Chapter Text
It's three in the morning, and Claire Novak is sitting up in the dark, clutching a small jar of ashes between her hands.
The pyre burned itself out hours ago, rendering it a barely-smoldering pile of ash and coal in the place where a body used to be. So it's over now.
If anyone asks, she'll tell them she got the oversized, worn-through flannel she's wearing at a thrift store. She'd be lying.
She can't decide what to do with the ashes. She's not sure why she begged a portion of them off Sam in the first place. Not like he was even her dad, or her anything.
Keeping Dean in a jar feels wrong, but letting him go hurts too much. She should have never let herself get attached. Should never have let Dean Winchester in. But the thing is, she doesn't regret it. She thought she was better on her own, after her dad and her mom. Dean saw right through her, even as she tried to kill him, and he took her in when she had no one. Gave her a family. Alex and Patience, Jodie. Kaia. A collection of little broken things that Dean stitched together, giving them a home. A purpose. And now he's-
Her brain stutters over the word gone. She can't quite believe it, even with the ashes in her hands. She'll go to sleep tonight, and in the morning Dean will be in the kitchen making bacon, or Sam will run in asking for help on some impossible resurrection spell, or Jack will materialize by her bed and tell her he's letting Dean out, that he can come back. Because Dean Winchester doesn't just die. He can't. And he doesn't let Castiel die, not without a fight.
So it's not right. It's not real. Claire won't let it be real. She'll fight any God or demon to fix it, because she learned how to fight from Dean Winchester, and she learned loyalty from Dean Winchester, and Dean Winchester doesn't let people die.
Kaia comes into the room, door closing near-silently behind her, not wanting to break the quiet of this terrible night. She gently unwraps Claire's hands from the jar, setting the ashes aside, and curls up into Claire. Claire brings a hand up to her hair, combing through it gently, and can't quite stop the ragged sob from tearing itself from her chest. Kaia just holds her tighter, letting her cry it out.
The next morning, Dean isn't in the kitchen making bacon. Sam isn't researching resurrection spells. Mostly, everyone is tired. Worn out. Claire hugs the flannel around her as she starts up the coffee machine while Kaia hunts down Jack's too-sugary cereal in the cabinets. The collar smells like gunpowder and salt, a hundred hunts leaving their mark. She sits next to Sam and cradles the mug in her hands, the burn of it just on this side of too much. "Hey, Claire," Sam says, and Claire nods. "Sam."
"I, uh. Have something for you," Sam says, sliding a hand into his pocket. "Dean- really cared for you, Claire. Saw a lot of himself in you. I think he'd want you to have this," he sets the small object on the table between them, and it takes a second for Claire to process the sight.
"Is that- the impala?" She asks, reaching for the keys. Sam nods.
"It's a hunter car. Should go to the next generation of hunters."
Claire turns the keys over in her hands, not quite sure what to say. Dean wanted her to have his car? His Baby? Or- Sam thought that Dean would want Claire to have his car? "Treat her right," Sam says, clapping her on the shoulder. With that, he stands to go, and Kaia ,takes his place, setting down the cereal box, milk, and two bowls.
“What was that about?” Kaia asked, setting one of the bowls in front of Claire.
“He gave me the Impala,” she said, showing Kaia the keys.
Driving Baby is like a dream. Sure, there’s that weird rattle coming from one of the heater vents, and it smells a little too much like it’s been sweated and bled and lived in too much, but for a 60-year-old car it handles better than anything Claire’s ever driven, and it’s remarkably well-maintained. Well-loved. In another life, she thinks, Dean could have made a living restoring classic cars, and the thought makes something ache inside her chest.
Kaia’s in the passenger seat, smiling over at her, and Claire grins back and she can’t resist pressing her foot on the gas, roaring down the long, empty stretch of interstate between Lebanon and Sioux Falls. The others are somewhere behind them in Donna’s mini-van, but for this moment it’s just the two of them, Baby, and the road. She isn’t sure when she starts crying, but she has to pull over to the side of the road when tears cloud her eyes too much to see, and she sobs and sobs while Kaia rubs her back and runs her fingers through Claire’s hair. It’s clear she doesn’t know what to say, but she’s here, and that’s all that matters.
Donna pulls up behind them, and then Claire has to face down the lot of them and explain that she’s fine, the car is fine, everything is fine, it’s just that she doesn’t understand how she can lose her dad so many times over and just be expected to keep going. Eventually, she convinces them she can drive the rest of the way and pulls out onto the road again. She feels wobbly and loose inside, like she’s about to crumble to dust right here in Dean’s beloved car. Jodie and Donna had clearly been worried, but she’s just angry- angry at the world, at God, at Dean, at herself.
She’s not this kind of girl. The kind who cries over stuff like this. She’s the one who carries on, who took care of herself after her mother left, who didn’t rest until Kaia came home. Who lost everyone who had ever loved her and came out swinging. Apparently, this is one loss too many, one step too far. No one can fight all the time, and all Claire wants is to rest.