Fic: Daddy was a Winchester (and I'm a son of a gun) (1/1)
Fic: Daddy was a Winchester (and I'm a son of a gun) (1/1)
Summary: Chloe and Dean have a kid. Poor kid.
Author: pen37
word count: 1,243
Fandoms: Supernatural/Smallville
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: pg for language
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge.
Prompt #33 Too much.
The table is here.
A/N: I was worried that I was writing these suckers too fast. But then I realized that I have to write 100 of them. So I don't think there is a too fast, really. And as long as the plot bunnies want to multiply, I should be thankful that I have them.
No matter what he was doing, Dean always kept one ear out for his son. It was an instinct he'd learned growing up while looking after Sammy, and was daily tested to it's limits with Chance.
We were really pushing things, naming that kid Chance. He reflected once he'd seen Chloe out the door. God is too much a fan of irony to let that one go. But that'd been what it felt like the first time he'd held his boy.
My boy. That one in a million chance that he'd never thought he'd have. Not with the dangerous work he did. Not with the beautiful woman who he never thought would've chosen him. Even now the thought brought a dopey smile to his face. Mine and Chloe's.
He was about to go out on a hunt, so he was taking an extra day off from the garage for much-needed daddy time. Today, Chance was going to help him take mama's Mini Cooper apart, and replace the alternator. Then mommy wouldn't have to rely on Uncle Clark for a ride to work.
Uncle Clark was a reliable mode of transportation, as long as he didn't have to save fishing boats from a typhoon off the coast of Hong Kong. In which case, mommy arrived home late, smelling like fish.
Fortunately, Chance was used to the weirdness that came with a daddy who hunted monsters, and a mommy who was den mother to most of the world's superheroes.
Maybe naming the kid Chance was prophetic. Maybe, between the Winchester and Sullivan-Lane genes, they were just hoping the kid would get a fair one.
Chance was every bit the son of his parents: hard-headed, stubborn and way too smart for his own good. He'd inherited his dad's tendency to act before thinking, his mom's never-take-no-for-an-answer attitude, and a double portion talent for attracting trouble.
Which is why keeping an ear out for his boy was imperative. Because when things got quiet, it was usually time to make sure that he hadn't gotten his head stuck in the banister. Or tried to beat up his cousin Kara with the fire poker. Or taken daddy's .38 to go hunting bogeymen. Or gotten his tongue stuck to the shelf in the deep freeze. Or tried to summon something to clean his room. Or hacked into the FBI database to erase daddy's permanent record.
Again.
Come to think of it, he hadn't heard a peep out of the kid in a good . . . two minutes.
Setting down his razor, he walked to the bathroom door.
“Bwaaaaa!” Chance jumped out at him from the hallway, wearing one of Chloe's scarves tied around his head, and carrying the toy bow and arrow set that Uncle Ollie gave him for his birthday.
“Hey squirt!” Dean grinned down at his boy, pride etched in his features. “You look like Rambo.”
“Thanks Dad!” Chance grinned up at him, and then ran up the hall into their bedroom.
Tough little guy, Dean thought happily. Takes after my side of the family. As he went back to shaving, he thought of his kid, running around pretending to kill the bad guys. Maybe when he grew up, he'd want to follow in dad's footsteps and hunt things. Or maybe join the JLA and save the planet like mom. But not for a long time. Right now he gets to be a kid for as long as possible. Running around with mom's scarf wrapped around his head. He paused to clean out the razor, and realized that Chance'd been wearing Chloe's favorite scarf. If he ruins that, Chloe'll kill me.
Hurriedly, he put down his razor, and walked back to the bedroom.
“Chance?” the room was quiet and empty. Suddenly, daddy senses were on high danger alert. His hand found it's way to his belt - and the ever-present knife he carried there. “Chance?”
“Dad!” Chance called out from the walk-in closet. “I'm coming out of the closet now. Call me Rainbow!”
Dean paused for a moment while his son's misspoken words settled in his brain pan. “Oh hell no!”
* * *
Chloe arrived home tired, with a pounding head and aching feet. And the start of a cold.
Today had started so well, too. Thanks to her contacts in Gotham (both crime-syndicate and bat-wearing), she had a promising lead on Intergang's attempts to buy influence in city hall. She and Lois were now working on a really good expose'. She loved to chew up the crime bosses and spit them out like used bubblegum.
