Fic: Thicker Than Water (3/10)

[pen37]

Fic: Thicker Than Water (3/10)
Series: Special Projects
Summary: Vampires are not nice monsters.  Especially vampires embroiled in a nest war.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: R for violence
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #95 New Year The table is here.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6a, Part 6b, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10


Dean leaned forward over the green felt pool table and studied the scattered billiard balls with a practiced eye. Right now it looked like his mark was winning. But as he mentally placed the game through in his head by lining up shot after shot, he could already tell that he would emerge victorious.

He grinned up at the mark - Kit or Kip or some other pansy-assed preppy name. And why did all the frat boys have names like that? Sam had been right about tourists being easy marks. He’d also been right about not being a smart-ass. Dean was discovering that as long as he kept buying his mark a drink every time he won a game - frat boy was a good sport, and a little looser with his betting cash.

The bar was packed with kids like this - sporting Christmas vacation beards, wind-burned faces from days on the slopes, and tan lines from their sun glasses. Kids with more money than sense. Kids who weren’t too upset that they lost their beer money when they were already drunker than shit.

Also kids who were better sports about losing than the roughnecks and bikers that he normally hustled. Which was kinda nice. For once he could just relax a little and enjoy the game without worrying whether someone was going to try and smash a cue stick over his head or stick a blade in his kidney. He didn’t have to pretend to be one extreme or the other - either dumb-as-shit, happy-go-lucky, or half-crazed, mean-as-a-snake.

As he glanced around the room, his eyes fell on a short, blonde ski bunny. She held his gaze with her own and smiled invitingly. Dean looked down to hide a smirk, then glanced up and shook his head imperceptibly. Her face twisted in faint disappointment, and she shrugged as if to say your loss. Chloe would have found the whole exchange funny. Especially since it hadn’t been that long ago that he would have been over there in a heartbeat, working for that girl’s phone number. Whether he called it or not.

In a way, he wished Chloe was there. He always shot a little better game when he thought she was watching, but she and Sam were off doing their Holmes-And-Watson routine. Which suited him fine. Because if they were doing the research, then he didn’t have to - which left him free to do what he did best.

Speaking of which. Dean grinned as Kip scratched by sinking the cueball. With almost negligent thought, Dean lined up his shots. Within a few minutes he wrapped up the game, collected his winnings, and sent an overly-friendly waitress over to the snow bunny with some kind of fruity drink complements of Kip.

He tucked the rest of his considerable pile of hundred-dollar-bills into his pocket and decided to vacate the tables before the tourists pegged him for a hustler. As he crossed over to the bar, Kip turned and gave him a thumbs up. Dean grinned, responded in kind, and then ordered a beer.

He was feeling a little mellow. But then again, it had been an outstanding holiday season. An easy hunt, Sam reconnecting with Sarah, the trip to the Grand Canyon and he and Chloe working through their personal issues well enough to take their relationship to the next level.

Dean grinned when he thought of the hours they’d spent wrapped up in each other.

Even Little Dean perked up when he remembered their last morning in the Metropolis apartment when he trapped her in that little postage stamp-sized shower and made love to her under the spray. He shut his eyes and smiled in remembrance of the way her voice echoed off the tile when she was screaming his name, the feel of the hot water that ran off of their bodies in rivulets and the even better feel of being inside her. Getting to do that whenever he wanted was epic. Worth a whole hell of a lot more than a one-nighter with a snow bunny.

He’d always heard that if you could talk a repressed chick into bed that she’d turn into the wildest ride of your life. But he’d never had the time or the inclination to give it a shot. As it turned out, what Chloe lacked in experience, she more than made up for with enthusiasm, creativity and super-healing kind of stamina.

Dean wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve that, but if he was going to have just one woman for the rest of his life, then thank God and every one of Chloe’s saints that she was a wildcat in the sack like Chloe was.

