Fic: The Wild Hunt (5/10)
Fic: The Wild Hunt (5/10)
Author: pen37
Beta: strangevisitor7
Fandoms: Supernatural, Smallville
Pairing: Chloe/Dean (If you squint)
Rating: Pg
Timeline: For Supernatural: Assumes that everything up to Lazarus Rizing occured. For Smallville: Assumes that Chloe and Jimmy broke it off just before Bride, but that events in Legion occured. Also assumes that Chloe shied away from any relationship with Davis.
Written for the Supernatural Crossover Big Bang at sncross_bigbang
Summary: When an old high school friend contacts Chloe Sullivan about some odd happenings at his job, Chloe agrees to help out -- never realizing that "helping" means wearing a corset. When Sam and Dean check out a disappearance at a Renaissance festival, they don't count on the help of a blonde who knows everything there is to know about paranormal -- but not so much about supernatural. All Renaissance fairs ahve a little magic of their own. But when the magic at this fair goes terribly wrong, it's going to take the three of them combined to solve this case.
Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch. 6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10
The green plastic privies rocked back and forth. Finally, the door on the end privy popped open. Sam and Dean rolled out and into the dirt. The Sam stood, brushing himself off.
"This was better than hiding behind a rack?”
"Yes,” Dean said without hesitation.
"What about an iron maiden?”
Dean paused . . . Maybe not,” he said.
Sam rolled his eyes. Then he consulted his map. “You have the EMF?” he asked.
"Of course,” Dean sounded annoyed.
"Just checking,” Sam said. “Which do you want to try first, the rose gardens or . . .?”
Dean suddenly jerked Sam back behind the port-a-privey. “Shhh!” he hissed. The he nodded at the open ground in front of the tournament field.
In the distance, Sam could see the bobbing glow of a flashlight.
"Who wanders around at night?” he wondered.
Dean shrugged. “Let's find out.”
** *
The fairy grotto seemed even more foreboding at night. Chloe clutched her staff closer to her as she stepped down into the glade. She'd gone a few steps when the light flickered on and off a couple of times and then died.
"Figures,” she muttered.
The wind seemed to laugh at her. She froze with her head cocked to the side in a listening position. Then, obeying the danger instincts that had been honed on psychotic boyfriends, she threw herself down. A breeze passed over her as if something was moving through the space she just occupied.
As Chloe rolled away, it seemed as if her hair and clothes snagged on every thorny branch in the fairee grotto.
When she found a broad, thick, defensible tree truck, she put her back to it, and held her staff like a bat. But when she felt a vine wrap itself around her middle, she realized too late that a good, defensible position could also be turned into a trap.
The a shot rang out.
The vine released her. Immediately she dropped to the ground and crawled for her lost flashlight. By some miracle it switched on, and she immediately trained it outward - revealing Not!Jason and his shaggy-haired friend.
The two of them had guns trained outward on a large ragged shadow. Before they could fire again, a second wraith like figure melted from the darkness and knocked the taller guy down.
Chloe seized up the nail, sprang after the creature and drove her improvised weapon through it's shadowy form and into the soft earth. The creature screamed, tried to tug itself free, but the nail held fast.
Then Not!Jason pulled her to her feet and shoved her toward the open ground of the tournament arena.
Once they were out of the grotto, Chloe ran for the safety of the vardo's wards.
"This way!” she yelled back to them. Her earlier mistrust of the duo forgotten in the face of a common enemy.
"What?” tall guy asked.
"My place is warded. It's close and safe.”
Behind them, they heard the wraith scream.
"Close?” Not!Jason asked.
"Yeah.”
"Good.”
The two men chased her across the parade ground, through the queen's rose garden around the pirate ship stage and into the gypsy camp. The sound of three sets of boots thundering up the vardo steps was eclipsed by the sound of the door slamming.
Chloe's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her heavy breathing, echoed by Not!Jason and Shaggy, sounded through the chilly darkness. The two men seemed to loom over her. To fill the cramped space of the trailer.
When her racing heart returned to normal, Chloe took a deep cleansing breath. Then she lit a candle to see by.
"Well,” she said. “That was interesting.”
"Lady? Who are you?” Not!Jason asked.
She turned and leaned her hip against the counter. “Are we using real names this time? Or do you just want to call me Joan Jett?”
"That was really stupid, what you did back there,” Not! Jason said.
"You mean the part where I saved your ass?” Chloe cocked an eyebrow.
"We had things under control there, Blondie.”
"Yeah?” She crossed her arms. “Last I checked, I was the one they brought in to deal with the pest problem. Chad didn't tell me they got extra manpower.”
