No additional warnings for this scene.
“Oh my God, the freshmen just traded up.” Sally said wide-eyed, staring at the door of the diner. It was a campus restaurant, so really just a step up from “mess hall”, but it had all the tacky black, white and red décor that was supposed to suggest the 50s but made Claire think of a hospital gone to seed. She turned to look at where Sally’s hormone-addled gaze was focused, then groaned.
“Not so much,” she said, grinding her teeth.
“Claire! Baby! Found you! You know this campus is huge?” Ben fell into the open chair next to her, grinning, his long lanky legs banging against the table legs. Sally began preening and scooting around, trying to show off her best features to the devastatingly beautiful man known to Claire as “that pain in my ass.”
“Ben. Surprise. And how did you find me? Again?”
“You would not believe how helpful the girls in your dorm are. They knew exactly where you were.” Ben nodded earnestly, as if he did not know full well that he traded on his looks like a model during Fashion Week. “Hiya. Ben.” He stuck out his hand to Sally, who giggled.
“I’m Sally!”
“I’m sure you are.” Ben winked at her, and Claire stomped on his foot. “Ow!”
“What are you doing here? I’m eating lunch.”
“Riiiiight. Looks more like a puddle of grease with mayonnaise.”
“Also known as a cheeseburger.”
“Whatever. I need your help.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Uncle Bobby’s not answering his phone.”
“So? He’s probably passed out drunk in one of the junkers out back, looking for Sam again.”
Ben sighed. “He’s on a hunt. And he’s not answering his phone.”
Claire looked over at him, and studied the tense set of his eyes. “Sally? Could you excuse us a moment? Family business.”
Dean Winchester died when Ben Braeden was 16 years old. By that time, he had taught Ben how to shoot gun and cross bows, throw knives, and fight dirty. Ben’s mother was a pagan yoga instructor who worshipped trees and non-violent activism, but did not oppose Dean’s idea of after-school lessons because all three of them knew monsters lurked in the dark. Dean never went on a hunt, not once in all the years he was Ben’s father, but he stayed ready for a fight and Ben was his willing protégé.
But Dean also never really recovered from losing his younger brother Sam, and never seemed very comfortable in his own skin. He drank too much, and drove drunk too often, until one late night he totaled the Impala and himself in the side of a large, stately oak tree that died not long after the accident. Neither Ben nor his mother was very surprised by it, but the loss of Dean did not hurt any less.
Two days after the funeral, the mysterious Bobby Singer – often referred to, but never actually seen or heard from – showed up at Ben’s high school, rolling up in a battered van just as classes let out and asking Ben if he wanted to do a favor for Dean. Ben figured he could fight off the old man if things got weird, so said “sure” and climbed in the van.
That night Ben participated in his first salt-and-burn, and as the flames licked up the sides of Dean Winchester’s grave, Bobby pretended that neither of them were crying and just said, “Good job, kid.”
“You eat junk like that, it’ll make you sick. C’mon, I’ll fix you a real meal.” Ben poked at the to-go bag Claire had put the remainder of her lunch in.
“Food is food. Doesn’t matter. We can’t all be gourmands, and anyway it’s cheap.”
Ben rolled his eyes, and Claire almost considered throwing the greasy bag at him. He had been raised by a woman who cooked every meal from scratch and who believed her son should do the same, which was ironically exactly how Claire’s mom had tried to raise Claire. Lisa’s hippy-chick ways had sunk in deeper to Ben than the Bible lessons had sunk into Claire, so his idea of dinner was often food that Claire could not find words to describe. Like, tempeh. She shuddered.
“I got this new carrot cake recipe, uses applesauce. I’ll make it for you.”
“Ben, you got me to help you find Uncle Bobby. Can we stick with that?”
“Sure.” Ben loped next to her on the sidewalk as they headed for his car. He was short as a boy – Claire had seen the pictures – but hit some kind of killer growth spurt at 18 and now topped off at 6’4”. He was stocky, though, built like a rugby player, and Bobby sometimes called him Sam by accident. Claire called him Benzilla and tried not to laugh when he hit his head on door frames because, at 23 years old, he still forgot how tall he was sometimes.
“So where are we going?”
“Last place I heard from Bobby.”
“And would that be any place in particular?” Claire sighed.
“Detroit.”
Amelia Novak never recovered from the loss of her husband. At least, that is what Claire told her friends. The truth was that Amelia broke so hard after everything that happened, there were no pieces left of her to put back together. She joined church after church, looking for the one that would give her the answers she was willing to hear, until she finally came under the sway of a store-front revivalist group, fundamentalist to the extreme and living for the end times. She tried to put Claire in “modest” clothes and force her into bible study for two hours every night but Claire had been a vessel for an angel of the Lord and figured she had earned her exemptions.