But then Braniac decided to make life hell for Clark over lunch. And she'd drawn the short straw with Cyborg and Oracle, and been the one to actually have to go up to the ice-palace in the godforsaken arctic to re-calibrate that crystal computer. Then she'd had to wait around for hours with the penguins and polar bears while Superman saved Toledo.
So now all she really wanted was a hot bath, and some hot tea laced with honey and grampy Sullivan's good Irish whiskey.
She did not want to see her beloved mini cooper up on blocks, with her grease-smeared husband, and equally grease-smeared son leaning over the engine with twin looks of confusion.
“What did you do?” She looked at them in horror.
Dean looked up at her with a slightly guilty expression on his face. “Hon? Didn't expect you home for hours.” He leaned in for a kiss, and pulled back in shock. “Holy-- Geez, you're cold” He hastily corrected his vocabulary with a furtive look at Chance. “Where've you been?”
"Don't change the subject, Dean. What did you do to my mini?” she fixed him with a hard glare.
“Just showing Chance the inside of an engine,” Dean rubbed his neck sheepishly. “You know, being manly men doing manly man things.”
“I thought you were going hunting?” She wondered with a bemused expression.
“Yeah, I talked to Sammy. We're going to put the trip off for a day or two. I thought we'd take my little man to the Sharks game tomorrow.”
“The Sharks?” Chloe pinned him with a suspicious look. “You don't watch football.”
“Just some bonding time. Me, uncle Sammy and the boy. Watching men tear each other's heads off. Losta testosterone there.” Dean wiped his hands on a rag, and picked up Chance. “Come on little man. I think there might be a hockey game on TV. Wanna see a buncha' guys try to bash each other's teeth in?”
“Yeah!” Chance crowed in delight. “Airplane me dad!” Dean laughed, and balanced his son like a sack of potatoes on one shoulder. Chance stuck his arms and legs out like an airplane, and made engine noises.
Chloe watched the two most important men in her life with a bemused expression, and made a mental note to ask Sam if he could find out what was going on. Though given Dean's stoic, no chick flick attitude toward life, she doubted she'd ever know.
She glared down at the auto parts that were still strewn around her garage like an oil-slicked jigsaw puzzle, and sighed. This looked like a job for - not Superman. He was on her short list right now. Maybe the Blue Beetle was free.
With a long-suffering sigh that Mary Winchester might have recognized, Chloe followed her odd family into the house.
Summary: Chloe and Dean have a kid. Poor kid.
Author: pen37
word count: 1,243
Fandoms: Supernatural/Smallville
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: pg for language
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge.
Prompt #33 Too much.
The table is here.
A/N: I was worried that I was writing these suckers too fast. But then I realized that I have to write 100 of them. So I don't think there is a too fast, really. And as long as the plot bunnies want to multiply, I should be thankful that I have them.
No matter what he was doing, Dean always kept one ear out for his son. It was an instinct he'd learned growing up while looking after Sammy, and was daily tested to it's limits with Chance.
We were really pushing things, naming that kid Chance. He reflected once he'd seen Chloe out the door. God is too much a fan of irony to let that one go. But that'd been what it felt like the first time he'd held his boy.
My boy. That one in a million chance that he'd never thought he'd have. Not with the dangerous work he did. Not with the beautiful woman who he never thought would've chosen him. Even now the thought brought a dopey smile to his face. Mine and Chloe's.
He was about to go out on a hunt, so he was taking an extra day off from the garage for much-needed daddy time. Today, Chance was going to help him take mama's Mini Cooper apart, and replace the alternator. Then mommy wouldn't have to rely on Uncle Clark for a ride to work.
Uncle Clark was a reliable mode of transportation, as long as he didn't have to save fishing boats from a typhoon off the coast of Hong Kong. In which case, mommy arrived home late, smelling like fish.
Fortunately, Chance was used to the weirdness that came with a daddy who hunted monsters, and a mommy who was den mother to most of the world's superheroes.
Maybe naming the kid Chance was prophetic. Maybe, between the Winchester and Sullivan-Lane genes, they were just hoping the kid would get a fair one.
Chance was every bit the son of his parents: hard-headed, stubborn and way too smart for his own good. He'd inherited his dad's tendency to act before thinking, his mom's never-take-no-for-an-answer attitude, and a double portion talent for attracting trouble.
Which is why keeping an ear out for his boy was imperative. Because when things got quiet, it was usually time to make sure that he hadn't gotten his head stuck in the banister. Or tried to beat up his cousin Kara with the fire poker. Or taken daddy's .38 to go hunting bogeymen. Or gotten his tongue stuck to the shelf in the deep freeze. Or tried to summon something to clean his room. Or hacked into the FBI database to erase daddy's permanent record.
