Fic: Home For the Holidays (3/3)
Fic: Home For the Holidays (3/3)
Series: Special Projects
Summary: Christmas with the Kents. An epilogue to Tis the Season.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean, Sarah Blake
Pairing:Chloe/Dean Sam/Sarah
Rating: G
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #19 White (Christmas.) The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Dean watched uneasily as Chloe led her father away in the direction of the barn. He wanted to go with them, to be there for Chloe. A soft touch on his shoulder pulled his attention firmly back to the here-and-now. He looked down to see Martha Kent standing there.
"They'll be fine," she told him. "You, on the other hand, look like you could use a piece of pie."
Dean blinked at that, and then smiled. "Ma-am, are you trying to make me fall in love with you?"
Martha's eyes widened. Up on the porch, Clark tripped on the steps and fell like a ton of rocks. Dean glanced up at the porch, and then ginned. Martha rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am." Dean nodded.
The rest of the group - minus the Sullivan portion - filed into the living room. The cedar-trimmed farmhouse was spacious and airy with light coming in every window. Pictures of various members of the Ross family stood on the mantle. At the end Dean could see a picture of a teenage Chloe, along with Clark and a short guy who had to have been Pete.
Sensing that the talk might turn to things that Sarah didn't know about, such as Justice League business, Lois stood and turned to Sarah.
"Sarah, could you help me in the kitchen?" she asked. "I think Chloe pushed the mashed potatoes off on me and I'm kind of hopeless when it comes to stuff like that."
Dean watched out of the corner of her eye as Sarah glanced shrewdly from Lois to Sam and back. Finally she nodded thoughtfully. The look she shot at Sam told him that he wasn't fooling anyone, and he had better fill her in on what was going on later.
Sam gave her an apologetic smile by way of reply. Then she turned and followed Lois into the kitchen.
Martha and Clark quickly passed around pie and coffee. Then they all sat to hear what the senior senator from Kansas had to say.
"Early this month, before we broke session for Christmas, I was approached by a diplomat from the Iranian Embassy." She held up the amulet that Clark had given her to keep her safe from demonic possession. "He was wearing something similar to this."
Dean and Sam exchanged worried glances. "What did he want?" Sam asked.
"He recognized mine for what it was, and he was looking to . . ." She paused, as if searching for the right word to convey meaning. "I suppose ‘open up diplomatic channels’ would be the best way to describe it.
"If you don't mind a slight digression. You need to know what's going on in Washington to understand why I was approached. I'm not the only one in Washington who knows what is going on. There are a handful of other elected representatives in addition to the White House. We've gotten a few hunters slipped into our staff. On Chloe's recommendation, we contacted Jo Harvelle. She's coordinating things with the other hunters. Right now we're close to isolating exactly who is possessed. When the time is right, the plan is to take them out all at once.
"That being said, the diplomat from Iran informed me that similar efforts are ongoing in his country. He wanted me to speak with the President and see if we could get a couple of hunters onto our UN delegation. The idea is to work with the Vatican's hunters to - the exact words he used were stomp out the infestation.
"Should we pack up the Impala?" Dean asked.
Martha shook her head. "Actually, I was asked to specifically keep the three of you out of things."
"Why?" Sam asked.
"Because apparently you have a reputation that has preceded you. Not just among hunters, but also with the demons themselves. My contact seemed to think that the demons would spot you coming, and it would wreck the element of surprise."
"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean chuckled. "We're famous."
"More like infamous," Clark muttered.
"Is there anything we can do, Mrs. Kent?" Sam asked.
"Other than what's already being done?" Martha shrugged. "For the time being, just . . . worry about what we can change at the moment."
"I'm down with that," Dean nodded. He scraped the last of the pie off his plate. "Right now I can change how empty this plate is."
Sam rolled his eyes, while Mrs. Kent smiled at him.
** *
Sarah put the potatoes onto the back of the stove to keep them warm. Behind her, she could hear the clink of ice as Lois dropped it into glasses to have them ready for dinner. Just then, Sam walked into the kitchen.
"Hi," he leaned one hip casually against the kitchen counter, both his hands tucked in his pockets.
"Hi, yourself," Sarah smiled at him. "So," she nodded to the living room. "You going to fill me in?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "You know that things have been more active lately. Paranormally speaking, of course."
"I know that the hunters that I work with were complaining that possession is a routine thing now," Sarah said with a frown. "Toby told me that he only used to hear about one every few years. Now it seems like there are a lot more."
"That's ‘cause there are," Sam said. "A few years back, a couple of hundred demons escaped hell. Now, they're mobilized."
"You make them sound like an army," Sarah shivered and tucked her hands up under her arms.
Sam just stared at her intently.