They fought every day, and Claire cried every night, but when Claire started tenth grade she came home to find her mother gone. “Off to Nazareth to await the Word” was how the note left on the kitchen table started, followed a long list of Claire’s irreligious, sinful behavior that in some twisted way was all Castiel’s fault. Too numb to cry that night, Claire fixed herself a box of macaroni and cheese for dinner and went to bed.
She prayed out of habit more than with any sense of faith, and so was surprised when she woke up later that night to find Castiel sitting at the foot of her bed. He looked at her, his eyes soft and sad, and for a moment she wondered if he missed her father as much as she did. At least he had let her know when Jimmy died, right after Sam beat Lucifer, with a gentle nudge in her dreams. Castiel never had to spell anything out, he always left breadcrumbs in her subconscious, so his personal visit was frightening. She pulled the sheets up to her chin and blinked at him.
He did not say anything, simply put a piece of paper into her hand and gently tapped her forehead with two fingers to put her into a deep, restful sleep. When she woke up, she dialed the number on the paper he had left, and met Bobby Singer.
The drive was through five states, three major cities, two severe thunderstorms, and one oil change. Ben did not know a damn thing about cars, so he kept his ancient 2007 Toyota Corolla in top condition through regular maintenance check-ups. Claire did not know much more than he did, so did not argue with the delay.
She walked out of the gas station shop with her stash of beef jerky and twinkies to find Ben standing in front of the car with his hands in the air, as if being held at gun point.
“It wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t there, and even if I was, you can’t pin it on me.”
“Oh Ben, shut up.” Claire walked around him and handed a twinkie to Jesse, who was sitting on the hood looking dark and mysterious as usual. He was a polar opposite to Ben in size and shape, utterly ordinary in height and carrying himself like any of one million 20-something surfer dudes. His face was nice to look at but not exceptional, and in fact Claire often had trouble remembering what he looked like when he wasn’t around, which was most of the time. She suspected he did that on purpose, though. He lounged on the car in an unusual mix of surfer shorts and a plaid button down shirt sleeve – his tastes were nothing if not eclectic, as if he did not really understand the whole “what humans are supposed to wear” fashion thing. Claire thought that being immune to the weather might do that to anyone.
“What’s up?” She asked, carefully keeping her distance from him. When they first met, she had thought he was teh hawtness (surfers and skateboarders being her fatal flaw), and was embarrassed to remember her fumbling attempts at making a pass at him. Now, she knew he guarded his personal space with extreme prejudice and probably did not even like girls, so she kept a polite distance between them at all times.
“I don’t know. Bobby sent me.” Jesse shrugged, his mouth full of twinkie.
“Wait, he sent you?” Ben hunched up as close as he ever got to Jesse, which wasn’t very.
“Mmm hmm. Special express, message sent by Castiel.”
Ben and Claire oohed and ahhhed at that for a second, because anything involving Castiel was usually important. He was too high ranking a member of the Host to leave Heaven for just anyone.
“We are on our way to Detroit to look for Bobby, I thought he was missing.” Ben said, face crunching up in confusion.
“I don’t know about that. Bobby sent Castiel, Castiel told me to meet up with you guys, here I am.”
“Like you’d do anything Castiel asked you to.” Claire snorted, licking her fingers. Jesse watched her for a second, his eyes dark and dangerous, then shrugged nonchalantly.
“Just because I can kill him doesn’t mean I don’t listen when he asks a favor.”
Claire nodded, supposing that was true enough. “Well, if you are going native, get in. I get shotgun.”
“Bitch,” Jesse smiled as he rolled off the hood.
“Smite me.” Claire grinned back at him.
He killed his first and last girlfriend on accident. He thought she was flirting too much with the bartender at the beachside bar and later, on a stretch of lonely, dark beach when they were a little drunk and arguing about it, she admitted that she had fucked the guy earlier that day. Heartbroken, Jesse wanted her heart to break too, and it did. Literally. He was fifteen and horny and powerful and stupid and never returned to the beach in Mexico where he left her body, and vowed to never let anyone get quite that close to him again.
Demons kept looking for him, even after the show down between Lucifer and Michael that ended with Sam’s free-fall into Hell (and yes, Jesse watched the whole thing, and put Castiel back together from Lucifer’s little hissy fit. He could do that, and he liked Castiel, not that he ever planned to tell him so. Jesse knew by then to play close to the vest). Jesse avoided them as easily he did everyone else, riding the waves all over the world in an attempt to ride out time. He wondered if he was going to ride out eternity, but Death told him once that it was unlikely.
He only started playing guardian angel for Claire and Ben because of Sam, who for maybe five minutes when Jesse was nine was the closest thing he ever had to a father who really understood him for what he was. Jesse thinks that he should have taken them up on the offer to let the Winchesters raise him at Bobby’s, but he was young and scared and killing people on accident so it could be argued that he was not at the top of his game at the time. He could always go back and change the past, but that bothered him from a philosophical perspective, so he didn’t.
