InsaneJournal

WHO: Claire Winchester & Alastair [w/ appearances by Dean Winchester & The Archangel Gabriel]
WHAT: Alastair wants to make a lasting impression. Oh, and the locals blew up Claire's demon traps.
WHERE: The remains of Claire's video store
WHEN: August 29th [Backdated]
RATING: PG-13

Between the locals being insane, Castiel becoming insane, and Alastair, whom she was pretty sure was already insane, Claire had just about reached the end of her patience. She had been in Colligo for years now and, while she admitted there were times that the city could be difficult, she had always tried to give the Collector the benefit of the doubt. After all, the guy had given her a wonderful husband, two beautiful children, and a life filled with family and friends that she wouldn’t trade for anything. He had allowed her an opportunity to come to terms with issues from her past, make amends with loved ones long since dead, and hadn’t seemed like too terrible of a guy when she’d chatted with him a few months back. Now, though, she was all but done with trying to hold out hope that he had some reason for all of this. It had passed a pointed lesson-learning experience and was well into just downright too much territory. She felt helpless about all of it and hated every single second that she couldn’t figure out some way to just make things right again.

Which was why she was doing her very best, at least just this once, not to dwell on all of the crazy. She was instead in her store, amidst the debris and rubble thanks to everything from a fire to rioters and even a few looters, and was trying her best to put things back in some feasible order. Most of her inventory had been destroyed, some of it stolen, and the rest was currently buried under ten tons of soot and ashes. All-in-all, the process of going through what remained in the wake of the attacks was a painstaking process but Claire was determined to see it through.

She would probably ask Lyle and Jeremy to come by in the next day or so, to help with the actual clean-up process. It wasn’t as though she was going to try and fix it all by herself. For now, though, it was... almost therapeutic, in a way. Just her, alone, in the shop she’d grown from a dinky, dingy video store to one of the most popular in all of the city, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her occupied. And, for the first time in what felt like far, far too long, those thoughts were not on the pressing dangers within Colligo but rather on the task right in front of her.

Which is probably why she didn’t notice that she wasn’t alone until it was much, much too late to do anything about it.

His arrival couldn’t have been more fortuitous. The city seemed to be falling into chaos, and chaos was something that he thrived on. Especially when it shattered whatever defenses had been keeping him at bay and gave him the perfect opportunity that he had been waiting for. He’d tried the house first. Logic had dictated to him that Dean would certainly have been smart enough to put up protections despite whatever safety that this city offered by being outside of the direct line of interference from Hell, but it had been worth a shot to see if the Winchester had somehow overlooked some entrance. He hadn’t found anything, but observations had yielded the sort of information that he’d needed in order to find himself in the position that he was right now.

Outside of Dean’s wife’s store, a store which thankfully lacked the sorts of protection that would have kept him from doing exactly what he did after noticing the blond bent over the rubble.

Stepping in behind Claire, Alastair reached out and settled a hand on her shoulder, a slightly twisted grin gracing his features, “Gotcha.” Because really, just getting this close was reward enough even if all of the wonderful things that he could do right now were a bonus.

Claire instantly froze at the hand on her shoulder, the voice that followed sending chills down her spine. She knew. Without having to turn around, without having to even guess, she knew who was standing behind her. And all she could think was how utterly stupid she’d been to let her guard down in the first place. Stupid, reckless, and now she was probably going to die because of it. Sure, she’d come back - she was pretty certain Alastair didn’t know where her actual kill spot was, after all - but the point was she had forgotten about one of the most important things when trying to stay protected from a demon who very much had a hard-on for her husband.

You had to actually stay in places where the protection existed. And, thanks to the destruction of her store, there wasn’t a single devil’s trap still intact anywhere. Then, thanks to her own idiocy, to top it off her PDA was currently on the nearby counter. As was the gun Dean had insisted she carry until things settled down a little.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. But, just because she had done something so ridiculously reckless, that didn’t mean she was going down without a fight. Sure, Alastair had the upper hand being a demon but she was hardly the helpless girl she had been back when being chased by Sylar following Homecoming. She had learned a few things and, well, if ever there was a good time to put them to use, she figured that time was now.

