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antigonewinchesterTitle: Strange Girls
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/Relationship: Jack Kline
Notes/Warnings: X-posted from my tumblr.
Fic #: 001/101
Prompt/Summary: Written from a tumblr anonymous prompt: "use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick hc/fic you're NEVER explored before." Previously untitled, with title taken from the photo I used for inspiration.
Light, dark. House, then woods. A sheriff’s station. "What’s your name, honey?" "Jack." "Okay. And that must be short for Jacqueline." "No." It’s called a break-room. When she touches the vending machine, out falls candy. She likes nougat; Clark likes double fudge; they both like fruit funzies. "So, did your mom really want a boy or something?" "I... don't know." Clark gets wheeled out on a stretcher, coughing blood, his mother at his side. Her mother is dead. Her father was supposed to keep her safe, but he's dead too. She helps Sam and Dean pile up wood and watches the bodies burn, like Dagon had burned, but Dagon had been bad and Kelly and Castiel were good. She pretends to sleep in the car. "She's just a girl, Dean." "Doesn't matter that the devil's spawn is a chick. It's 2017. Evil's gender neutral." She's eating a burger. "If God's like my grandfather, then who was my grandmother?" "Um—well, God never had a partner, but he did have a sister. Her name was Amara." "Yeah, except Amara wasn't big on the whole creation thing. More about destruction." When God created the world, he made two humans. Adam, then Eve. A demon almost tricks her into opening a portal to Hell, until Sam and Dean and the real prophet arrive. Back in the bunker, Sam keeps staring at her. "Jack, I just—wanted to see how you were doing. If you needed anything." "I don't know. But thank you." She's in a room. Her room. It has a bed sink mirror brick-wall chair desk paper pencil knife, in the third drawer on the right side. It doesn't hurt when she stabs herself. Once, twice, five, twelve— “You know, Sam thinks you can be saved.” “You don’t believe that.” “No.” That night she dreams of a burning woman, standing silent as the yellow flames reach high enough to touch the moon and somewhere someone else is wailing, pure animal, but when her hand reaches Jack's cheek she says
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/Relationship: Jack Kline
Notes/Warnings: X-posted from my tumblr.
Fic #: 001/101
Prompt/Summary: Written from a tumblr anonymous prompt: "use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick hc/fic you're NEVER explored before." Previously untitled, with title taken from the photo I used for inspiration.
Light, dark. House, then woods. A sheriff’s station. "What’s your name, honey?" "Jack." "Okay. And that must be short for Jacqueline." "No." It’s called a break-room. When she touches the vending machine, out falls candy. She likes nougat; Clark likes double fudge; they both like fruit funzies. "So, did your mom really want a boy or something?" "I... don't know." Clark gets wheeled out on a stretcher, coughing blood, his mother at his side. Her mother is dead. Her father was supposed to keep her safe, but he's dead too. She helps Sam and Dean pile up wood and watches the bodies burn, like Dagon had burned, but Dagon had been bad and Kelly and Castiel were good. She pretends to sleep in the car. "She's just a girl, Dean." "Doesn't matter that the devil's spawn is a chick. It's 2017. Evil's gender neutral." She's eating a burger. "If God's like my grandfather, then who was my grandmother?" "Um—well, God never had a partner, but he did have a sister. Her name was Amara." "Yeah, except Amara wasn't big on the whole creation thing. More about destruction." When God created the world, he made two humans. Adam, then Eve. A demon almost tricks her into opening a portal to Hell, until Sam and Dean and the real prophet arrive. Back in the bunker, Sam keeps staring at her. "Jack, I just—wanted to see how you were doing. If you needed anything." "I don't know. But thank you." She's in a room. Her room. It has a bed sink mirror brick-wall chair desk paper pencil knife, in the third drawer on the right side. It doesn't hurt when she stabs herself. Once, twice, five, twelve— “You know, Sam thinks you can be saved.” “You don’t believe that.” “No.” That night she dreams of a burning woman, standing silent as the yellow flames reach high enough to touch the moon and somewhere someone else is wailing, pure animal, but when her hand reaches Jack's cheek she says
You
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What
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Be