He was, essentially, a fallen arch angel who never fell, a virgin birth messiah with demon’s blood in his heart. He was not the anti-christ, due to his birth mother wrestling him from the demon who would have molded him into Lucifer’s tool and his adopted mother raising him in a loving and educated home, but he was never going to be a bona-fide angel. Being his own breed of power meant he would never be welcome in either Heaven or Hell, so making due and doing good on Earth was all he had left. Claire and Ben were the only creatures, human or not, who seemed to understand that, or at least accepted him as given.
Jesse wanted to love them, but he knew how dangerous he was, and sometimes it seemed the best he could do was protect them from himself.
“So, Bobby, like I said in the last five messages, this is Ben, in Detroit, with Claire, and Jesse, and we’re kinda looking for you.” Ben ended the call with a huff, then turned to look at Jesse, who was loudly slurping a milkshake in the back seat. “Really, dude, you can’t just mojo him up or something?”
Jesse looked thoughtful, and Claire knew that was he was just planning to wind Ben up. Boys. She sighed and poked another fry in her mouth. They were parked in the lot of the fast food restaurant where they had bought dinner. It seemed stupid to use the drive through and then park right there, but they were all pretty tired. Not that it affected Jesse, but he followed their lead when playing human.
“I suppose I could, but then he’d be mad at me, and really, what’s the fun in that?”
“This is about making sure Bobby’s okay, not having fun.” Ben ground his teeth.
“Six of one, half dozen of the other.”
“Really, this is your idea of fun?” Ben huffed and returned to his veggie burger. Claire wondered how he managed, sometimes.
“Really, it is.” Jesse sighed, sounding pleased with himself.
Claire frowned. “You spend most of the year surfing the best beaches in the world, surrounded by beautiful people in skimpy swimsuits and swanning your way through four star restaurants.”
There was a long pause before Jesse answered. “Yeah. Alone.”
Claire caught Ben tensing up as she turned to look at Jesse. “You don’t have to be alone. You could get anyone you wanted.”
Jesse wasn’t even looking at them. He was staring out the window at the grey sky, his expression soft and sad. “I could. Sometimes I do. It’s not like being with someone, not really. Not like hanging out with you losers, anyway.”
“Love you too, man,” Ben said through a mouthful of food, rolling his eyes and completely brushing the topic away from them. Jesse gave the back of Ben’s head a long, languid look that made Claire blush. She turned back around to finish her meal. It wasn’t the first time she had seen Jesse look at Ben like that, and she did not need to know the details. Although she was certain that Ben was oblivious, for a change.
Right when they finished eating, Ben got a text message. “Oh man, I don’t believe this. Lame.”
“What?” Claire looked at the message. “Longitude and latitude. Bobby?”
Ben shook his head. “No, unidentified number.”
Jesse scooted up and looked at the number over their shoulders. He frowned, but did not say anything.
“Could be Bobby.” Claire pointed out. She flipped to the GPS system in the dashboard and plugged in the numbers. “Here, in Detroit. Right there.” She pointed at the intersection, which was only 3.4 miles away.
Ben sighed heavily and drove out into traffic.
The first time Bobby had all three of them together out at his place was a little over a year after Dean died. Ben had hit his growth spurt and Claire had developed a woman’s figure but they both still acted like stupid kids, and Jesse showed up in a raging snow storm wearing sandals and a sarong.
They were all within three years of each other, which from Bobby’s vaunted vintage meant they were the same age, despite Claire’s oft-repeated refrain that she was the oldest. It also meant they were teenagers and annoying as hell, and that he had to lock up the liquor which was something he had done most recently when Dean turned twelve. The lessons were particularly painful, because Ben and Claire were not keen on spending their winter holidays studying like they did at school – although Jesse took it in good humor, despite knowing all the information already.
Bobby tried to get Ben to work on a car with him, but the boy broke ranks with his heritage and said it was stupid, that was what garage mechanics were for then whipped up slow-cooked barbeque and homemade cornbread for dinner (clearly, his mother’s influence). Claire spent most of the time her nose wasn’t in a book mooning over the anti-christ, for fuck’s sake. Jesse was just uppity and snooty and angry at everything, which was pretty normal for a boy his age but still pushed Bobby’s blood pressure way past healthy. Bobby felt like laying out mats and calling “nap time” in the afternoon just to get a break.
Still, they were the ragamuffin spawn of Armageddon, each burdened with sorrow and responsibility at far too young an age, and Bobby had made a promise. He did not want to admit that after all this time, he finally failed the Winchesters on the sacrificial altar of teenage attitude and hormones. Not Bobby Singer. He could handle these idjuts. He was going to help them whether they liked it or not.