Jerking away from his touch, Claire flung herself away from him. The debris she slid across posed no real threat to her, even if it managed to cut her she would heal, so she paid it no mind as she tucked into a roll and finally managed to scramble to her feet. The entire move hadn’t taken her but three, maybe four feet away, but it was enough that she could draw in a breath as she eyed the demon with a look that was part wariness and part sheer loathing.

“Get out,” she snapped as she took another step back. The problem was, now she was so close to one of the still-standing shelves that normally housed the videos that she really had no where else to go. Her gaze cut past him, to the counter and the items she really needed to get to if she stood any chance of making it out of this in one piece, then back to Alastair. Her chin rose a notch as she added, “Now. Before I scream for Gabriel.” Not that she was one hundred percent sure the Archangel would appear. It was always questionable, just how much he was allowed to interfere, but as far as bluffs went, it was the best one she had on hand at the moment.

Nimble. It was a good quality in a lady even as it had ripped her out of his grasp. Not that it mattered much given that she didn’t have very much room to work in and apparently the most pathetic threats imaginable. Seemed that the Winchester he’d trained so well had married down to pick someone who couldn’t hold her own and who was so careless with the weapon that could have protected her. If only a little. “Hmmmm. How about no? I’m perfectly happy right here. And nothing your little fairy-winged friend can do could move me,” Alastair said even though he knew that Gabriel could displace him if he felt like it. If Alastair didn’t get to him first, and given the little worm’s tendency to come at everything upside down and sideways, that was a more than likely possibility. “So how’s about you be a good little girl and take a seat?” Alastair said, accompanied by a vague gesture of his hand as he quietly forced Claire down onto one of the taller piles of rubble. And there might have been some glass shards littered across it. Whoops?

The second that she was rather firmly tucked into place, Alastair grinned, a slow grin that spread deftly across his face as he twitched his head ever so slightly to the side and took a side step back towards the counter and pivoted on one leg as he turned his attention to the gun that she had so carelessly discarded there, “Not bad. Not bad, but I wouldn’t think a little thing like you would know how to use this,” He said, picking the pistol up and turning it in his hands. “Not properly, at least,” He said, a silken lilt in his voice as he pivoted back towards her, gun raised and pointed squarely at her chest. “How’s about a few lessons?”

Alastair wasn’t usually as quick about things as this. No, he preferred to eek it out, pour on both pleasure and pain until they were a swirling vortex where one was indistinguishable from the other, rip open old emotional wounds and tear at scars that had been formed over both. He worked to break his subjects, so two bullets straight to the chest barely seconds after meeting would seem to his compatriots as though he was losing his touch. That was, if they didn’t know the secret of his dear Winchester’s blushing bride. No pain. No death. Two bullets was nothing to her, little more than a bee sting, but he did know what it could be.

An illustration. Of just what he was willing to do those she cared about who were not so invulnerable.

“So,” Alastair said, cupping the still warm barrel of the gun in his other hand as his attention focused on the quickly reviving woman in front of him, “do I have your attention?”

It wasn't the first time that Claire had been manipulated via telekinesis. Gabriel, during his days as Sylar, had made more than enough use of that particular tool to keep her in check. However, unlike all the times she'd gone toe to toe with a man she had once considered her own, personal monster, she didn't try struggling in place this time. If there was one thing those encounters had taught her it was that trying to break free only made the person manipulating her focus all that much more on keeping her still. So instead of struggling, she opted to bide her time and wait for him to slip up. Yes, it wasn't likely he would just forget he was keeping her in one spot but it was always possible. Considering the odds were stacked against her, it also was really the only option left.

It also wasn't the first time Claire had been shot. However this one was definitely unexpected and the confusion showed in the slight crease of her brow the instant the bullets slammed into her chest. Unable to rebound from the shots, she seemed to simply dangle in place for a minute as her body forced the wounds closed and once more she could draw in a breath. "You know," she said coldly, the slight wheeze in her voice the only indication of the coughing fit she was about to go through in order to get rid of the bullets, "I really liked this shirt." Then she coughed up the bullets, watching as they spilled past her lips and landed in the debris at her feet.

Shot with her own gun, she thought distantly. Dean was never going to let her live this down.

"And did you say something?" she questioned as she returned her gaze back to the demon in front of her. "It's a little hard to understand you, you know. Seriously. What is with your voice. Did you pick a body with throat cancer or what?"

