Fic: Coyote, Wolf and Hound (6/9)
Fic: Coyote, Wolf and Hound (6/9)
Series: Special Projects
Summary: The honeymoon is over and the Winchester family settles into family life by doing what they do best: Hunting. This time they head into the Superstition mountains to look into another beheading case. Can you say Lost Dutchman Mine?
Author: pen37
Beta: Strangevisitor7
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: pg-13
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Also submitted for the Crossovers_100 challenge. Prompt # 81 Mountain.
Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9
When Dean opened his eyes, he immediately missed Chloe's reassuring warmth next to him. She didn't need much sleep, but lately she'd taken to staying in bed and reading just to be near him. Even before then, she'd always returned to bed before he'd awakened so that she would be there for him to hold.
So it was jarring to wake up alone, with only his body heat to warm the sleeping bag.
Still, he'd known that she wouldn't be there when he woke. She was supposed to sit up and keep watch. But he was having trouble shaking that gut-level feeling that something wasn't right.
He sat up slowly, and scanned the camp. Everything looked normal. Sam was sleeping on his side, drooling onto his pillow, with a naughty little grin on his face. No doubt having wet dreams about Sarah. The corner of Dean's mouth turned up. As soon as this hunt was over, he and Chloe were going to dump baby brother's ass in upstate New York and not come back for him for at least a week.
He pulled his mind away from Sam's love life, and back to that feeling of wrongness. Their gear was still where they'd piled it last night. And even the nearly-invisible little grains of salt that he'd put on his bag were undisturbed.
Finally, he spotted Chloe. His wife sat near the edge of the camp, overlooking the trail. Her back was to them, facing that point a half-mile up the trailhead, where the park service had found Mr. DeWitt's remains.
Since everything appeared normal, he was just going to have to get up and check things out. He kept one eye on her back as he wriggled out of the nylon and goose-down cocoon of his bedding, and checked his boots for scorpions. Then he jammed his gun into his waistband, and pulled on a plaid outer shirt and denim jacket over the T-Shirt that he'd slept in. When he finished that, he rooted through Chloe's backpack for the MREs and their portable propane burner for coffee.
Once the smell of Juan Valdez's best filled the air, Sam began to stir, but Chloe still hadn't moved from her spot.
“Darlin', you coming to breakfast?” Dean called out to her.
“Be right there.” She rose gracefully, and returned to camp.
Dean noted her gait with a raised eyebrow. But when he looked into her eyes, he knew that it wasn't Chloe. In one fluid move, he drew his pistol, stood and took aim on the creature that wore Chloe's face.
She stopped in her tracks, and stared with feigned incredulity at the end of his gun. “What the hell?”
“Where's Chloe?” He snarled at her.
“I'm right here!” she pointed to herself.
“Nice Try,” Dean growled out. “Where is she?”
She slowly put her hands up, palms out. “Dean, it's me.”
From his own bedroll, Sam stood slowly. He looked from Dean to Chloe in confusion.
“Sam.” She looked pleadingly at the taller brother. “Tell him. It's me.”
Sam's eyes roved over Chloe one last time. Then he drew his own gun and pointed it at her. “Then where's your rings?”
The Chloe lookalike wiggled the naked digits of it's left hand and scoffed. “Knew I should have cut her damn fingers off to get at them,” it muttered.
“Better tell me where she is.” Dean's eyes narrowed.
“Or what? Gonna shoot me?” It tilted its head at an arrogant angle. “Because if you kill me, you'll never find her.” Its expression was smug as it taunted Dean. “And you'll want to find her soon. You know how she gets when she's claustrophobic.”
Dean frowned, and then looked helplessly at Sam. Sam nodded in confirmation. By reply, Dean shrugged.
Then he turned back to the shifter, and shot it.
The creature's face twisted in an expression of shock as it slumped to the ground. Dean moved to stand over it, and quickly rifled through its pockets before removing Chloe's holster and short-grip .45 from its body.
Meanwhile, Sam went through their bags again. “Looks like all it took was some of Chloe's clothes,” Sam reported.
“I should have guessed,” Dean rolled his eyes. “My stuff hadn't been touched, and the camp gear was fine. I had an uneasy feeling, but I didn't think the shifter would go through our stuff just to steal dirty underwear.”