Sarah blanched at that. "It's an army?" she said quietly.
"We're kind of in the middle of a secret war, Sarah," Sam said. "It's kind of why I haven't settled down, even after we got rid of the demon that killed my parents."
Sarah nodded. "What can I do?"
"You're already doing a lot," Sam said. Then he paused thoughtfully. "Actually, you might talk to Senator Kent. There are a couple of representatives in Washington who she thinks might be possessed. We've got some hunters weeding them out, but with your connections --"
"I might be able to get a hunter closer," Sarah nodded. "I'll talk to her."
"Good," Sam nodded and smiled down at her. Sarah stared appreciatively up at his dimples. She wanted to stretch up and lick each one. Later, she thought. From the looks of things, Chloe and Dean weren't in a hurry to move on to their next hunt, and she had her own hotel booked through New Years.
"So," Sam cleared his throat. Then he reached into his pocket, and pulled out something white and lacy. He took Sarah's hand and pressed the cloth into it.
"What's this?"
Sam shrugged. "Youghel Lace."
Sarah gave him an incredulous look. Then she opened the little cloth square to find a simple handkerchief with an intricate lace ribbon sewn around the edges.
"Where did you get this?"
"Chloe said that you admired the lace on the tree," Sam said. "So she helped me to find it."
Sarah shook her head. "I didn't get you anything," she said regretfully.
"You're here, Sarah." Sam grinned at her. "That's the best gift I could ask for."
Sarah bit her lip and threw her arms around him. Then he lowered his lips to hers. The two of them lost themselves in a deep kiss, until at last Lois had to push them out of the way to get to the stove.
** *
When Chloe and her dad came back in the house, Chloe looked - relieved. Her dad however, was scowling in a way that made Dean think he ought to seriously consider moving to Yemen. All through the afternoon, through Christmas dinner, through watching bad Christmas specials (Lois insisted on watching Santa Claus vs. the Martians), and then during the exchange of gifts, Dean would occasionally catch that scowl on Mr. Sullivan's face.
He was distracted from it, when Chloe sat next to him on the couch and passed him a gift - wrapped in the comics section.
"It's not as good as your present was," she said quietly. "But I hope you like it."
"It's from you, isn't it? Of course I'll like it." Dean smiled at her. The few gifts he'd gotten - he'd never been one of those types to save paper. He ripped into it with childlike abandon. Bits of printed Garfield and Cathy soon littered the floor around his boots. He stopped and gaped at her gift.
"Old Spice?" Sam leaned over and looked at the packaging. Then he looked at Chloe with a mystified expression. "Is this some kind of Bruce Campbell, Evil Dead joke?"
Dean opened the box and pulled the bottle out. Then he opened the lid and held the bottle up to his nose. He breathed deeply and shut his eyes, capturing a memory that he'd long ago lost.
Dad. Teaching him to catch. Letting him sit on his lap and hold the wheel when they drove the Impala. Carrying him to bed. He remembered what it was like being four years old, and feeling safe and warm and loved.
Dean looked at Chloe in wonder. "How did you know?"
"I called your friend Missouri. She remembered," Chloe said. "Did I get it right?"
In response, Dean carefully sat the bottle down, then pulled her from her spot on the couch and into his lap. He held her to him and shut his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Dean?" Sam raised an eyebrow in question.
"Dad wore this," Dean said. "Before Mom died. It smells the way he used to smell when he . . . when . . . before."
Sam's own eyes grew wide. He reached for the bottle. Then his hand stopped in midair. It hovered over the bottle as he looked at Dean with pleading eyes. Dean gave an almost imperceptible nod. When Sam breathed deeply, his own expression was thoughtful. As if he was trying to reconcile this with his own memories of Dad.
Dean looked up at Chloe. The love he could see in her eyes humbled him. "It's more than I expected."
"I could say the same for your gift, mister." She whispered.
Speaking of which. Dean's eyes cut over to Gabe Sullivan. Chloe's father was standing near the Kent family kitchen. His frown made Dean acutely aware of the fact that Chloe was sitting on his lap.
"I think," Dean said quietly, "that your dad might want to have a word with me. Or, you know, kill me or something."
Chloe looked from her Dad to Dean and back. "What do you want to do?"
"I think I'd better talk to him," Dean said.
"You want me to go with you?" Chloe asked.
"Nah," Dean shook his head. "I think I'd better face the firing squad alone."
"Yell if you need me," Chloe said softly.
As soon as Chloe slid out of his lap, he stood and crossed the room to where Gabe stood. Gabe stared at him, as if assessing him, before turning and walking into the kitchen. Dean followed, and the two men sat across from one another at the kitchen table.