Okay. As far as plans went, talking smack to the demon probably wasn't the best one she could think up. But she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing anything but disdain and sarcasm, either. Besides. A couple of shots to the chest and being forced to engage the guy in conversation was hardly the worst she'd ever faced. He was going to have to try a lot harder if he really wanted her to take this at all seriously.

And yet another reason that Alastair could see why Dean liked her. She was brassy. Stupid but brassy. Not unlike his protege. But it was likely that she had yet to realize the situation that she was in. Turning the gun in his hand, Alastair just smiled at her insult before setting it back down on the counter behind him. It was a nice show opener, but it never served anyone to use the same trick twice in a row. Your audience gets bored, and you end up getting lazy with your creativity. And if there was one thing Alastair didn’t want, it was to get lazy with his creativity. It was what kept things fresh. “I know. But what are you going to do?” Alastair asked with a shrug of his shoulders. “You take what you can find. Besides, I rather like the visage. It’s unique. Well, least it was,” Alastair said, recalling the man that he’d seen on the network. Not really of much interest outside of the fact that he’d have a duplicate in case any angels decided to go all heavenly light of God on him.

“Anywhooo,” Alastair said with a flourish, lifting her PDA from the other side of the counter as he leaned back against what was still standing, as if he was perfectly unaware of the sheer rubble surrounding him. “I was just thinking I could stop in, and we could have a little chat. Because, see, you have something I want. Well, you have several somethings I want, but we’ll just stick with the most obvious right now,” He said, idly flicking through her contacts as he talked. “And I thought we might come to some arrangement. See. I don’t really like being in these sorts of places. I’d much rather be back home, doing what I do, but for some reason, they keep sending me on these surface missions, and since this one doesn’t seem to have a, well, point, I figured I’d take back a souvenir just to make the whole trip worthwhile.”

It wasn’t probably a great leap in Claire’s imagination as to what that souvenir could possibly be. There were few things in this place that could really catch Alastair’s eye, what with it being a frigid hellhole despite the delightful rash of violence, and he doubted that she wouldn’t understand why he was coming to her with this. “So. What do you say? Willing to hear me out?”

Was he serious? Did he really think she was going to just sit there and... well, okay. So the sitting there part was out of her control. So was the listening part, if she wanted to be technical, considering she couldn't even cover her ears. But Claire had never been a very technical person and certainly wasn't one to make things easier on her tormentor. After all, he couldn't hurt her. Not really.

"Hear you out?" she finally scoffed. "Are you serious?" She snorted softly in derision, She was determined not to show the worry that his words were causing her to feel and instead focused on every other emotion she was experiencing to serve as a vague cover of sorts. It probably wouldn't work – Alastair knew how to read people far too well – but Claire was certainly going to try.

"How about you listen to me," she continued. "Unless your souvenir is a knife specially designed for killing demons, lodged firmly in your upper torso, there is nothing you can say that will make me agree with what you want." Her chin rose a few inches and she found herself distantly grateful she could at least manage that much. "So go ahead," she challenged him, knowing this was probably going to bite her in the ass when all was said and done. "Do whatever it is you're going to do. I've faced down Lucifer himself and walked away without a single scratch. You do not scare me."

Alastair smiled. So brave. They always started out brave. It was the brave ones that were the most fun to break, in fact, because they did it so beautifully, held out so long, but there was nothing that his standard tactics would do this girl in front of him, so he was going to have to mix it up. Twisting his PDA in his hand, her turned it out so that she could see the contact pulled up on the screen, big smiling face and all, “How about we give hubbie a call? See what he thinks about all of this, hm? I’m sure he’ll be horribly disappointed you got yourself cornered. Horribly, horribly disappointed. And then angry,” He said, the sheer delight at the thought shining in his eyes. “And you know what he’s like when he gets angry. Never thinks, does he? Poor boy.”

And cue concerned wifely reaction in 3...2...1...

At first, Claire was a bit confused. Was he seriously trying to convince her to cooperate by threatening her with Dean being disappointed? Somehow, that didn't mesh even in the slightest because, yes, Dean would be disappointed but he would also get over it. It wasn't like it was the first time she'd done something absolutely stupid and it probably wouldn't be the last. She was all set to point out that rather glaring flaw in Alastair's plan, too, when he continued speaking and she realized that wasn't what he'd meant at all.

