The War of Fate - NC17 - Chloe/Dean - Chapter Two
Title: The War of Fate
Series: Fate - Part II of III
Category: Smallville/Supernatural
Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama/Humor/Action
Ship: Chloe/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 4,156
Summary: Following the loss of his brother, Dean vows to keep his promise and live the apple-pie life with Chloe, but God has other ideas. Trying to put himself together, Dean sets in motion the fate of humans, demons and angels alike and who will win is anybodies guess.
Previous: Prologue, Chapter One,
dhfreak
II.
Bobby glanced at the woman staring thoughtfully out the passenger window and frowned. She'd been quiet since they left the house, too quiet, and he was starting to feel like there was a lot going unsaid. Things she might want him to ask about or listen to. He shifted uncomfortably. The best thing about having Sam and Dean around was that they weren't too touchy-feely; they talked when they wanted to but otherwise they just got their jobs done and left the sappy stuff out of the equation. Now that Chloe was around, however, Bobby had to remember what it was like to interact with a woman. Only woman he'd been truly close to in his life was Karen and she got him in a way he didn't expect most women would. Chloe had come along at a bad time and he didn't regret being suspicious of her in the beginning. While he knew different now and would trust her both with his and the boys lives any damn day of the year, he was still working on talking to her like she wasn't one of the boys.
"You got somethin' on your mind?" he finally asked, brows furrowed and his lips pursed.
She glanced back at him, somewhat startled out of her head. "What? Oh… Uh…" She shook her head. "It's just weird." Her smile was faint, sad. "I'm used to the Impala, sitting in the back, telling Dean not to stick things in Sam's ears while he sleeps…"
He sighed, nodding. "Doesn't feel right… You want, you can jump in the back." He glanced at the open box of his truck and passed her a half-smile. "Might be a little windy."
She snorted, amusement shining through for the first time in too long. "I'll survive."
"Yeah…" Smile fading, he turned his eyes back out to the road. "We all will."
With a frown, she returned to staring out the window. "Sometimes, I'm not so sure…"
He didn't have to ask, he knew who she was talking about.
Dean.
And he just couldn't disagree.
…
Dean was going out of his mind.
It'd been five hours since Bobby's truck took off, spitting up dirt as it roared out of Singer Salvage, en route to Dayton, Ohio. Without the two of them inside, researching or busy in the kitchen, the house was dark and eerie looking. He imagined if he wasn't who he was, the picture the junkyard made might put him on edge. The house was old, in need of new paint, new wood slats on the porch and stairs, and he was sure the roof could use a look at. The surrounding yard itself was filled with the skeletons of cars, trucks, and whatever else the locals felt like dropping off. Wind whistled through stuck open or missing windows and in between metal bodies stacked irregularly all over.
The air was warm; encouraging a sheen of sweat that clung to his skin. He wiped his arm across his forehead absently and tried to focus on his current obsession. His mind was elsewhere, however; trying to time out when they'd be arriving in Dayton and whether he'd be able to hear the phone from where he stood. The wrench in his hand slipped suddenly and his arm fell roughly through the inner-workings of the Chevy, he felt the slice of his skin opening and the immediate warmth of blood spilling.
Cursing under his breath, he drew his arm out and assessed the damage. Wasn't life threatening but he had to get it cleaned out and bandaged. Ridiculously, as he walked inside, he couldn't help thinking at least he'd be closer to the phone for her call. Despite all the bullshit going down and just how screwed up he knew he was, he loved Chloe. And he worried about her, even when she wasn't out chasing rugarus she had no business even knowing about. Maybe it was the loss of his brother, or the many before it, but he felt like he had to guard Chloe's life carefully and at least when she was in the house he knew whatever was coming for her would have to go through him. So he promised Sammy he wouldn't go hunting, but if trouble came looking for him, he couldn't turn his back on it.
There was no way she'd made it to Dayton yet, but his feet were itching beneath him, making him look like some caged animal begging to get out. He furled his fingers into fists to keep himself from dialing her cell number. There was a time when Sammy would be making fun of him for being so hooked on a woman; when he'd point out all the jumpy little actions and remind him of what he'd been like before Chloe walked into his life and turned him upside down. Or right side up, depending on the view. But Sammy wasn't there; hell, nobody was around to bug him about how he was acting.
