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“Put that down,” Claire ordered, smacking Jack’s hand lightly. He set her curling iron down obediently, his legs swinging off the edge of her bed. They didn’t quite touch the floor yet, but they were close. “It’s hot, and I don’t feel like patching you up if you burn yourself.”
“What’s it do?” Jack asked, just to be annoying, even though he knew full well what it was for.
“Self-defense,” Claire deadpanned, “against irritating little brothers who won’t shut up. Why are you even in here?”
Jack shrugged. “Got nothin’ better to do.”
“Go nag Dean to put a movie on for you.”
“No.”
“Go nag Cas to tell you about ancient Greece or whatever.”
“No.”
Claire heaved an exasperated sigh, leaning close to the mirror with a lipstick tube in hand. “If I tell you to go nag Eileen and Sam to take you roller skating-”
“No,” Jack replied happily.
She glared at him in the mirror, carefully reddening her lips. When she was done, she pulled back, snapping her fingers at Jack. He obediently handed her one of the squares of toilet paper she’d ripped off beforehand in preparation. She stuck it between her lips to blot off the excess color and then tossed it aside, reaching for her mascara. “What’s so interesting about watching me put my makeup on?”
“You look pretty,” Jack said innocently.
Claire pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“You do! Besides, it’s not just normal makeup. It’s prom makeup.”
“I don’t wear normal makeup, dumbass.” Claire set the mascara wand aside, leaning in towards the mirror again to investigate her handiwork. “How do I look?”
Jack smiled sweetly. “Like a fairy princess.”
Claire made a face. “Ugh. I guess it’ll have to do.” She picked up the curling iron and wound a strand of her long hair around it. “Hey, pipsqueak, go get my dress out of the closet.”
“Which one?”
“The one in the big white plastic bag.” She flicked a hand at him in the general direction of her closet. Jack got up and happily trotted over to get it for her.
He loved doing things for Claire. Even when she rolled her eyes and called him annoying and pretended she hated him, she never really got angry at him. She let him tag around under her feet like a little duckling with minimal complaining. She set up his nightlight in his room in the bunker every night and let him sleep in her room when he had nightmares.
My big sister’s a hero, Jack thought idly as he retrieved the dress in the big white plastic bag. Claire wasn’t scared of anything. She’d killed monsters. And she was in high school. He was only ten, and that was still years away, but it sounded impossibly cool.
Claire combed out her curls into loose waves. “What do you think?” she asked him, pursing her cherry-red lips thoughtfully. “Up or down for the hair?”
“Down,” Jack said confidently. “You have really long, pretty hair. Ryan will love it.”
Ryan. That was Claire’s boyfriend. Jack didn’t like him much. Neither did Sam or Cas or Dean or Eileen. Even Claire didn’t even really seem to like him much most days; they argued all the time, and she always had a story about something he’d done wrong. But she insisted she did, and he was the one taking her to prom tonight.
Claire flushed just the slightest shade of pink. “All right. Down it is. Now, as much as I like hearing from the peanut gallery…” She jerked her thumb towards the door. “Scram. I need to get changed.”
Jack pouted. She sighed. “I promise I’ll let you see as soon as I’m done. Deal?”
“Deal.” Jack got up and waved to her on his way out.
She’d be a minute, he knew that. He wandered off and made his way downstairs to the main room of the bunker. Sam and Eileen were poring over a lore book, Cas hovered behind them with a studious expression on his face, and Dean was swinging his phone around like a lightsaber. He’d bullied Claire into downloading the app for him that would make the sound effects and had hardly put it down since.
When Jack rounded the corner of the last stair, he looked up, setting his phone aside. “Hey, shortstop. How’s Claire?”
“She’s getting changed,” Jack reported, sliding into a seat at the table. “She looks really pretty.”
Dean grunted. “What time do we need to leave?”
“Ryan’s coming to pick her up,” Jack responded. Claire had relayed the entire evening to him on multiple occasions precisely so he could answer questions for her. “He’ll drive her home too.”
“He’d better,” Dean muttered. “I don’t like the look of that pencil-necked-”
Sam cleared his throat from across the table. Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, come off it, Sammy, you don’t like him either.”
“Maybe not,” Sam answered, turning a page in the lore book with an air of persecuted dignity. “But Claire likes him, and that’s what matters, isn’t it, Dean?”
“Sure,” Dean grumbled.
Eileen sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. She signed to Jack: men.
He giggled. “You guys are silly.”
Footsteps sounded behind him suddenly, and Jack turned to see Claire on the last of the stairs. She performed an awkward twirl, holding out her skirt sarcastically. “Ta-da,” she said dryly.
She looked like the most beautiful princess ever. She was wearing a soft pink dress that drifted down to her knees like satiny flower petals, and her loosely curled blonde hair framed her face. Peach-colored heels added a few inches to her height, and a sparkly pale pink clutch hung over her shoulder.
Eileen golf-clapped for her. “You look lovely, Claire,” Cas said. Sam grinned, nodding his approval. Even Dean cleared his throat loudly and gave her two thumbs-up.
Jack stared up at her in awe. “You look like the Sugar Plum Fairy,” he whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.
“Whoa, whoa - watch the merchandise, buster.” She hugged him back anyway, a definitive red flush to her cheeks now. “Thanks, guys.”
“Now,” Dean said sternly, pointing at her. “Home by midnight. Stay where adults can see you. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Claire rolled her eyes, her lids covered in pretty sparkly eyeshadow. “I think I crossed that line when I got a date.”
“Very funny.” Dean, if possible, made his voice even sterner. “And if Ry-what’s-his-name gets handsy, just run him over. We’ll pay for the lawyer later.”
