ben braeden-winchester. (littlepimp) wrote in parabolical, @ 2009-11-30 08:31:00 |
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For over a day now, "Sandy" Bennet had been exercising her extreme rage at being locked away by doing every harmful thing to herself that she could manage in her cell. Mostly, that had been deliberately breaking her bones, just to unsettle whoever was being made to keep watch over her. The snapping sound always got to people. And when she hadn't been hurting herself, she had been taunting anyone within hearing, all about how she was going to be rescued and all the things she'd do to pay them all back. Of course she'd be rescued, her stepmother wouldn't leave her to these good guys, she'd find her and then they would all pay. As the hours wore on, even her body needing sleep, and when she woke close to midnight, she was alert but far more subdued. The place was dark, the lights dimmed in most places, but there was enough light for her to spot the small form in a chair a few yards away. "Is that little ba-" The quiet taunt was cut off as a feeling washed over her, and with that feeling, pain in her mind. It was pain and she wasn't used to feeling it so much, the sharp and constant feeling in those seconds that her brain felt as though it was rewriting itself, slotting the truth back into the truth spots and putting the lies back into the lie spots. When it was over, the girl who should have been Claire Winchester née Bennet by this date crumpled to the floor of the cell. In those two weeks she'd caused the kid of harm she would have vocally declared repugnant and monstrous in another. Not all the hurts she had visited upon people were physical in nature, either, but that just made the reality of it all the worse. All the lives she'd touched, in evil ways rather than good. Most of all, the things she'd done to the people she loved. "Oh God, oh God, oh God." The distress was real, the sobs genuine, and after losing the contents of her stomach in the prisoner-safe plastic wastebasket, she slumped against the barred part of the cell and sobbed out the rolling emotions. Willfully parked in this room of cells in the Hyperion lock-up for many hours, enough to have not heard the news of people returning to themselves, Ben had refused the idea of going home to bed while Claire was here, locked up. He couldn't make her see, he couldn't change her mind, but he could at least make it so she wasn't alone. It had been hard, and more than once he'd been ordered out of the room by well-meaning adults or angels, but when she'd fallen asleep, he had returned. When she stirred, he'd braced himself for when she realized he was there. When she started to talk, he moved to turn away from her and ignore her. But the newest remark never came. Instead... her actions baffled him. She was crying. She was crying and that was bad, but she thought she was evil, so it could be faked, and that was bad, but she was repeating 'Oh God' like some kind of mantra, which wasn't good, but it was definitely not evil, and she wasn't paying any attention to him, which could be good or bad. He stepped forward, hesitant. "Claire?" The minute Ben said her name, he real name, her right name, Claire flop-crawled back from the bars, eyes gone wide with a sudden fear because he was too close. While she knew her memories up front were the right ones, and the feelings and urges were gone, leaving only the memories of all she had done, there was nothing guaranteeing to her that this was permanent. She'd worked for them, she could remember the false memories and the memories of her actual acts under the spell, and she knew it was possible this could be a temporary thing. It could just be another trick of Wolfram & Hart's. She stared into the face before her, that scared face that right now, in her right mind, she loved more than she had ever truly realized before, and felt her heart break at what she had done to him. She hadn't hurt him, thank Eve and Castiel and even God for that, but she had still hurt him. She had still said and done and planned to do horrible, awful things. To him. To Ben. She gagged, but didn't complete the action again. "I'm- there's something wrong-" she sobbed, trying to explain what she still really couldn't. "It's all a jumble- I know what I- I can remember everything- I don't want to hurt you." She wanted to reach out and touch him, be able to hug him, but that feeling outweighed all else, that urge to keep him safe from herself. "This could be a trick, they- it could be better just to take it all away again- it could go wrong as soon as someone lets me out." "I. Don't. Freaking. Care." In that moment, Ben really didn't. The last two weeks has been a string of irrationalities, a slide from the certainty that he could fix everything to the bitter taste of not being able to do anything, a sequence of events that hadn't exactly been Ben keeping himself safe, from grabbing angel swords to taunting not-really-bad-guys, so why not one more? But yet, even in the desire to rush headlong, there was a pause to wonder if this was the only instance. If there were more, then that would settle this, wouldn't it? Without saying what he was doing, he pulled his cellphone out and pulled up the board. People always posted there after big stuff went down. He didn't read any further than Kennedy's freaking out before he smiled, brief and bright, not over her dismay but that the dismay was just so her. He noted a few more first-level posts, didn't read the comments, and then tucked his phone away. He'd talk to Kennedy later, one of the few who had been willing to at least listen to him. His attention went back to Claire and he smiled at her, trying to look encouraging, but only really managing to look like he was going to cry. "It's getting fixed, somebody's fixing it." He knelt on the floor and reached his arm through the bars, reaching for her. "Come on, Claire, please. It's all gonna be okay now." It's getting fixed. Claire listened to him, hands clenching and then releasing several times as she struggled with that. She wanted that to be true, so bad. She wanted to take what Ben was offering. She wanted to deserve it. She wanted to never be anything ever again except exactly who she was. Edging forward, as though afraid the tides would change again in a heartbeat, she crept slowly back across the floor. When she reached the point she could touch him, she extended her hand and took his. Though the sobs increased, it was for different reasons. He was real, he was here, she was still herself and it felt right. It felt real and human and wonderful. She squeezed his hand, but she could tell – she knew him, when she was in her right mind she knew this kid – that it wasn't enough for him. "Don't open this door," she warned in a choked voice as she slid all the way up to the bars, and then slipped her arms through the gaps. Even though the last two weeks hadn't been her, she didn't feel at all worthy of being able to do this, but Ben needed it. After everything, it was the least she could give him. Ben didn't need anymore encouragement than that to slide his other arm through the gaps and grab on to her, fingers tangling in her hair and her shirt, his grip all but screaming that it would take an act of God to make him let go before he was ready. It didn't matter that the bars between them were uncomfortable and making this hug hard to manage, all that mattered was that he could hug her because she was back. She was back and the others were coming back and he needed to convince her to let him let her out of here so they could go get his dad. "Missed you," he whispered, clinging as tightly as the bars would allow, one sow tear working its way down his cheek. At that, that one short remark, Claire lost control completely. The embrace was soon accompanied by her dropping short kisses on the side of his head pressed against the bars, her tears mingling with the rare few of his. She hadn't been granted the luxury of missing him over the last two weeks, but that built up feeling slammed into her all at once. She'd missed him, and everyone, even those she had interacted with (as ridiculous as that was), but the strongest pangs of missing were for this boy and his father. "Oh my God, Ben, I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her hands smoothing over his hair, running over his back, trying to offer him comfort even when she was so clearly a mess. That he couldn't bury his face against her shoulder really wasn't working for Ben, as he could feel the tears gearing up. He'd cried more in two weeks that he would ever, ever admit to anyone, and it felt even more ridiculous when it was over getting back something he'd wanted. "S'okay," he said gruffly, voice rough and cracking. "It wasn't you. It wasn't any of you." He brushed off her apologies easily. He didn't blame them, not really. It would be kind of stupid to blame anyone for any of it, he knew that, even if he hadn't been so cognizant of it in the heat of hurt. Words said in anger, in a juvenile need to last out, were not true words spoken. He loved his family, all of them, and no replacement would have ever filled the holes inside him that had been made when he had lost them two weeks ago. The worst, of all of it, was that he had been terrified that they all wanted their fake lives more, but now... now he could again hope that they all loved him more than the fake stuff. Now, he could get them all back for real. |