Standing in the kitchen, leaning across to run his hand through the water, washing away blood and grime, he squeezed the yellow dish soap all over and started scrubbing. There was a sting from where his skin was broken open and the soap sunk in, but it hardly registered as worth even a grimace. Rushing water and the rumble of it hitting the metal sink was the only noise that filled the old house. A pang in his chest was felt as he remembered how just weeks ago they'd all been sitting around the table; laughing, joking, bugging each other. It felt wrong; it felt empty and out of sync. Like he was in some shitty nightmare he just couldn't wake up from.
Slamming his hand down on the handle, he turned the tap off and grabbed up a dish towel to dry his hands. Leaning back against the sink counter, he wrapped his still lightly bleeding knuckles up in the towel and just stood there a moment, staring off into the half-dark house. The office was dim where usually Bobby sat to all hours of the night; researching, hoping, doing what Chloe asked of him even if he thought it was unlikely. Bringing Sam back from the cage was one of those unlikely miracles they got all too often, only to be kicked and beaten down and reminded that with every good there comes a lot worse. And what the hell else could happen after all this? They brought Sam back and then what? They took Chloe? 'Cause hell, that was the only thing he could imagine hurting any more than this.
Chest stung worse than ever; he ignored the urge to rub it, to ease the loss and ache that built up inside him. Not having Sam there was like missing a limb; he still had phantom pains like turning to talk to him, thinking he could pick up his phone and dial a geek, but in the end he knew nothing could come of it. With Chloe and Bobby out of sight, it felt even worse. He couldn't focus on his cars for fear of what Chloe was doing, where she was, what could be happening to her that he couldn't stop. And so he stood in the dark house, hand bleeding in a ratty old towel, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.
Would he ever have the answer?
…
When a yawn escaped his passenger, Bobby cut a probing look at her. "You wanna stop somewhere, get some rest?"
She wrinkled her nose. "And waste the money? No." Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around herself and settled into the seat. "We're making good time anyway…" Inhaling deeply, she let it out on a sigh. "Sleep after we get into town, get set-up and know who we're after."
"Your nerves'll be too jumped up for you to sleep a wink," he grumbled knowingly.
Lips pursed, she rolled her eyes. "Is this just a guy-thing or a hunter's natural lack of support? Between you and Dean, I'm starting to think you're under the impression I belong behind a stove somewhere rather than doing men's work…"
He tossed her a withering scowl. "I didn't say that…"
"You don't think I cut it then why am I here?" she muttered, sitting up then, wide awake and feeling bitter. "You two seem to forget that I was fighting the Big Bad long before any hunters took me on as their ride-along girlfriend."
He sighed, long and heavy, as if he didn't want and could hardly be bothered to have this conversation with her. "Listen close now and don't interrupt me… I- We- All of us! Know that you're no damsel cryin' out for a hero, all right?" He cocked a brow at her, even though he didn't want a reply to his question. "We've seen you up against things most people would piss their pants over and ya still managed to live to tell the tale. But livin' through it is sometimes worse hell than just restin' already…" He shook his head, dark eyes falling on the night-cloaked road. "If Dean was makin' you think you couldn't cut it out here it was only 'cause he was worried about you… Boy seems to think if he can't see you you're gonna wind up dead." Sighing lowly, he shook his head. "We worry, we lash out; just our nature."
The fight draining from her, Chloe nodded. "So you think I can handle this?"
He snorted. "Hell, not even sure I can… But we do it anyway, say our Hail Mary's and hope we got another day in us after…"
She blinked. "You know, I'm sure Motivational Speaking is right up your alley," she told him glibly.
"Shut up and find somethin' good on the radio," he ordered, nodding toward the old beat-up system. "And none of that Christina Spears crap either!"
She laughed thickly, shaking her head.
…
Dean avoided Bobby's office as much as possible; given the layout of the house, he was easily able to bypass it for most of his usual haunts. The kitchen, dining room, and stairs were accessible through separate hallways and so he only had to look at it occasionally when he occupied either, but now he stood in the threshold from the kitchen to the office. Scattered books and papers littered the desktop; the many bookshelves were stocked full, even when half of Bobby's collection must've been brought down for him and Chloe to search through. Inside, the answer to Sam's safe return might lie, not that he was able to look for it. Despite who he was and all he'd had done, he kept his word as best he could. If he couldn't be the guy trying to save his brother, he at least knew the two most qualified people were. Or they usually were.
Working on his cars to all hours of the night had given him a chance to escape, but he wasn't blind. He knew she was working herself to the bone to find an answer and maybe he was a serious ass for letting her, for not even encouraging her to put a book down and get some shut-eye, but the loss was still so fresh and he couldn't lose hope. Couldn't accept for a second that maybe Sam was really and truly gone; it just wasn't a possibility. Not after all this.
