Happy birthday, Lass! <333
May. 17th, 2010 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
be_themoonso I was just thinking about things like Casfest and how I am totally nervous about whether I can actually write Castiel well enough and then I realized that OMG IT IS whynot 's BIRTHDAY YAY! Happy birthdaaaaay, Lass! You are amazing! Not least of all for helping get together Casfest, that thing of beauty! FIRSTLY let me pimp Casfest for you.
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castielfest castielfest castielfest
SECONDLY have some fic! it is not much, but it is all yours. <333333333 You are FANTASTIC, okay?
us with our pilgrim hearts
Supernatural, Ben, Jesse, Claire, vague subtexty Ben/Jesse/Claire. 966 words. Title from Motel 1 by Allison Titus. Forwhynot /![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lassiterfics .
whynot 's BIRTHDAY YAY! Happy birthdaaaaay, Lass! You are amazing! Not least of all for helping get together Casfest, that thing of beauty! FIRSTLY let me pimp Casfest for you.castielfest castielfest castielfestSECONDLY have some fic! it is not much, but it is all yours. <333333333 You are FANTASTIC, okay?
us with our pilgrim hearts
Supernatural, Ben, Jesse, Claire, vague subtexty Ben/Jesse/Claire. 966 words. Title from Motel 1 by Allison Titus. For
whynot /lassiterfics .Claire bends over just a little further, lets her t-shirt ride up over her bare skin and smiles at the trucker, faking staggering drunk quite credibly.
"You're going to waste your money," Ben says, his face lending itself well to an expression of anger and annoyance, and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
"Boyfriends," she snorts, sharing a look of long-suffering forbearance with the trucker, and puts down another fifty dollar bill.
Later, when she's walking away with a pocketful of cash and a confident swing to her hips, Ben hooks a fond arm around her shoulder and yells something she can't hear above the noise in the bar. She grins, picking up the tone and knowing he's just ragging on people who can't look further than their noses again.
Tomorrow they'll take care of that ghost two towns over, but for tonight it's just them and the town and whatever they want to do.
"I can't believe you feel a need to hustle pool," Jesse says, coming out of nowhere as always. "You're wasting your talents." It's the same argument as ever, and Claire wraps an arm around his shoulder, dragging her boys closer.
"Someone has to keep the world safe," she says cheerfully. Jesse scoffs, but he buys them drinks.
+
The air is dry in New Mexico, and she coughs her way through an exorcism. They're rare these days. It's hard to climb out of the pit after the Apocalypse became a no-show, but some demons always manage to claw their way up. Claire always finds them, a sixth sense guiding her unerring to mayhem and murder. She's been able to sense anything supernatural since she was young, a lingering touch of angel from Castiel's possession of her. She likes to think it's his gift to her. It helps fight the bitterness that always comes when angels are brought up.
"It's okay, sweetie," she croons. "Come on, let's get you to a hospital." Ben helps her, and between them they get her laid down in the back of the van, dehydrated and malnourished but alive.
It is moments like this that make it all worthwhile, and Claire catches Ben's eyes and smiles, long and slow. He smiles back and pulls the van out.
+
"I am not your personal Antichrist," Jesse says in annoyance soon after she texts him for the fifth time, standing where she could have sworn there had been a standing lamp just a moment ago.
"It's Ben, you jackass," she says. "There's a witch's coven here, and he went exploring and then he vanished and he hasn't answered my texts for six hours now and I can't fucking find the witches."
"Oh," Jesse says, his face going appropriately alarmed, and takes a half-turn around the room. "I'll have a look-see, shall I?"
"No," Claire says, and produces a disassembled hex bag from the table drawer. "You will tell me where this hex bag came from, and that will lead us to the witches."
"Even better!" Jesse says enthusiastically, and closes his eyes as he lays a light hand over the laid out herbs. The control he's gained over his abilities always astounds her, and frequently makes her a little jealous, but now she's just relieved.
+
"Bitch," Claire mutters at Ben as she undoes the ropes binding his hands.
"Jerk," he says half-heartedly, and rubs some circulation back into his arms. Behind them Jesse is lecturing the group of young witches, looking solemn, ingenuous and about fifteen with his floppy hair. She'll cut it sometime soon, she really will.
"Let's go," she tells Ben, and they head out together, Ben limping. There's a wound in his leg she'll have to stitch up, and a twitchy look of near death in his eyes that she knows will be there for the next few days, until he lets it fade away until next time.
True to form, he doesn't sleep that night, but Jesse sticks around for a little bit this time and they all get drunk together, so she knows things won't get too bad. It's not like the time the werewolf tore his clothes open and only just missed the skin or the time a demon got the jump on them and Claire spent three days in the hospital unconscious, when he gets drunk alone and goes somewhere far inside himself, somewhere she'd rather not know about.
Those days, there isn't anything she can do for him. At least this way she can kiss them good morning and share her pain killers, which is better than nothing.
+
Their moms call sometimes, worried but resigned. Claire and Ben always commiserate together afterwards, comparing questions and requests to bundle up or take vitamins or go to bed on time, pointing out to each other all the reasons they can't do these things that they'll never tell their moms.