As he finished off his beer - he realized that thinking about Chloe was going to cause Little Dean to embarrass him if he didn’t get a handle on things. He put the glass back on the table - along with a good tip, and tried to think about non-sexy things. Like bowling and rotting corpses or bowling with rotting corpses. That worked.

He sighed in frustration. He was going to have to get this under control. Because one of the cardinal rules of hunting was that you didn’t get distracted on a hunt. Which meant no getting drunk. And especially no nookie. Even if it was committed, monogamous nookie with your hot little blonde girlfriend.

Once he was fairly sure that Little Dean wasn’t going to create a scene, Dean headed for the door.

He was halfway across the parking lot when he spotted them. They were trying to be inconspicuous, which was probably why he spotted them: Because no-body, but no-body has an up-against-the wall make-out session in an alley in sub-zero temperatures when there is three feet of snow on the ground.

The girl was an Amazon blonde chick - and what was it with him and blondes lately? The guy was shorter and dark-haired. Now that he was paying attention, he could see that they weren’t really making out. The guy was actually watching him from over the girl’s shoulder. Dean quickly scanned the parking lot - and barely caught the silhouette of another guy as he ducked around the side of the building.

At least three on one. Dean cursed. In hindsight, walking the three blocks to this little tourist bar rather than driving had been a bad idea. He had his gun and a few knives. But the Impala had a bigger selection of weaponry.

He quickly reviewed his options: He could go back in and maybe call Sam and Chloe to come get him. Or he could let these yahoos follow him, and either lead them on a wild goose chase, draw them out or maybe even find out what they wanted.

Option B sounded the most appealing.

Dean tucked his hands in his pockets, kept his chin down, and casually strolled up the street. Judging by the faint shuffling footsteps that barely reached his ears, and the feeling of eyes on his back, he knew he was being followed. His skin crawled, and he thought about the gun riding in his waistband, and the knife riding comfortably along his spine.

Ahead he spotted an alley where the buildings didn’t quite meet would be the perfect place for an ambush. He swung his path out from the alley in a slight arc, as if trying to avoid potential danger. Then at the last second, he broke left and dived into the alley.

Just as he suspected, someone was waiting there to jump him. He plowed into the dark, shadowy shape with all the force he could muster. Thanks to the element of surprise, he knocked it to the ground.

But if he expected the element of surprise to last longer, he was to be sorely disappointed. His assailant rolled with the hit and sprang back to his feet just as easily as Dean did. Before Dean could react, his opponent twisted, grabbed the back of Dean’s coat, and threw him at the brick wall with preternatural strength.

As Dean plowed into the wall, his last dismayed thought was that this wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

***

It was dark, it was cold, and she was naked.

Chloe opened her eyes and sat up - for two feet. Then she hit her head against something that made a dull metallic thud and fell back again.

"Ow," she groaned, and squinted against the pain. Before she could really register where she was or what happened, light flooded her confines from foot-level, and she was suddenly sliding downwards - or possibly outwards - with a stomach-lurching tug.

She blinked again and realized that she was covered with a sheet. She reached up and pulled it off of her face - to see Sam Winchester standing over her with a concerned expression on his face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Chloe groaned as she moved limbs that had grown sleepy with inactivity. It took a moment for her intellect to kick back into high gear, but her lizard brain remembered - and almost sent her into a panicked tailspin. She’d woken up in a mortuary drawer. Again.

She shuddered and forced the animal instinct back with deep, calming breaths. Sam was here. She was safe. He’d gotten her out before she’d even had a chance to react. Still, she had the bad feeling that she’d have a couple of sleepless nights before the claustrophobia could be wrestled back into its cage again.

"Whose bright idea was this?" Chloe grumbled.

"Yours," Sam said flatly as he handed her a set of scrubs to preserve her modesty. He turned his back so that she could dress in peace. "You wanted to play dead, and you wanted me to play mortuary attendant so that I could get us both past security, and down to the forensics lab. Although if you ever ask me to shoot you full of pentobarbital so that you can pass for dead again --"

"It gave us our in," Chloe protested while she quickly pulled on the thin cotton pants and oversized shirt. "Okay, you can turn around again."