And just like that, the color slowly began to drain from her face. Because as much as she was loathe to admit it, she knew he was right. Dean loved her. Dean wouldn't even think about facing off against Alastair if it came down to it, especially if she was caught smack in the middle. He would probably rush in, guns blazing, and very possibly wind up dead. That thought alone was enough to make her heart ache, never mind that she would be the reason it had even happened in the first place. Never mind that there wasn't anything Alastair could really do to her as long as her family was safely tucked away and out of reach. None of that would occur to her husband, she knew, because if the situation was reversed none of that would occur to her, either.

Quiet for a long moment, Claire tried playing it out in her mind from every angle she could think of in the vain hope that there was some way out of it. However each and every time it always ended with Dean getting hurt, at the very least, and typically dead. She couldn't let that happen. She just couldn't.

"What is it you want?" she finally asked, tone tinged with bitterness at having to give even an inch.

“Good girl,” Alastair said, a soft chuckle in his throat as he turned the phone back to himself, a wry smile on his face as he hit the call button anyway and held the phone back out to Claire, holding it up to her ear. “Get him here. Calmly, rationally, and without any reason to suspect anything was amiss,” He said, a slight tilt of his head as he leaned forward, his face nearly a few inches from Claire’s, as he whispered. “I just want to talk.”

In retrospect, Claire should have expected as much. If she called Dean, he wouldn't expect an ambush. He would just show up, probably stroll right in without a care in the world, and walk right into Alastair's trap. Realizing how stupid she'd been to even consider agreeing, Claire was all set to tell him exactly where he could shove her PDA when something else occurred to her. Maybe, just maybe, she could give Dean some sort of clue. Something subtle, just off enough, that he would realize something was wrong and would come prepared but hopefully not so riled up that he'd rush in headfirst without thinking things through.

It was a long shot, the biggest long shot she'd taken part in probably since the plan to bring down Lucifer so long ago, but it was all she could think of and the phone was already ringing. Glaring balefully at Alastair, wanting desperately to just spit in his face but not willing to risk Dean hearing it, she tried to ignore the demon and focus on sending some sort of silent message to her husband. And just in time, too, as Dean answered the call on the other end.

"Hey Dean," she began, her voice surprisingly calm despite the circumstances. "How's it going?" Only half-listening as he answered, she forced herself to meet Alastair's gaze. When Dean asked how things were on her end, she didn't even hesitate. "Slow-going here. The fire destroyed pretty much everything. Thank Chuck for the insurance, at least."

Then she paused, knowing if she rushed that Alastair would probably realize she normally didn't speed through conversations with her husband. After a second or two, she finally did what the demon wanted. More or less. "Listen, do you think there's any way you could come by the shop? I need to move these shelves and there's no way I can move them by myself." Her eyes slid closed as Dean readily agreed to swing by. Forcing herself to sound pleased he'd said yes, she added, "Awesome. Thanks, Dean." She paused again, when he said he loved her, replying with a sweet, "Me too." Along with a tacked on, "Oh, and give Jack and Meri a kiss for me. I'll see you soon."

And that was that. She had tried her best to litter the conversation with as many warnings as possible. First by calling him Dean rather than 'baby', as she typically did. Second by not replying with an 'I love you, too' as she always did. And third, by telling him to give Jack and Meri a kiss even though they both knew that their kids were safely tucked away at the house under the watchful eye of Ellen Harvelle and not at the auto shop with him. The last one had been a bit of a risk, really, but Claire hoped he'd at least gotten the message and would come prepared for something to be awry.

Once she heard the dial tone again, she glared at Alastair. "There," she spat out bitterly. "He's on his way."

Dean was seriously considering shutting down his shop until this whole mess with Castiel turning into a fucking nutjob, locals acting almost as bad as goddamn Croats, and Alastair of all people showing up was over and done with. But, with the way things were going, if he left the shop for too long the locals would burn the damn place to the ground. And, as he had never hired Elle, his shop didn’t have the fire insurance Claire’s did. That was something he’d have to look into once all was said and done.

