Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likedillinger) wrote2010-08-18 10:20 pm
likedillinger) wrote2010-08-18 10:20 pm
Entry tags:
Drabbles for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
autophoenix ; 5+1 meme
Title | Five times Dean wanted to strangle Claire and the one time he really needed his baby sister.
Info | Claire is autophoenix . Verse is BNW + 1 from Everybody's Fucked verse. The last one is some... ambiguous future verse apparently where things ... are going well somehow. Timelines vary."Why does my car smell like disinfectant?"
Claire had been hoping he wouldn't notice right away after all the time she'd spent aiming fans at the interior, but she hadn't been stupid enough to not realize he probably would notice eventually.
She had, however, really just hoped that it would have taken longer than the two seconds between him opening the door and sliding behind the wheel.
His eyes turned towards Claire, who was slouched in the passenger seat already, legs carefully crossed and positioned to conceal the stain she'd failed at getting out completely. His gaze was so accusing considering it could have been anyone, really.
"Maybe Sam was Febreezing a suit in the back seat," she offered helpfully.
"Sam went to the dry cleaners last week."
"Wow, you guys are moving up in the world." He deflected her attempt at humor with another cutting glare.
"What'd you do?" he demanded.
She let out a loud sigh and theatrically rolled her eyes. "Dean, it's not a big deal, really." Her confirmation only served to have him slam his seat back further and start examining every inch of the interior, eyes even scraping the ceilings as if she'd slaughtered someone in the back seat and gotten blood splatters everywhere.
"It's not like you and Sam don't get blood in here all the time," she objected, even as he reached across her to yank the glove compartment open, as if he expected to see a severed hand.
"Not answering my question," he growled.
Finally, she nudged her thigh aside, so that he could see the stain, and his eyes zeroed in
"Nail polish," she answered simply, examining her pink nails, while carefully avoiding his eyes.
"You painted your nails in my car?!"
"You guys took forever interviewing that guy," she pouted slightly.
Dean couldn't even figure out anything else to say, so he angrily threw the car in gear. She couldn't help but take his lack of ordering her out of the car as a small victory.
-----------------------------------------
Dean tried not to curse as he slammed the door of the motel. No use cursing when no one was around to hear it. Sam wouldn't be back til... well who the hell knew when?
It wasn't as if he hadn't spent plenty of nights out with a girl, but that was different. He was always back in plenty of time to get moving the next day, and all cords were severed the second he snuck out their door.
Sam and this Claire chick on the other hand...
He'd used the word love. Coupled with that damn doey look in his eyes, he knew this meant trouble. Not that he didn't want Sam to be happy - 'course he did. But he needed him to be on the same page he was, if there was any chance they were gonna pull this off. And plugging a woman into the equation was gonna unbalance that. Fast.
He wondered vaguely if maybe she'd turn out to be a monster or a demon or some shit too, and this story would end the way all of Sammy's seemed to.
He wouldn't call it wishful thinking, but just past experience. Sammy seemed to have all the luck.
He'd slip her some holy water over lunch the next day. And maybe drop some salt in it.
Couldn't hurt, at least. Well, might burn the bitch's throat out.
But if she was a demon, she was askin' for it.
-------------------------------------------
This was the most awkward fucking dinner of his life.
And he knew there was only one person at fault here, from the way Sam seemed so stupidly oblivious to anything other than his birthday bliss with Claire. And the way Claire avoided too much eye contact with him, except for the sly glances she kept casting between him and Brooke, who sat with an entire foot between them on the booth bench.
Seeing as how there wasn't much conversating being done on his half of the table, he spent his time devising elaborate revenge schemes mentally. Maybe he could convince her he and Elle had hit up Vegas and gotten hitched. That might spike her blood pressure a bit.
But it wouldn't be the same damn thing as this freaking torture she was inflicting on him. He smiled tightly at Sam, not wanting to ruin his birthday, but he couldn't help thinking that what he should have gotten his brother for the occasion was the news that he'd stuffed Claire in a rocket bound for the outer reaches of the cosmos.
It wasn't like living on Pluto would kill her.
----------------------------------------------
Dean was seeing red as he stormed down the steps out of the apartment building. He wanted to go back in there, clock Sylar, or shoot him right between the eyes. But it wouldn't make a goddamn difference in the least. Sylar would toss him around like a rag doll again, do whatever the shit he pleased, and there wasn't a single thing Dean could fucking do about it. His existence mocked Dean's limits, and he ground his teeth against the inevitability of having to accept that.
But some things he didn't have to accept.
Claire being a self righteous complete idiot was definitely one of them. Thinking it was alright to ask Sylar to do that, when it would put everyone else in danger if he snapped. Put Sam in danger, considering whatever Sylar might deny, he still felt something for Claire, and Sam would be a logical first victim. But Claire Bennet hadn't thought two feet past herself to think about the implications of her stupid decision. If she wasn't a chick, he would have punched her right in the goddamn mouth too. But she was, and she was like his freaking sister, so instead he had to ball all that anger up inside and have no idea how to deal with it.