"Look, I just don’t like seeing you that still. Even with your healing abilities, your lips were blue. I had to keep reminding myself that you were going to wake up."

Chloe smiled at him faintly. "Next time we have to break into a coroner’s office to look at serial victims and steal dead man’s blood, we can try your way and play doctor - that didn’t sound right."

"Yeah," Sam grinned. "We don’t really need to mention this conversation to Dean. So --- dead bodies."

"Probably in one of the other drawers."

"Okay," Sam clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "So why don’t I find a copy of the coroners files while you look at the bodies and see if they are vampires."

Chloe gave him an amused look. "Okay."

Off her look, Sam frowned. "Dean said I would do that, didn’t he?"

"It's fine, Sam," Chloe placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Some folks get squeamish around a cadaver. "

"Aw man!" Sam scowled. "Dean needs to really shut up!"

"Sam, really - it’s fine," Chloe said.

"No," Sam shook his head. "Let’s both look."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Just - make sure Dean knows that I did this."

"If it comes up," Chloe nodded agreeably.

Sam picked the lock to the coroner’s office and in no time the two of them transferred the pertinent files to his laptop. Then, using the information there, they narrowed down the drawers, and pulled out the first one.

"Contestant number one was actually the most recent victim," Sam said as he read the file. "John Doe. Estimated to be a six-one, one hundred and ninety pound Caucasian.

"At least he was before receiving the closest shave of his life," Chloe deadpanned as she leaned over Sam’s shoulder to get a better look at his screen. He got out of her way and reached for a pair of latex exam gloves. Then he picked up a pair of forceps, and pulled back the man’s upper lip. He prodded the gums until a retractable set of fangs sprang free.

"Vampire," he reported to Chloe with a definite nod.

"Then let’s check out the others," she replied.

A quick check confirmed that the other three victims were also of the blood-drinking persuasion. While Chloe looked over the last victim - a statuesque brunette woman whose head had been practically sawed off with a hunting knife - Sam stopped to scratch at his chin absently.

"Well, this would explain why the murders didn’t fit a serial pattern."

"The victims probably knew each other," Chloe said. "Looks like it may have been a group of hunters cleaning out a nest, after all."

"If it is, it’s not anyone Bobby has heard of," Sam said.

"It’s a big world, Sam. Maybe Bobby doesn’t know everyone."

"No," Sam shook his head. "If anything, the hunting community has gotten a little more tightly knit since the demon population has grown. They’re more organized, so we have to be more organized to keep up."

Chloe started to suggest that maybe they give Ellen a call after all, when another jagged wound on the brunette’s much-abused neck caught her eye.

"Sam - take a look at this."

Sam crowded Chloe out from her spot, and leaned in closely. "That looks like --" He looked up at Chloe, and expression of wide-eyed incredulity on his face. "That looks like a vampire bite."

Chloe nodded. Then she turned and grabbed a pair of calipers off the tray of tools and used them to measure the width of the bite. She then pulled out the drawer of the first vampire they’d looked at -- the tall, muscular one -- pulled his jaw back, and assessed the width of his bite.

"Judging by these measurements, it looks like our first John Doe may have had something to do with Jane Doe’s murder."

"Vampires killing vampires?" Sam cocked an eyebrow.

"Is that normal?" Chloe asked.

"I wouldn’t know," Sam shook his head. "Vampires and werewolves are both rare. I’ve encountered a nest only twice."

"So what are you thinking?" Chloe asked.

"I was thinking that I might know someone who could tell me if this has ever happened," Sam said.

Before Chloe could ask who, a man wearing scrubs and a lab coat walked in. Chloe guessed - based on Sam’s busted expression, that this was the attendant who had checked her body in. He looked at her in confusion, before looking at Sam for explanation, and then back at her again. His eyes suddenly grew wide.

Chloe smiled at him sheepishly. "Um . . . I got better?"