His phone rang suddenly with the ringtone Sam had programmed in for Claire, since Dean had never been especially good with technology, and he grinned as he wiped the oil from his hands and answered it. “Hey, babe,” he said, moving to sit on one of the chairs in the garage, leaning back and settling in for a conversation with his wife. “It’s going, that’s all I can really say,” he sighed. Things were frustrating that was for sure. “What about you?” He listened as she talked about the shop, then asked him to come by. Something was weird, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Then again, weird was kind of normal for them. “Sure thing,” he said after a moment. “I’ll leave Sammy in charge and come by.” Then she told him to give Jack and Meri a kiss and he stared at the phone for a long moment in confusion. Why the hell would the kids be with him? It was a rare occasion that he had them here when he was working. They were learning about cars, sure, but in the garage at home, where there was less chance of an accident. Yeah, something was definitely off. Claire had been replaced by a crazy version, or Godstiel had messed with her head. Or something. Point was, he might have to shoot his wife today. And it probably said something about him and his marriage that the prospect of having to shoot his wife wasn’t all that big a deal to him.

So he tucked the demon-killing knife into his belt and stored one of his guns in his jacket, because he could do subtle - sort of - and he wasn’t going to visit his wife with a freaking shotgun. That hadn’t gone over too well the last time he’d been paranoid during an afternoon visit to the video store. He walked, rather than driving, because he still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on and he needed to clear his head. Oddly, the one possibility he hadn’t really considered was Alastair. Because the store had Devil’s Traps. Of course, the store had burned down and the Devil’s Traps were well and truly destroyed...which he remembered right about the time he walked in and saw the demon in question with his wife. He was pissed, beyond pissed really, but some part of him that had grown up somewhere along the way and learned that not ever problem could be punched in the face reminded him that freaking out and doing something stupid wouldn’t actually fix things at this point. So he kept calm. Mostly. Or he faked it anyway. “You know, babe,” he said, casually as managed, “we really need a fucking codeword or something. This is ridiculous.” Then he pulled his gun out and shot Alastair. It didn’t really do anything, but it made him feel better.

That stuff about being calm and not doing anything stupid? Yeah...not happening.

So much for no weapons, but that really had just been a pipe dream. Alastair wasn’t completely stupid, and he didn’t hope to think that a Winchester, especially one that he had trained so, so well, would go out in an atmosphere such as this unarmed. But at least the arms that he had were more tailored towards individuals less than himself. The shot was little more than a light tickle on his shoulder, and the reaction that it provoked in Alastair wasn’t one of rage or irritation but rather of amusement. “Oh, Dean. When are you ever going to learn?” Alastair’s words were followed by a swift movement, lifting the gun off the counter and leveling it right back at the Winchester. “Mine actually works.”

He could have done worse, after all, than threatening the boy with a primitive peashooter if he’d really wanted to hurt him at this point. But Alastair had never been much of a diplomat. Threats like this were pretty much standard in his ‘I just want to talk’ philosophy. Usually necessary, as well.

When Dean showed up, Claire felt something twist in her gut at the sight of her husband. There was a small, sardonic sort of smile on her face at his comment and she had to agree. They really needed some sort of system for when their lives went crazy like this. And it probably said a lot about the situation that that was Claire's main thought that flickered through her mind even as Dean shot the demon standing between them. However her thoughts changed rapidly when she realized, with that shot, or maybe just with Dean's arrival, Alastair's focus had shifted enough that he was no longer focusing on keeping her in place.

So the second Alastair turned the gun he had taken from her onto her husband, Claire didn't even hesitate. She leaped to her feet, snatched up a broken, jagged piece of lumber. Without even thinking, knowing it wouldn't kill him but hoping it would at least slow him down enough that she could get between Dean and that gun, she rammed it into Alastair's back with all of the force she could muster. The beam sunk into his back a few inches, maybe a touch more, though Claire didn't wait to find out. A heartbeat later and she was past the demon and planted directly where she wanted to be – staring down the business end of her own gun with her husband behind her.

"Not on me, it doesn't," she said flatly, knowing this standoff wasn't going to end well and all but certain Dean was not going to let her stay between the two of them for long. But at least, for the moment, she was free and Dean was still alive. That was good enough for her, given the circumstances.