Eileen shook her head and stood up, straightening Claire’s bracelet on her wrist. “Have a good time tonight, Claire.”
“I will.” She accepted a hug from Eileen and another from Sam. Cas shook her hand, and Dean clapped her on the back, just in time for Jack to crash into another hug.
“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered.
“I’m gonna be gone for a few hours, Jack. I’m not going to war.” She hugged him back anyway. Outside, a car horn honked.
“That’s Ryan.” Claire gently extricated herself, starting towards the door.
Dean huffed irritably. “He should come to the door and walk you to the car. Little twerp.”
“No one does that anymore,” Claire said dismissively. “Bye, guys. I’ll see you-”
“Before midnight!” Dean shouted at the door closing behind her. As soon as the lock clicked, Jack rushed to the window, peering through it out front. Ryan had pulled up in his shiny silver car. He was standing by the driver’s door, wearing a rumpled suit with no jacket. When Claire walked up to him, a little gingerly in her heels, he pulled her in for a kiss, sliding a hand down her back to her waist to her butt.
Oh.
Jack very quickly moved away from the window.
At half past midnight, they were all still awake, crowded around the table, even Jack. His eyes felt heavy, but Claire wasn’t home. He hadn’t gone to sleep when Claire wasn’t home since she’d first come to stay at the bunker. Everyone else was wide awake too. Dean paced nervously up and down the main room, his hands swinging wildly at his sides. Sam sat at the table, his head in his hands. Eileen hung by the door, nervously chewing on her lower lip. Even Cas simply hovered, his usually serene face troubled.
The door creaked suddenly, and Eileen sprang out of the way as Claire stepped inside. Her peachy heels hung from one hand, one of the bases broken off; her feet were bare and covered in mud and blood. Her dress was rumpled, and her curls were disheveled. Her makeup was smeared all over her face.
“Where have you been?” Dean barked immediately. Cas reached out to calm him, but Dean swept his hand aside. “It’s been half an hour, you haven’t picked up your phone-”
“My phone’s dead,” Claire mumbled, her voice slurred slightly. “I had to walk. I’m sorry.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk? ”
Claire squinted at him, her eyes covered in smeared mascara. “...maybe a little…?”
“Claire.” Eileen’s brows knitted themselves together with worry. “Did Ryan-”
“No,” Claire snapped. All of their gazes fell onto her, even Jack’s. He wasn’t exactly sure what everyone in the room was so afraid of, but it felt inexplicably heavy.
“What?” she snarled. “Nothing happened, okay?”
“Then why do you look like you went through Hurricane Katrina instead of prom night?” Dean demanded.
Claire sighed and tossed her broken heels to the side, hugging her arms over her chest protectively. “Fine. Someone spiked the punch. During the slow dances, we got out of there. He took me back to his car and we fogged up the windows, but he got mad because I wouldn’t put out and he ditched me to go grind on Kaitlyn Ruben. He’s probably putting his dick in her as we speak. Are we done here?”
Everyone else fell silent. Jack stared at Claire with wide eyes. She seemed to notice his presence for the first time and her cheeks colored. She looked away. “Great. Pipsqueak learned some new words. You guys can ground the shit out of me in the morning. I’m gonna go puke three cups of vodka punch and cry into my pillow.”
She stormed out. After a split second’s hesitation, Jack followed her.
It was dark in Claire’s room. She hadn’t bothered with the lights. He made his way through by touch and muscle memory. She was on the floor in the bit of space between her bed and the wall; before he was halfway across the room, he could hear her crying. The sniffling stopped briefly; she’d heard him. “Go away, Jack.”
“You wouldn’t go away if I was sad.” Jack crawled into the tiny crack as well, squishing himself up against Claire’s side. Her dress wasn’t as soft as it had looked. It was a little scratchy. “Ryan’s a little twerp.”
Claire swallowed hard. She let out a choked, miserable laugh. “Yeah, he is.”
“And you’re way prettier than Kaitlyn Ruben.”
He felt her stiffen next to him. “No, I’m not.”
“Are too,” Jack argued.
“I’m not,” Claire said. “I’m not, because if I was, he wouldn’t be - dancing with her, instead. It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s whatever. He was a dick anyway.”
“If he was a dick, why did you go to prom with him?” Jack asked.
“That’s a good question, Jack,” she said after a second. Another sob caught in her throat. “A really good question-”
She broke down again into another fit of sobs. After a second, Jack wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into them. Her head nestled into his shoulder and she cried. Even when she stopped crying so hard, she didn’t move, and Jack didn’t make her, even though his shoulder was starting to hurt. “It’s complicated,” she said finally, her voice still teary. “It’s really, really complicated - but I…I went with Ryan because I - because I felt like I had to, I guess. Because he’s a boy and I’m a girl and he likes me and that’s how it’s supposed to be, and I wanted…I wanted to be that way too.”
“You could find a nicer boy,” Jack suggested. “One that’s not a little twerp.”
“It’s…not like that,” Claire said slowly. Her hand tightened on his shirt. “Jack…I think…I think I would have rather gone with a girl. ”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Find a nicer girl, then. One who’s as pretty as you are.”
Claire mumbled something that sounded like oh my God, and he felt another round of warm wetness soak into his shirt where she’d hidden her face. “I’ve…never said it out loud before. To anyone.”
“First time for everything.” Jack snuggled closer to her, squeezing her hand when he found it in the tangle of scratchy satin. “It’s okay, Claire. Girls are way nicer than Ryan. ”
She made a sound halfway between a sob and a giggle, squeezing his hand back tightly. “Yeah. They are.”
“I can sleep here tonight,” he offered after a minute. “In case you have nightmares.”
Claire hugged him tighter and murmured “I’d like that.”