Ben nearly crashed the car into a lightpost, causing Jesse to blink out and show up on the sidewalk with a very pinched expression on his face. Once Claire stopped screaming in general, she turned to scream at Ben.
“What the actual fuck, Braeden? There isn’t even any traffic here! It’s like 8 at night! Oh my god!” She hit him in the arm, but it had no effect on him at all. He was staring out the windshield as if he had seen a ghost.
Claire was aware of her and Jesse turning in sync to look at where Ben’s focus was fixed.
It was the Impala, or at least an Impala, black and glistening under the glow of the street lights.
“It can’t be. It was totaled,” Claire said in a whisper.
Ben nodded, watching as Jesse carefully approached the car. “It was, it was. Mom did not even want to sell it for parts, she just let it get towed off. I never…I never wanted to know what happened to it after that.” Ben’s voice hitched, his hands white on the steering wheel. Claire coaxed him into parking the Corolla behind the Impala, then sat there while he collected himself. He never talked about Dean much, but it had always been obvious that he hero-worshipped his father. There were a line of photos along Lisa’s fireplace mantel showcasing the few, proud years Ben got to share with Dean. Lisa at least had more time with her father than Ben had gotten, and for that she always felt a little guilty.
She got out to join Jesse next to the Impala. Ben crept up behind them, slow and uncertain. Jesse leaned close and put his fingers gently on the chrome trim of the passenger door, running them slowly over the metal and looking like he was reading a book. Claire and Ben stood by quietly, recognizing that Jesse was using his mojo on the car.
“I…this…it’s his. Dean’s.” Jesse frowned.
“Impossible!” Ben spat out, his voice bitter and loud.
“No, it is possible. It is. Mostly, I mean not all of it but the frame, most of the passenger side, the trunk…I can’t tell about the engine, it’s too mixed up, bit and pieces of her. It’s Dean’s car, Ben.” Jesse turned his thoughtful gaze on Ben, who looked like he was going to faint. Before Claire could shake him or slap him to snap out of it, Jesse strong-armed Ben to the car, propping his back against it to hold him up. Ben’s hands rested naturally on Jesse’s slim waist but he was staring over his shoulder at the car. Claire tapped a tire with her foot.
“This can’t be why we’re here, I mean, if Bobby wanted to give Ben the car, he’d just, you know, call him up. Why this goose chase to Detroit?” She looked around at the empty, dark street, unable to shake the feeling they were being watched.
Jesse stepped away from Ben slowly, his hands lingering long enough for Ben to notice and give him a surprised double-take. Jesse shrugged and moved over to Claire.
“Bobby didn’t do this,” he said quietly, taking her hand and physically pressing her against the fender with his body. She blushed instantly and was distracted long enough for him to put her hand on the car, covering it with his. The charge hit her like a live wire, waking her up and shaking her brain, as she felt the car recognize her. She gave Ben a wide-eyed look, and he followed her lead, putting his hands flat down on the roof.
“Ohmyghod.” Ben gasped.
Jesse smiled, a smirk that was equal parts glee and evil and made Claire’s heart pound. “Not many powers on earth can give a car a soul.”
Claire sucking in her breathe. “Who? Why? And why here?” She was not sure if she was asking Jesse or the car.
Jesse shrugged next to her, so close she could feel the muscles in his chest and arms moving. “We had to find her here, because this is where she wanted to be found.” He moved his hand off of Claire’s to touch the car directly himself, and she felt the connection between the three of them – the four of them – buzzing through her blood with the kind of ancient, awe-inspiring power she had not felt in years, pulling them together and binding them. Jesse pressed up against her again and they both grinned at Ben, who was laughing, his face streaked with tears.
They were never going to die together. It was his price, unwilling and bitter, to wait in the Green Room until that one precious moment he got to see Dean, passing through as he died. Their words were brief, Sam’s apologies mixing up with Dean’s last wishes, and both ending in quiet promises to never forget. Castiel literally pulled Dean from his arms and pushed Sam back out into the world, to start over, to begin again, to have the life he never wanted without Dean. It was Sam’s reward and punishment, a sentence befitting all his crimes and glories.
But Sam had his own debts to pay, and that combined with following Dean’s last wishes was enough to keep him busy. He had Bobby to help with the car (when he finally found the wrecked machine), and he had Castiel to round up the kids for him. He did not want to be on the front lines anymore – he had paid his dues more than twice – but he was going to make everything right, fix every problem, live up to every promise he had ever made.
Sam had a lifetime to do it, and more than a few new tricks up his sleeve.
#
Characters: Ben Braeden, Claire Novak, Impala - Character, Jesse Turner
Narrative mode: third-limited