“C’mon, Al,” Dean said dryly, a dangerous look in his eyes “you really think I’m ever gonna learn? Where’s the fun in that? I don’t know about you, but I really enjoy shooting you, whether it does something or not.” He knew it was dangerous territory, enjoying the violence of the situation, too close to the lessons he’d learned in hell, but he didn’t much care. When Alastair pointed Claire’s gun back at him, he wasn’t even fazed. He knew the demon, better than most beings ever would, and he knew Alastair wouldn’t kill him now. There was no fun in a quick win, no thrill for the demon in taking him out now. So he stared down the gun and didn’t even flinch.

Of course, judging by the way she stabbed the demon in the back and put herself between them, Claire apparently hadn’t got the memo that he wasn’t actually going to get shot today. Pride and frustration warred inside him at her actions. On the one hand, he was damn proud of the fact that his wife was thinking on his feet and handling herself in a fight. On the other, he didn’t want Alastair to have any reason to focus on Claire. And part of him wanted to destroy Alastair himself, without anyone else involved. Pay him back for thirty years of torture and ten years ruining himself. It was dangerous and selfish and just plain stupid, but stupid usually worked for him. “Get out of here, Claire,” he said, quietly, fixing Alastair with a steely glare. He didn’t expect her to actually listen, because she could more than give him a run for his money in stubbornness, but he had to try. He looked down at her, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Please.”

She had known Dean wouldn't let her stand there for long but she had to admit it had felt really good to be able to do it for the short time she had. She also was well aware he was going to want her to leave and was pretty sure he knew that it was going to take nothing short of God Herself to get her out of that store as long as Alastair remained. So when he told her to leave, even tacked on a please, she wasn't surprised. She simply kept her gaze locked on Alastair, not willing to let the demon out of her sight even for a second, and replied back calmly, "Not happening, Dean."

Claire did, however, take a step back and to the left, so she was more by his side than in front of him. She knew Dean could hold his own and wasn't going to make it seem she didn't think that was the case. She also figured if Alastair was going to shoot him, he'd have done so by now. However leaving? Nope. Because as long as she was there, Dean wasn't going through this alone and no matter what Alastair did to him, Claire could bring him back. If she left, she couldn't say the same and she was not about to take any chances.

“How touching,” Alastair drawled as his hand went up to the front of his chest, grabbing the end of the jagged piece of wood protruding from his chest and pushing it back out the other side, the plank clattering to the ground behind him. Shifting his weight to the left and the right, his spine cracking with each movement, he just smiled at the pair of them. “I see you’ve found a wife just as idiotically noble as you, Dean. And as irritatingly short-sighted.”

The gun in his hand shifted, dropping limply to the side in his grip as he smirked at the pair of them, “It’s a wonderful atmosphere in this place, isn’t it? A world where you need something like this just to keep yourself safe from the general public really is far more appealing than the other places I’ve been sent. One really does have to wonder, though, just how long it will take for them to turn their attention to other areas of the city. Like that lovely little house of yours. So cozy looking. I would so love to see the inside. Perhaps I should make the suggestion to someone. But which side of the house are the bedrooms of your lovely little children on, exactly? I would so hate to blow such valuable resources to smithereens.”

Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

Most of the time, Dean appreciated Claire’s stubbornness. He didn’t need some shy shrinking violet in his life. He needed a woman who could hold her own and call him on his shit. And that was Claire. But this wasn’t most of the time. This was standing a few feet from a demon who had come close to completely destroying him, he just wanted her to get the hell out of the store and far away. Somewhere Alastair could never touch her. He knew Claire could handle herself, but Alastair terrified him in a way most things didn’t and he didn’t want him getting a chance to hurt Claire.

“Shut up,” he growled, not wanting Alastair to talk to his wife. Or about her. Or anything. Hell, thinking about her was more than he could handle. And when the bastard got to talking about his kids, well that was just too damn much. “If you even think about my kids,” he said coldly, the hand not holding his gun clenched in such a tight fist that his knuckles were turning white, “I’ll make everything you did in Hell seem nice by comparison. There won’t be a place on this whole damned planet where you can hide from me. Now get the hell out of here.” He wanted to shoot him again, pull the trigger until he ran out of bullets, but he knew it wasn’t the smart thing to do. He was already pushing enough buttons and for once, he wasn’t going to disregard all common sense. Just most of it. “You got what you want. You made me come down here, showed you could get close...now just get out. Or I’ll make you.” He and Claire had powerful friends, and he wasn’t above calling in a favor to get Alastair to leave. He was already making plans in his head to keep the kids safe.