“Well, you figured it out before anything worse could happen,” Sam said. “The stuff?”
“Leave it,” Dean said. “I don't like what that shifter said about Chloe being claustrophobic. We need to track her.”
“If they find our gear near a body that they think is Chloe . . .” Sam shook his head.
“Then strip the gear,” Dean said. “Make it look nice an anonymous. But do it quick. We've got to move. Remember how she was back in Hot Springs when that demon walled her up like a bad Vincent Price movie? We can't let her go through that again.”
“Alright,” Sam said as he held his hands up in a placating manner. “At least let me hide that thing's body. That'll buy us a little more time.”
“Whatever,” Dean muttered. “Just be quick about it.”
While Sam packed up their bedrolls and sorted through the gear, Dean quickly found the spot where Chloe had been attacked. Her blood coated the sharp angle of a rock that was easily the size of his forearm. He might have missed it entirely, but the smell of her blood called to the vampire side of him. He was able to find it in spite of the fact that the shifter had half-hidden it underneath the spreading, razor-sharp leaves of an enormous Yucca plant.
He turned the stone over and over in his hands and blistered the air with foul language. How had he missed this? Chloe wasn't that far away and he'd slept through the night while the shapeshifter had attacked her.
When Sam came back, holding Chloe's CamelPak and looking supremely pissed himself, Dean knew that his own mood wasn't going to improve.
“Our water's gone.”
“What?” Dean's eyes narrowed.
“It punched a hole in all the canteens,” Sam said.
“Left just enough not to tip me off while I made breakfast.” Dean cursed his own inattention again. “What a Bitch!” His shout bounced off the cliff face.
“So now what?” Sam asked.
“I've found the trail,” Dean said. “So let's hit it.”
“We've got no water,” Sam said incredulously.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “So we're going to have to do this old school, like Dad taught us. Let's go.”
Sam nodded reluctantly. “Fine.”
* * *
Although John Winchester had been a Marine in Viet Nam, he'd picked up even more survival skills as a hunter. One of the first things he'd learned from another hunter named Daniel Elkins was that there were a lot of freaky things in the Southwestern United States, so he should plan accordingly.
It was a lesson that he'd passed on to his sons.
The desert was considered by many to be an inhospitable climate. But once you chose to adapt to the landscape, it could actually be your friend.
But first, you had to know where to find water.
That had actually been Dean's earliest lesson in desert survival. If you couldn't pack your own water in, it didn't mean you were up shit creek without a paddle. There was water in the desert. You just had to know where to look.
Dew that formed under rocks in the predawn hours, the bitter roots of the fibrous yucca, the pulpy inside of the cactus, if you dug deeply enough in the bend of a dry riverbed.
They rested for ten minutes out of every hour. And during that time, they searched for water to keep them hydrated.
The rest of the time, they tracked the shifter's movements.
Its footprints were indistinguishable in the dry, hard-packed clay of the desert. But the precious cargo it was carrying was wounded. Dean had no trouble finding the blood traces that had been left behind. Considering that the shifter had been mimicking a rather short woman, it had surprising strength and stamina to carry her this far, this fast without rest.
But then again, the shifter that they'd dealt with in St. Louis had gotten the drop on Sam while it had been disguised as Becky.
They spoke little as they moved. Talking would only dehydrate you faster. But during one resting period, Dean thought he caught one of Sam's speculative looks out of the corner of his eye.
“What?” he sighed.
“Nothing,” Sam said.
“Dude, we may as well get the twenty-questions out of the way.”
“I was just wondering how you were able to tell that the shifter wasn't Chloe.” Sam said. “Is that part of your abilities?”
Dean shook his head. “No.”
“You sure?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded slowly as he thought about it. “Just . . . no.”
“Okay then. How could you tell?”
Dean frowned. He hated these group hug moments. “Look Dude, I know Chloe. I know the way she walks. I know the way she breathes. I know her heartbeat and the way she looks at me. That thing didn't even move like her.”
Sam nodded. His eyes looked troubled, but he seemed to accept Dean's words at face value.
Dean sighed. At least Sam hadn't asked how he was tracking the shifter. He wasn't quite ready to share that little bit of information with him.