"She's a stranger to me," Gabe Sullivan said at last with a rueful shake of his head. "I hardly know my own daughter. But you - tell me about her."
Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You know her, sir. You may not know what she's been up to for the past couple of years, but you know Chloe. You know she's stubborn and determined and she always does the right thing, no matter what the cost to herself."
Gabe nodded slowly. Then his eyes cut over to Dean. "Just so we're clear on something - my daughter is as pure as the driven snow. In a convent. Filled with really, really old nuns." *
Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good," Gabe nodded. "Just so we're clear on that." He looked down and then back at Dean. "It's never easy, you know. They gave her to me, and she was this little pink thing with no hair, but she had a hell of a set of pipes, and her only ambitions in life were to eat, sleep and fill up her diapers. I loved her before I met her, and meeting her was the best moment in my life."
Dean nodded in understanding. "Mine too," he said.
Gabe let out another chuckle and shook his head. "Until you have one of your own - which, by the way would be another immaculate conception - you really won't understand. Half of being a dad is holding on. And the other half is knowing when to let go. Sometimes I see her, and I think I let go too early. Actually, every time I see her, I think that. She grew up too fast. And then she brought you home.
"I always thought that Clark would be the one I have to worry about," he muttered.
"Sir," Dean shifted uncomfortably under Gabe's scrutiny. "My mom died when I was four and my brother was still a baby. But Dad loved her so much. Even twenty-eight years after she died, she was his only one." Dean clenched his jaw. "I'm probably the guy that every father worries about. And I know that I don't have a lot to offer your daughter. But I do know that I want with Chloe what my dad had with my mom. I hope . . . I hope that's enough for you."
Gabe looked at his hands, and then back up to Dean. "I think Martha has a little bit of Tullamore Dew put back. She's pretty conscious of that particular Sullivan family quirk. Would you like some?"
Dean recognized the gesture for what it was: a peace offering, rather than a trap. "Yes, sir," he nodded.
The two of them sat there, sipping the Irish whisky, and not really saying anything. Dean could hear the quiet murmur from the other room suddenly rise as Lois started to sing Silent Night at the top of her lungs.
"Oh irony," Gabe said dryly. Dean snorted at that. Just then, he noticed Mr. Sullivan look up and smile. He turned, to see Chloe standing in the hallway and watching them. "Any Tully left for me?"
"There's always a little left for you, Chloe-bug." Gabe laughed.
"Chloe came into the kitchen, and dropped down in the seat next to Gabe. "Nollaig Shona Duit, Da."
"Nollaig Shona Duit, Chloe-bug." Gabe echoed.
"What does that mean?" Dean asked with a slight frown.
"Merry Christmas," Chloe and Gabe chorused.
"Figures," Dean shook his head.
"Uncle Gabe!" Lois’s strident voice echoed through the farmhouse. "Are you going to read the story?"
Gabe looked at Chloe with an amused expression. "I don’t know. Am I going to read the story, A stór?"
"Well, I did bring the book," Chloe laughed.
"Then why don’t you read it?" Gabe grinned at her.
"Oh no," She shook her head emphatically. "The tradition is that the oldest Sullivan reads the story. Since you’re here, I’m off the hook."
"I guess you are," Gabe grinned at her. Then he finished off the drink, got up, and walked toward the living room.
"What story?" Dean looked at her in confusion.
"The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry. It was one of Grampy and Grammy’s favorite Christmas stories."
Chloe finished off her own drink, and then followed Gabe into the living room.
Dean frowned down at the Irish whisky, picked it up, and walked back to the couch where Sam and Sarah were sitting.
"Dude," he whispered to Sam. "Give me the Cliff Notes on The Gift of the Magi."
Sam raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. "Girl cuts off all her hair to buy a nice watch chain for her husband. Boy sells his gold watch to buy a set of hair combs for his wife."
Dean blinked incredulously, then scowled. "You’re joking right? That sucks! What kind of Christmas story is that?"
"The presents aren’t the gift, Dean." Sarah said in annoyance. "The sacrifice that they made to get the gifts was made out of love. Love. That’s the gift."
Dean sat there with his mouth open. He looked up at the ceiling as if chewing on that thought. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "Okay then." His eyes cut over to his brother.
Sam grinned back at him, and then put an arm around Sarah, and leaned back to watch Mr. Sullivan pick up an old, hardbound book, and turn to the front of it.
"Hey Sam?" Dean whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Merry Christmas."
"You too, Dean."
Any further talk was cut off as Gabe cleared his throat, and began speaking.
"One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
"There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating."
*A/N: The convent crack was shamelessly thefted from
tobywolf13's Smallville/Buffy Crossover. I think the line was one Xander used when talking about Dawn. If you're not reading her work, you really ought to.