Maybe that was part of the problem here. He led a life where 99% of his problems could be solved or at least temporarily assuaged by the judicious application of violence. But ever since Claire waltzed into their lives, all that had changed.
And right now, he wanted to tell her to turn right the fuck around and march straight back out of it.
----------------------------------------------------------
He heard the slow click of the hammer behind his head, and froze solid.
"Didn't know demons were using guns now," he shot, even as all empty hope of this pointless trip coming to anything drained out immediately.
"Not a demon," came an all too familiar voice behind him, and that empty hope was quickly replaced by a creeping chill, worming its way through his stomach where it boiled all too quickly into anger.
"You gonna shoot me, Claire?" he asked, daring as much to turn around and look her in the face, beyond the hollow barrel of the gun aimed straight at him. He saw his own physical changes mirrored in hers - all that black leather, and slicked back hair, and sharp angry planes of her face. And those dead, fucked up eyes.
He knew those pretty well. Saw 'em every morning in the mirror.
"You wish I'd make it that easy," she said, and there was so much bitterness crammed into the statement, that he was surprised it didn't leap out her fingers and fire the gun anyways.
"Still blaming me, huh?" he said, spinning the bitterness right around and spitting it back at her. "Blaming me for losing Sam, blaming me for losing your damned self after--"
"I didn't lose Sam," she spat, and the gun quivered in her hand as she held it higher, brandishing it wildly at him.
He could see how ugly she'd become and he hated the way she made him doubt his own words.
Maybe she'd chosen the only sensible thing, grabbing onto the little bit they had left of him. Maybe he was just fighting to destroy the only thing that he could have even pretended to live for anymore.
Maybe it was his fault she was like this now.
No. Wasn't true. Wasn't Sam. No matter what this crazy bitch said.
He knew he was probably gonna have to kill her himself. He knew he should probably feel something about that.
Instead, he could have choked the life out of her right then and there, and he wasn't sure he'd have felt one single damn thing.
----------------------------------------
It wasn't the kinda thing he was ever gonna be able to ask Sam about. He couldn't even get the words out, and he'd tried, while they were driving around, sitting in a diner, any number of things. Sometimes he even started, and Sam would look over at him, and knit his brows together and go "What?" in such a demanding voice that the words would retract back in, recoiling back to wherever they'd come from.
He still wasn't sure exactly where that was. He had a sneaking suspicion it was somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, which was what made this damn conversation so freaking hard.
But finally he found himself rapping on Claire's door, rain ricocheting off his coat, while he rocked on his heels like he was five seconds away from taking off like a shot.
The door opened, and some light and warmth escaped from her apartment as she looked out.
"Dean?"
She wanted him to take a seat, but he helped himself to a beer and stayed standing in the door frame. She looked at him critically, arms folding across her chest.
"What happened, Dean? Is it Sam? Did you two get into something?" Her accusations started flying immediately, and he shook his head, almost relieved that her guesses were so far afield.
"No, nothin' like that," he said, taking a sip, and peeling at the label.
"So what is it? Or are you just here to say hi?" There was a bit of an apology there, as she seemd to realized she'd jumped down his throat before jumping to any positive conclusions.
"It's uh... I need ... advice."
That seemed to take her by surprise. She tried to hide it behind a mask of nonchalance, and a little half shrug. "Ok. Advice on what?"
The words sat heavy and awkward on his tongue, but it was nothing like it was when he tried talking to Sam about it. A deep breath, and it just spilled out.
"I need you to help me pick out a ring."
Her eyes were as wide as her follow up smile, and before he knew it, she'd thrown her arms around him, and it wasn't awkward or humiliating or anything but happiness.
And he was grateful as all hell, as he ruffled her hair, to disguise that the hug meant something real to him.
"I'm not very good at this kinda thing," he mumbled.
"She'll love it," Claire beamed. "I'll make sure of that."
no subject
The Sylar and Everybody's Fucked/post-finale ones made me cry. Legitly. There are tears. ;_; /clings to. Thanks for putting my heart back in with the +1 afterward, though.
/loves on. You're the best omg I'm ... in love with this so much. ;_;
no subject
Yeah I just kept getting... more serious ideas as I went, and I got the EF idea at work today and it made me wibbly. And I honestly intended to make the last one an angst boat until the moment I finished writing that horribly depressing shit, lmao.
<333 ILU. AND YOU GET SIX MORE :D
no subject
LMFAO I'm really glad you made it happy because I needed it after all of that heart-wrenching angst. ;_; Sobs we really are the same person though bc I was ... going over potential scenes of Claire ... threatening Dean and Sylar down the road in BNW yesterday. So this was just like SCREAMS ARDEN READS MY MIND.
YESSSS SIX MORE. /rejoices. /rolls around in your love.
no subject
no subject
Yeah angst is my bread and butter so it wins, but I... do have a happy heart in there somewhere too. lmao despite any rumors the contrary.
ILUUUU Chris :3
no subject
Can I steal some of your writing mojo and just ... never give it back?
no subject
SURE HAVE SOME /throws at
no subject
/rolls around in