Series: Special Projects
Summary: The honeymoon is over and the Winchester family settles into family life by doing what they do best: Hunting. This time they head into the Superstition mountains to look into another beheading case. Can you say Lost Dutchman Mine?
Author: pen37
Beta: Strangevisitor7
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: pg-13
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Also submitted for the Crossovers_100 challenge. Prompt # 81 Mountain.
Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9
When Dean opened his eyes, he immediately missed Chloe's reassuring warmth next to him. She didn't need much sleep, but lately she'd taken to staying in bed and reading just to be near him. Even before then, she'd always returned to bed before he'd awakened so that she would be there for him to hold.
So it was jarring to wake up alone, with only his body heat to warm the sleeping bag.
Still, he'd known that she wouldn't be there when he woke. She was supposed to sit up and keep watch. But he was having trouble shaking that gut-level feeling that something wasn't right.
He sat up slowly, and scanned the camp. Everything looked normal. Sam was sleeping on his side, drooling onto his pillow, with a naughty little grin on his face. No doubt having wet dreams about Sarah. The corner of Dean's mouth turned up. As soon as this hunt was over, he and Chloe were going to dump baby brother's ass in upstate New York and not come back for him for at least a week.
He pulled his mind away from Sam's love life, and back to that feeling of wrongness. Their gear was still where they'd piled it last night. And even the nearly-invisible little grains of salt that he'd put on his bag were undisturbed.
Finally, he spotted Chloe. His wife sat near the edge of the camp, overlooking the trail. Her back was to them, facing that point a half-mile up the trailhead, where the park service had found Mr. DeWitt's remains.
Since everything appeared normal, he was just going to have to get up and check things out. He kept one eye on her back as he wriggled out of the nylon and goose-down cocoon of his bedding, and checked his boots for scorpions. Then he jammed his gun into his waistband, and pulled on a plaid outer shirt and denim jacket over the T-Shirt that he'd slept in. When he finished that, he rooted through Chloe's backpack for the MREs and their portable propane burner for coffee.
Once the smell of Juan Valdez's best filled the air, Sam began to stir, but Chloe still hadn't moved from her spot.
“Darlin', you coming to breakfast?” Dean called out to her.
“Be right there.” She rose gracefully, and returned to camp.
Dean noted her gait with a raised eyebrow. But when he looked into her eyes, he knew that it wasn't Chloe. In one fluid move, he drew his pistol, stood and took aim on the creature that wore Chloe's face.
She stopped in her tracks, and stared with feigned incredulity at the end of his gun. “What the hell?”
“Where's Chloe?” He snarled at her.
“I'm right here!” she pointed to herself.
“Nice Try,” Dean growled out. “Where is she?”
She slowly put her hands up, palms out. “Dean, it's me.”
From his own bedroll, Sam stood slowly. He looked from Dean to Chloe in confusion.
“Sam.” She looked pleadingly at the taller brother. “Tell him. It's me.”
Sam's eyes roved over Chloe one last time. Then he drew his own gun and pointed it at her. “Then where's your rings?”
The Chloe lookalike wiggled the naked digits of it's left hand and scoffed. “Knew I should have cut her damn fingers off to get at them,” it muttered.
“Better tell me where she is.” Dean's eyes narrowed.
“Or what? Gonna shoot me?” It tilted its head at an arrogant angle. “Because if you kill me, you'll never find her.” Its expression was smug as it taunted Dean. “And you'll want to find her soon. You know how she gets when she's claustrophobic.”
Dean frowned, and then looked helplessly at Sam. Sam nodded in confirmation. By reply, Dean shrugged.
Then he turned back to the shifter, and shot it.
The creature's face twisted in an expression of shock as it slumped to the ground. Dean moved to stand over it, and quickly rifled through its pockets before removing Chloe's holster and short-grip .45 from its body.
Meanwhile, Sam went through their bags again. “Looks like all it took was some of Chloe's clothes,” Sam reported.
“I should have guessed,” Dean rolled his eyes. “My stuff hadn't been touched, and the camp gear was fine. I had an uneasy feeling, but I didn't think the shifter would go through our stuff just to steal dirty underwear.”
