareness of the atmosphere. It's quiet, with only the occasional sob released through bitten lips. She can tell he's still pissed off, just that he's calmed down enough for her to talk to him.

     She licks her lip, tasting blood. "I guess I deserve that."

    No response.

     "I just..."

     "What do you mean you killed my mom?"

     His voice is quiet, or just a lot quieter than it was a few minutes ago. It's painful to hear, how his rage was drained from his body, leaving behind only sorrow and confusion.

     Claire stays on the ground, not keen on the idea of having to look him in the eyes. "I know things, okay? I know who you are and where you live. I knew what the creatures were that killed your mom yet I still didn't get my job done right. I got them one day too late. One day. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing I'm responsible for her death and that I'm the fucking reason your life fell apart?"

     She sits up, her eyes glassy.

     "I know I'm not a nice person, I didn't come here to make friends. But, I came here because you're the only person who I can ask for help. I have a family, but the ones still here disowned me and the rest disappeared off the face of the earth. I don't...I don't know what to do, okay? I'm supposed to be responsible, or brave, or something but instead I sought out you because you're my only hope in finding them."

     He looks at her, tears streaming down his cheeks. He's quiet and still; he doesn't really know what to say in this situation.

     And, to be honest, she doesn't really know either.