"What are you?” Tall and shaggy asked. His question was more thoughtful, less challenging.
Chloe hesitated. She hadn't missed that he asked what are you instead of who are you.
"You ever hear of a place called Smallville?”
"That what you are?” Not!Jason asked. “Meteor mutant?”
"I think I'm a witch,” she shrugged. “Not the kind you're thinking of,” she added quickly. “I haven't prostituted myself out to the dark forces for a little bit of magic. But more like - people say that the word witch really just used to mean wise. That witches were just people who knew things. They took responsibility for the world around them. They spoke up for people who couldn't. And they watched the dangerous borders. The ones where the world was thin and the night was black and life and death touched each other too closely.”
"You're a hunter,” Shaggy said. And there was a kind of definiteness to his tone of voice that left Chloe with no doubt that he was telling the truth.
"Is that what it's called?” she asked.
Not!Jason and Shaggy traded volumes of language in a look. “I think maybe we'd better all sit down.”
** *
In a very short quid-pro-quo session, stories were exchanged about hunters, demons, meteor showers and mutants. When all the telling was done, a thoughtful silence fell over the vardo.
"What are we dealing with?” Shaggy - who had introduced himself as Sam - asked.
"It's definitely of the sidhe,” Chloe said. “There are all kinds of stories about things that steal children. The Gello in Greece, the Churel in India, The Abiku in Africa. Even in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, Tatiana and Oberon fought over a kidnapped mortal boy. I'm pretty sure it's unseelie. The Seelie court generally only took a child if it was unbaptized and unnamed. And did you see the way it reacted to the iron nail?”
"We were shooting consecrated iron rounds,” Not!Jason - his name is Dean, Chloe reminded herself - said. “Definitely fey. But you knew that before you went poking around.”
"I suspected.” She nodded. “How do you know?”
"Your shirt is on inside out,” he grinned triumphantly.
"A lot of good it did me,” Chloe quickly stripped out of her sweatshirt and then turned it the correct way. Now that she had it righted, the others could see the skull and crossbones logo from the Pogues album - an impulse buy from this morning. It had seemed piratical at the time.
Dean smirked at her. “You like Irish music?”
"Some,” she said. “Judging by the way you dress - I'd say you're probably into Zeppelin.”
"Nothing wrong with Zeppelin,” Dean grumbled.
"Never said there was. My dad likes it.”
"Your dad has good tastes.” Dean said.
"He also thinks the Turkey Red Wheat Palace is the height of family vacationing fun.”
"Says the girl working at a Renaissance faire.”
"I noticed that you're here too.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but then Sam shut him up with an elbow to the ribs. “You think maybe if we went back tomorrow morning, we might find something we missed?”
Chloe glanced toward the door, and shivered. “I'm pretty sure that it's not safe to go back there tonight.”
"It's settled then,” Dean nodded. “We'll bunk here, and go have another look in the morning.” He looked at the bed, but then Chloe stepped into his line of sight. “I think there might be an extra blanket or two for you guys. That will make the floor more comfortable.”
Dean dropped his head, and Sam grinned in amusement.
"Right,” Dean said.
* * *
Chloe rolled over and punched her pillow. But it was no use. She couldn't still her racing mind enough to get to sleep. Thoughts of Star, the unseelie whatever-it-was and her bizarre day all bled together.
"Restless?” Dean's voice drifted up to her from the floor. His question was punctuated by Sam's snores.
"Yeah,” Chloe sat up. “Why don't you come up here? We can talk without waking your brother.”
"Aren't you afraid for your virtue?” His voice carried a teasing edge.
"You're at a ren faire. You can pretty much throw a stone and hit a willing wench. Why are you hitting on me?”
"You're on the short list of girls I know who would be huddled in a wagon, hunting a monster,” Dean said.
"Just keep your grabby hands to yourself. I've got a taser.”
"Not funny,” his voice was flat.
"You hear me laughing?”
The mattress dipped under his weight as he wormed his way under the covers until he was able to stretch out next to her. He took up half the mattress, as he rolled onto his side to face her. Ordinarily, Chloe would have protested the lack of personal space, but partially because of her frayed nerves and partially because of the unseelie beast out beyond the wards, it was comforting to have Dean closer than arms length.
Here in the dark she could just make out his features. His expression seemed unusually subdued. There was something raw and unguarded in his look, as if he would bare his soul if she would only ask.
"So what's keeping you awake?” he asked her.
"Well for one, that thing is still out there,” she replied.
