Clarke is the youngest Winchester sibling. Like every Winchester, her life was full of grief, sadness, pain, heartache and death.
What happens when the world crumbles and dead bodies start springing back to life? What happens when Clarke gains a gro...
𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 they fell for her beauty but ran from her brain
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CLARKE groaned as she sowly stood from the bed, her hand flying towards her stomach. She knew she was going to get yelled at, but at the moment, she didn't particularly care. She wanted out of this stupid bed and no one, not even the walking dead, is going to stop her. Almost falling, she quickly grabbed the bedside table to hold herself upright.
She repeated Dean's words in her head as she pushed herself forward, using the wall as help, "You're stronger than this, C."
"My daddy is gonna yell at you."
Clarke turned her head to the right, her eyes landing on a young girl with bright blonde hair and stunning blue eyes. Her eyes reminded Clarke of a fragile and extravagant piece of blue china. She knew, in that moment, that the twinkle in her eyes was the most beautiful thing she has ever witnessed in her lifetime. Immediately, Clarke pushed that thought away and glared at her, making her visibly gulp.
"Well, tell your "daddy" that I can and will do what I want no matter what he or anyone else says," Clarke told her, ignoring her concerned gazes as she grasped the railing and slowly started descending the stairs.
The pain throbbed deep down in her gut. It felt as if someone stuck their hand inside her stomach and started squeezing her organs. They would squeeze gently and then as hard as they could, forcing her to stop moving. There is no blood, but her abdomen is purple and coated with lumps when it should be clear and smooth. Every step felt like a bomb made of nails exploding inside her. The only thing that kept her going was how stubborn she was.
"You need to be careful, you're gonna pull your stitches," spoke the young girl, making Clarke pause. Her voice was soft and full of innocence, love and hope.
Without turning around, she retorted, "I can take care of myself."
"But—"
"Stop," Clarke grounded out, her temper rising. She was hungry, tired and sick of staying in that damn bed; it made her antsy.
Clarke glanced back at her hurt face and her cold heart clenched, yearning to be nice to the poor girl. It would never happen; she don't trust people, especially people she just met.
The only thing she knew about this girl was that she has blonde hair and blue eyes, is 5'3 and probably around the age of sixteen.
"You need to get back in bed," she continued. She was stubborn and Clarke admired that, but she was getting on her last nerve and she needed to get away from her. She reminded Clarke of the girl she used to be before horrible things started happening to her. She was once a girl with dreams to have a family; a husband and children. A family is hard to have when you are a Winchester, horrible things follow them like a bad smell.
"I said stop." Clarke turned all the way around to glare at her. Her face was most likely red in anger and in that moment, the pain in her stomach faded into the background. She clenched her jaw. "Either you walk away and act like everything is okay, which it is, or we're going to have a problem."
As her hand curled around the railing, she continued, "And if we have a problem, someone is going to end up hurt and it's certainly not going to be me. Now, I am going to go downstairs and make myself a decent breakfast or we can stand here, fighting 'till the sun lowers."
"Just — just be careful," the girl told her quietly before walking down the hall and out of sight. She was obviously scared by Clarke's small threat. Technically it wasn't a threat; it was a promise.
"Good." A smirk crawled onto her lips as she began to descend the stairs again, heading in the direction the kitchen was most likely in.
As she walked through the kitchen doorway, Clarke ealised that she was decent at directions. It would come in handy one day.
She opened the fridge and searched through it until she found some baloney, cheese and two pieces of bread.
After grabbing the milk, she put the ingredients on the counter before closing the fridge. She filled a cup with milk and then began to make her sandwich.
Raising the butterknife to butter her bread, her body went rigid as she gazed out the window and at the old looking barn. Castiel's voice flooded her mind, warning her of the dangers that laid behind the barn doors. The knife dropped to the counter with a clang as she clenched her eyes closed.
"You cannot be hearing his voice; he's dead," she whispered quietly to herself, repeating it until she calmed down. She picked the knife back up and began to make her sandwich again, blatantly ignoring the creepy looking barn.
Finishing the sandwich, she shoved half of it into her mouth and chewed loudly to block out Castiel's voice.