Again.
Come to think of it, he hadn't heard a peep out of the kid in a good . . . two minutes.
Setting down his razor, he walked to the bathroom door.
“Bwaaaaa!” Chance jumped out at him from the hallway, wearing one of Chloe's scarves tied around his head, and carrying the toy bow and arrow set that Uncle Ollie gave him for his birthday.
“Hey squirt!” Dean grinned down at his boy, pride etched in his features. “You look like Rambo.”
“Thanks Dad!” Chance grinned up at him, and then ran up the hall into their bedroom.
Tough little guy, Dean thought happily. Takes after my side of the family. As he went back to shaving, he thought of his kid, running around pretending to kill the bad guys. Maybe when he grew up, he'd want to follow in dad's footsteps and hunt things. Or maybe join the JLA and save the planet like mom. But not for a long time. Right now he gets to be a kid for as long as possible. Running around with mom's scarf wrapped around his head. He paused to clean out the razor, and realized that Chance'd been wearing Chloe's favorite scarf. If he ruins that, Chloe'll kill me.
Hurriedly, he put down his razor, and walked back to the bedroom.
“Chance?” the room was quiet and empty. Suddenly, daddy senses were on high danger alert. His hand found it's way to his belt - and the ever-present knife he carried there. “Chance?”
“Dad!” Chance called out from the walk-in closet. “I'm coming out of the closet now. Call me Rainbow!”
Dean paused for a moment while his son's misspoken words settled in his brain pan. “Oh hell no!”
* * *
Chloe arrived home tired, with a pounding head and aching feet. And the start of a cold.
Today had started so well, too. Thanks to her contacts in Gotham (both crime-syndicate and bat-wearing), she had a promising lead on Intergang's attempts to buy influence in city hall. She and Lois were now working on a really good expose'. She loved to chew up the crime bosses and spit them out like used bubblegum.
But then Braniac decided to make life hell for Clark over lunch. And she'd drawn the short straw with Cyborg and Oracle, and been the one to actually have to go up to the ice-palace in the godforsaken arctic to re-calibrate that crystal computer. Then she'd had to wait around for hours with the penguins and polar bears while Superman saved Toledo.
So now all she really wanted was a hot bath, and some hot tea laced with honey and grampy Sullivan's good Irish whiskey.
She did not want to see her beloved mini cooper up on blocks, with her grease-smeared husband, and equally grease-smeared son leaning over the engine with twin looks of confusion.
“What did you do?” She looked at them in horror.
Dean looked up at her with a slightly guilty expression on his face. “Hon? Didn't expect you home for hours.” He leaned in for a kiss, and pulled back in shock. “Holy-- Geez, you're cold” He hastily corrected his vocabulary with a furtive look at Chance. “Where've you been?”
"Don't change the subject, Dean. What did you do to my mini?” she fixed him with a hard glare.
“Just showing Chance the inside of an engine,” Dean rubbed his neck sheepishly. “You know, being manly men doing manly man things.”
“I thought you were going hunting?” She wondered with a bemused expression.
“Yeah, I talked to Sammy. We're going to put the trip off for a day or two. I thought we'd take my little man to the Sharks game tomorrow.”
“The Sharks?” Chloe pinned him with a suspicious look. “You don't watch football.”
“Just some bonding time. Me, uncle Sammy and the boy. Watching men tear each other's heads off. Losta testosterone there.” Dean wiped his hands on a rag, and picked up Chance. “Come on little man. I think there might be a hockey game on TV. Wanna see a buncha' guys try to bash each other's teeth in?”
“Yeah!” Chance crowed in delight. “Airplane me dad!” Dean laughed, and balanced his son like a sack of potatoes on one shoulder. Chance stuck his arms and legs out like an airplane, and made engine noises.
Chloe watched the two most important men in her life with a bemused expression, and made a mental note to ask Sam if he could find out what was going on. Though given Dean's stoic, no chick flick attitude toward life, she doubted she'd ever know.
She glared down at the auto parts that were still strewn around her garage like an oil-slicked jigsaw puzzle, and sighed. This looked like a job for - not Superman. He was on her short list right now. Maybe the Blue Beetle was free.
With a long-suffering sigh that Mary Winchester might have recognized, Chloe followed her odd family into the house.