"I love you," Claire tells Ben one night, lying on the roof of the van with her feet dangling off, staring at the stars with him.
"I love you too," Ben says, and she can tell he's smiling by something in his voice. She takes his hand and squeezes, and somewhere below them Jesse says, "You guys are such saps," probably reading a map or something suitably nerdy like that. Claire and Ben smile and slide down to join him, bare foot in the grass under the moon.
+
"You mess up and I'll toss you out at the next town," Claire warns Ben, and he shrugs.
"I'm not incompetent," he says. "And it's a La Llorona." She looks at him, suddenly intrigued, and he ducks his head, shy and sweet. "I did my research."
"Maybe you can stay, then," Claire says, and tosses a box of shells at him. He catches it.
"You're going to waste your money," Ben says, his face lending itself well to an expression of anger and annoyance, and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
"Boyfriends," she snorts, sharing a look of long-suffering forbearance with the trucker, and puts down another fifty dollar bill.
Later, when she's walking away with a pocketful of cash and a confident swing to her hips, Ben hooks a fond arm around her shoulder and yells something she can't hear above the noise in the bar. She grins, picking up the tone and knowing he's just ragging on people who can't look further than their noses again.
Tomorrow they'll take care of that ghost two towns over, but for tonight it's just them and the town and whatever they want to do.
"I can't believe you feel a need to hustle pool," Jesse says, coming out of nowhere as always. "You're wasting your talents." It's the same argument as ever, and Claire wraps an arm around his shoulder, dragging her boys closer.
"Someone has to keep the world safe," she says cheerfully. Jesse scoffs, but he buys them drinks.
+
The air is dry in New Mexico, and she coughs her way through an exorcism. They're rare these days. It's hard to climb out of the pit after the Apocalypse became a no-show, but some demons always manage to claw their way up. Claire always finds them, a sixth sense guiding her unerring to mayhem and murder. She's been able to sense anything supernatural since she was young, a lingering touch of angel from Castiel's possession of her. She likes to think it's his gift to her. It helps fight the bitterness that always comes when angels are brought up.
"It's okay, sweetie," she croons. "Come on, let's get you to a hospital." Ben helps her, and between them they get her laid down in the back of the van, dehydrated and malnourished but alive.
It is moments like this that make it all worthwhile, and Claire catches Ben's eyes and smiles, long and slow. He smiles back and pulls the van out.
+
"I am not your personal Antichrist," Jesse says in annoyance soon after she texts him for the fifth time, standing where she could have sworn there had been a standing lamp just a moment ago.
"It's Ben, you jackass," she says. "There's a witch's coven here, and he went exploring and then he vanished and he hasn't answered my texts for six hours now and I can't fucking find the witches."
"Oh," Jesse says, his face going appropriately alarmed, and takes a half-turn around the room. "I'll have a look-see, shall I?"
"No," Claire says, and produces a disassembled hex bag from the table drawer. "You will tell me where this hex bag came from, and that will lead us to the witches."
"Even better!" Jesse says enthusiastically, and closes his eyes as he lays a light hand over the laid out herbs. The control he's gained over his abilities always astounds her, and frequently makes her a little jealous, but now she's just relieved.
+
"Bitch," Claire mutters at Ben as she undoes the ropes binding his hands.
"Jerk," he says half-heartedly, and rubs some circulation back into his arms. Behind them Jesse is lecturing the group of young witches, looking solemn, ingenuous and about fifteen with his floppy hair. She'll cut it sometime soon, she really will.
"Let's go," she tells Ben, and they head out together, Ben limping. There's a wound in his leg she'll have to stitch up, and a twitchy look of near death in his eyes that she knows will be there for the next few days, until he lets it fade away until next time.
True to form, he doesn't sleep that night, but Jesse sticks around for a little bit this time and they all get drunk together, so she knows things won't get too bad. It's not like the time the werewolf tore his clothes open and only just missed the skin or the time a demon got the jump on them and Claire spent three days in the hospital unconscious, when he gets drunk alone and goes somewhere far inside himself, somewhere she'd rather not know about.
Those days, there isn't anything she can do for him. At least this way she can kiss them good morning and share her pain killers, which is better than nothing.
+
Their moms call sometimes, worried but resigned. Claire and Ben always commiserate together afterwards, comparing questions and requests to bundle up or take vitamins or go to bed on time, pointing out to each other all the reasons they can't do these things that they'll never tell their moms.
"I love you," Claire tells Ben one night, lying on the roof of the van with her feet dangling off, staring at the stars with him.
"I love you too," Ben says, and she can tell he's smiling by something in his voice. She takes his hand and squeezes, and somewhere below them Jesse says, "You guys are such saps," probably reading a map or something suitably nerdy like that. Claire and Ben smile and slide down to join him, bare foot in the grass under the moon.
+
"You mess up and I'll toss you out at the next town," Claire warns Ben, and he shrugs.
"I'm not incompetent," he says. "And it's a La Llorona." She looks at him, suddenly intrigued, and he ducks his head, shy and sweet. "I did my research."
"Maybe you can stay, then," Claire says, and tosses a box of shells at him. He catches it.