Claire wasn’t stupid. Well. Okay. That wasn’t entirely true. Claire could be very stupid at times. She could do absolutely ridiculous things - like, oh say, stabbing Alastair even though she knew it wouldn’t work and refusing to leave the store even though she was well aware her staying was only going to make Dean have to split his attention between her and the demon - but she was actually getting better at this whole thinking on her feet thing. Maybe it had something to do with her getting older and maturing. Maybe it was simply because, as the wife of a man with the surname of Winchester you had to know how to get out of tricky situations with nothing more than your own quick thinking. Whatever the reason, Claire didn’t let Alastair’s comments get her riled up. She knew he was gunning for precisely that response, was hoping they would get so blinded by their fear and hatred that they would slip up and give him some sort of way into their lives and the lives of their children. However she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction and certainly wasn’t going to let him upset Dean anymore than he’d already managed.

In the past, she might have tried to attack him again. Actually, that was all but a given, really. She would have freaked out, forgotten that just because she couldn’t feel pain and didn’t stay dead didn’t mean the demon had a hundred other ways he could get to her, and she probably would have made a costly mistake that would have backfired because of it. This wasn’t the past, though, and Claire didn’t have to let her own knee-jerk reaction dictate her response. So rather than do any of the number of things she would normally do, rather than losing her cool, she simply stared silently at him for a long moment after Dean had told him to get out. And, when Alastair didn’t do what her husband asked, she finally made her move.

“You want to mess with us?” she spoke quietly with a stony expression. “You really think you can just waltz in here, shoot me, threaten my husband and my children and get away with it? That I’m just some idealistic little blond who is going to... what, exactly? Throw myself at your feet and hope you might change your mind?” Her jaw clenched ever so slightly before a cold, calculating smile began to steal across her face.

“I already told you once. I’m not afraid of you. But you? You should be very afraid of me. Because what I lack in skill with weapons and ability to lie?” The smile grew ever so slightly. “I more than make up for in friends that can kick your pathetic ass all the way back to hell.” And with that, Claire paused just long enough to draw in a breath before calling out a name in a deceptively quiet tone.

“Gabriel! A little help, here, please.”

After all. There was no reason to scream for backup when you had an archangel on your side.

There was a sound, like the rustling of wings, almost before Claire had finished speaking, and Gabriel was suddenly sitting on a pile of rubble, looking for all the world as if he had just popped by for a casual visit. But his casual demeanor was by no means an invitation to underestimate him. For all his joking and and his easygoing nature, Gabriel was still an archangel, and stronger demons than Alastair fled in the face of his kind. Still, unlike Raphael, he didn’t appear in a show of light and sound and douchebaggery when he was called. He liked to think he had more style than that, thanks.

“Clairebear, Dean-o,” he said conversationally, as if he hadn’t just been called down to deal with a demon. “Wow, this place could use some fixing up. Have you guys thought about maybe taking a step away from the burned down look? Maybe lose the rubble? Slap up some paint? Or some walls?” Then he looked over at Alastair, his expression suddenly far less genial. “Oh, right. You.” There was a feeling of something in the air now, a sense of the depth of power an archangel possessed. “Look. I’m not supposed to kill you unless you break the rules. But we both know I don’t need to kill you. That’s boring. I’m not boring. I can think of about a million really awful things I could do that wouldn’t be killing. And these two? I’m kind of fond of them. They’re my bros.” He waved a hand vaguely at the demon. “So begone. Before someone drops a house on you.”

Alastair did his best to make it seem as though he wasn’t afraid of the power of the angels. Because, on some level, he really wasn’t. But he also wasn’t stupid. He knew all too well that even the lowliest messenger could kick his ass should they have the desire. As large a game as he could talk, Alastair wasn’t really in the mood to try and maneuver himself into a position where he could get the upper hand in a situation where he was clearly as a disadvantage. So instead, Alastair just smiled at the small little grouping, turning the gun in his hand quickly and extending the handle out to the angel standing in front of him.

“I can assure you. I’m hardly boring,” Alastair said, waiting until the gun was taken from him and turning on his heel, backing out of the gaping hole in the front of the shop was a vague wave as he went. “I’ll see you later, Dean. Much later.”