His brow furrowed in concern. “How can you feel it?”
"Long story. Weird life. You know about Smallville. I'm sure you can guess.”
"I can relate.” His eyes looked troubled. Chloe was tempted to ask why. But she knew better. Asking meant sharing. Sharing meant complications. Strings. And she didn't want Dean in her life any more than she wanted in his.
Instead she touched the Celtic knot in the dark.
"You believe in destiny?”
"I don't know,” he looked away. “Maybe.”
She held the amulet up. “This was supposed to lead me to my true love.”
"Yeah?” He grinned lazily. “How's that working out?”
"Well, so far I wound up in bed with you.”
He laughed along with her: a deep hearty sound that shook the bed. It sounded good in Chloe's ears, and left her smiling long after her own mirth had died. She had the feeling that Dean didn't laugh nearly often enough. Somewhere deep down, she was glad to have pulled that out of him.
"I think . . . I stopped believing in predestined love,” she confessed. “I don't really think that there is some soul mate wandering around waiting for me to find him so that we can complete each other.”
"So, not a romantic,” Dean said.
"You didn't strike me as a romantic type,” she replied.
"Do you believe in love at all?”
Chloe nodded. “I've seen it once or twice. . . imperfect love with imperfect people. But if its right, you put everything you have into making it work, and that other person does the same. When the two of you are partners like that then from the outside it looks perfect and wonderful and effortless. And all the poets and the trashy romance writers think they can sum it up in a few fancy words, but all they get is a pale reflection of the real thing.”
When he didn't say anything, Chloe started to worry that she'd put him to sleep.
Finally, Dean cleared his throat. “Wow. You sure you're not a writer?”
"Maybe in a past life,” Chloe felt her lips curve in a smile again.
"So what happens if it doesn't work out?”
"I've seen that too,” Chloe looked away. “I guess you could say I wrote the book on that one.”
"Well, let me know if that necklace leads you anywhere.”
"What about you guys?” She asked. “You just wander the country killing things?”
"Basically.”
"No place to call home?”
"Couple friends here and there who would put us up if we were in a bind. And we got each other.”
She lapsed into thoughtful silence.
"Kind of pathetic, huh?” he asked.
"Actually, I think I'm kind of jealous.” She said quietly. “Of the We got each other part.” She ducked her head as heat flamed her cheeks. “Now who's pathetic?”
In response, he slipped an arm around her and rested his head on hers. “Nobody pathetic here.”
As they lay there, Chloe felt the presence of the unseelie recede in the distance.
"I think it's gone,” she said.
"Bet not far,” he muttered.
"No, probably not. I wish I knew what it was.”
"We'll figure it out,” he said.
Chloe figured that all that bravado wasn't false. He and Sam seemed like they were quick on their feet.
"Whatever it is, it's been moving from faire to faire. Sam thinks it's attached to someone.”
"Sounds about right,” Chloe said. “In Celtic folklore, certain spirits would attach themselves to places or people. Brownies with a house. Bean Sidhe with a family.”
"Weird life aside - how do you know all this stuff?”
"I had an active imagination and a fascination for the paranormal when I was a kid,” She said. “With a name like Sullivan - the first thing I looked into were the Celtic myths. When I read that fairies would take fair haired children, I hoped they would come for me. Of course, now I know how terrifying that would really be.”
"Bet you wanted to live with the Loch Ness Monster, too.”
"Step off Nessie, Pal.”
"Sorry.”
"Whatever this thing is, it's probably attached to one of the traveling Rennies, then.” Chloe said around a yawn.”
"Probably.”
She wasn't sure if he said anything else. Sometime around that point, she drifted off.
Sunlight streamed through the window on the door of the Vardo when Chloe next opened her eyes. She lay there, blinking, feeling Dean's warm weight on her shoulder.
She must have been subconsciously working on the problem of the unseelie and who it might be attached to while she slept, because the answer instantly popped into her head.
She sat up, dislodging Dean in the process. He snorted once, blinked, and squinted at her.
"Cat bowl!”
The she threw back the covers and reached for her garb.
"What?”
"Cat Bowl!” She ducked behind a curtain, wriggled out of her jeans and into the dress. Then she picked up her staff and headed toward the door.
She stopped and turned to find both men staring at her in confusion. Dean in the bed, Sam from the floor.
"Well? Come on!”
The boys looked at each other in confusion.
"Any idea what she's takin' about?” Dean asked.
"No clue. What are you doing up there?” Sam grumbled.
"Sleepin',” Dean said as he wiped his eyes.
Sam frowned, and then reached for his sneakers.