“Well, you figured it out before anything worse could happen,” Sam said. “The stuff?”
“Leave it,” Dean said. “I don't like what that shifter said about Chloe being claustrophobic. We need to track her.”
“If they find our gear near a body that they think is Chloe . . .” Sam shook his head.
“Then strip the gear,” Dean said. “Make it look nice an anonymous. But do it quick. We've got to move. Remember how she was back in Hot Springs when that demon walled her up like a bad Vincent Price movie? We can't let her go through that again.”
“Alright,” Sam said as he held his hands up in a placating manner. “At least let me hide that thing's body. That'll buy us a little more time.”
“Whatever,” Dean muttered. “Just be quick about it.”
While Sam packed up their bedrolls and sorted through the gear, Dean quickly found the spot where Chloe had been attacked. Her blood coated the sharp angle of a rock that was easily the size of his forearm. He might have missed it entirely, but the smell of her blood called to the vampire side of him. He was able to find it in spite of the fact that the shifter had half-hidden it underneath the spreading, razor-sharp leaves of an enormous Yucca plant.
He turned the stone over and over in his hands and blistered the air with foul language. How had he missed this? Chloe wasn't that far away and he'd slept through the night while the shapeshifter had attacked her.
When Sam came back, holding Chloe's CamelPak and looking supremely pissed himself, Dean knew that his own mood wasn't going to improve.
“Our water's gone.”
“What?” Dean's eyes narrowed.
“It punched a hole in all the canteens,” Sam said.
“Left just enough not to tip me off while I made breakfast.” Dean cursed his own inattention again. “What a Bitch!” His shout bounced off the cliff face.
“So now what?” Sam asked.
“I've found the trail,” Dean said. “So let's hit it.”
“We've got no water,” Sam said incredulously.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “So we're going to have to do this old school, like Dad taught us. Let's go.”
Sam nodded reluctantly. “Fine.”
* * *
Although John Winchester had been a Marine in Viet Nam, he'd picked up even more survival skills as a hunter. One of the first things he'd learned from another hunter named Daniel Elkins was that there were a lot of freaky things in the Southwestern United States, so he should plan accordingly.
It was a lesson that he'd passed on to his sons.
The desert was considered by many to be an inhospitable climate. But once you chose to adapt to the landscape, it could actually be your friend.
But first, you had to know where to find water.
That had actually been Dean's earliest lesson in desert survival. If you couldn't pack your own water in, it didn't mean you were up shit creek without a paddle. There was water in the desert. You just had to know where to look.
Dew that formed under rocks in the predawn hours, the bitter roots of the fibrous yucca, the pulpy inside of the cactus, if you dug deeply enough in the bend of a dry riverbed.
They rested for ten minutes out of every hour. And during that time, they searched for water to keep them hydrated.
The rest of the time, they tracked the shifter's movements.
Its footprints were indistinguishable in the dry, hard-packed clay of the desert. But the precious cargo it was carrying was wounded. Dean had no trouble finding the blood traces that had been left behind. Considering that the shifter had been mimicking a rather short woman, it had surprising strength and stamina to carry her this far, this fast without rest.
But then again, the shifter that they'd dealt with in St. Louis had gotten the drop on Sam while it had been disguised as Becky.
They spoke little as they moved. Talking would only dehydrate you faster. But during one resting period, Dean thought he caught one of Sam's speculative looks out of the corner of his eye.
“What?” he sighed.
“Nothing,” Sam said.
“Dude, we may as well get the twenty-questions out of the way.”
“I was just wondering how you were able to tell that the shifter wasn't Chloe.” Sam said. “Is that part of your abilities?”
Dean shook his head. “No.”
“You sure?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded slowly as he thought about it. “Just . . . no.”
“Okay then. How could you tell?”
Dean frowned. He hated these group hug moments. “Look Dude, I know Chloe. I know the way she walks. I know the way she breathes. I know her heartbeat and the way she looks at me. That thing didn't even move like her.”
Sam nodded. His eyes looked troubled, but he seemed to accept Dean's words at face value.
Dean sighed. At least Sam hadn't asked how he was tracking the shifter. He wasn't quite ready to share that little bit of information with him.