Lifting his beer bottle, he tipped it back and swallowed the last of the dregs before tossing it to the nearby garbage can. It made a clunk as it hit the bottom, settling in with a few others. If Chloe was there she'd tell him to lay off and eat some dinner. He frowned. Not a bad idea. She and Bobby usually took turns cooking; when Bobby wasn't telling her what she was doing wrong and trying to rectify it. The two of them were like father and daughter; arguing easily and bantering lightly. Regardless of how the older man had first been suspicious of her, Dean imagined he'd lay his life on the line to keep her safe now. And it wasn't just because he knew how much she meant to him, either. He liked her; like her spunk and her tenacity and the fact that she never backed down, even when he was being gruff and rude to her.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth but it was short-lived. He checked the time and scowled; near midnight and no call. One of the only reasons he let her walk out that door was because he'd have constant contact with her, knowing that she was safe and alive. Too many casualties already and he wouldn't have her name added to the list. When she'd walked out and told him straight up she was going after a rugaru with Bobby, he didn't know whether to laugh at his bad luck or strangle her. The last thing he wanted was for her to get anymore tangled up in his old life. If he could, he'd take her somewhere there was no chance of the supernatural sneaking up on them. They would put all the heroics and the hunting behind them, just like Sam had wanted. And maybe, yeah, maybe he wanted it to. He was tired, he was hurting, and he just wanted it to stop. If he'd just put his foot down maybe she'd have seen the light…
He snorted. Who the hell was he kidding? If he'd tried to stop her, they would've fought until they were yelled hoarse and she'd still have gone.
An amused, even appreciative, smile tugged at his mouth and this time he let it. For all their arguing, he liked how feisty she was; he liked that she spoke her mind and put him in his place and never let him think for one second that she was just there to look pretty. Sure, it provided mental hell sometimes but it was worth it. He didn't think he'd love her half as much if she were some mindless, simpering damsel that needed him there to pick up the pieces. Sure, she'd been broken; when she met him, he was the biggest mess he'd ever been, which was saying something, and in the end it seemed like she was putting him back together rather than the other way around. And now he was shattered again and he wasn't sure she had enough super-glue in supply to right him. Hell… His smile turned sour. What was the point anymore?
As if in answer to his morose question, the phone rang.
And despite what he'd just thought, he nearly ran to the phone, yanking it up swiftly and grunting, "Chloe?"
"Hey," she replied, her voice softer, tinged with sleep. "Sorry… Put some music on to drown out Bobby's whining and I guess I fell asleep."
He sighed, falling into an armchair and running a hand hard over his face. He hadn't realized just how worried he'd been about her until his chest seemed to lighten and he slumped with relief. "Where are you?"
"Still on the highway," she said through a yawn. "Maybe halfway there, if we're lucky."
He nodded; a question at the end of his tongue that he wasn't sure he wanted to voice. It felt stupid to ask, pathetic even, and he hated that it was eating away at him. "You're all right?"
There was a pause and somehow he knew she was smiling. "Fine… We've had two bathroom breaks because someone has an aging bladder and I'm full of beef jerky and stale chips, but otherwise I'm fine."
He cleared his throat, nodded abruptly even though he knew she couldn't see.
"You have dinner yet?" she worried.
He didn't know why, but that made him want to smile. After everything, she still cared; he was back in the safety of the salvage yard, no flesh-eating rugaru in sight, and she was worried about his eating habits. "No, but, uh, I will…" His eyes darted around as if a meal would appear and he could appease her. "Sure there's something around here."
"Like a casserole, maybe," she said wryly. "Middle shelf of the fridge; surprised you didn't see it when you went looking for your beer."
He snorted. She thought of everything.
She started saying something but her phone was getting staticky.
He frowned, shoulders tensing up. "Chlo? I can't here you… You're breakin' up… Just-"
"Dean- Gotta go- Bad service out he- on't forget to eat- Love you-"
"Yeah, I will. Just…" The dial tone met his ear and he frowned, dropping the phone to his lap. "Stay safe… Love you, too," he muttered to himself. Sighing, he sat forward and rubbed his hands over his face once more, feeling haggard. Rising from his chair, he dropped the phone back on its cradle and instead of bothering with the casserole just made his way upstairs. By the time he woke up, she'd be in Dayton and he'd be worrying about her every hour she didn't call to tell him she was okay.
With a bitter smile, he crawled into bed still clothed and tried to ignore the empty space next to him. What a life he lived…
…
Thirteen hours in and on an empty, dusty road, Chloe and Bobby were arguing.
"You sure you know how to read a damn map?" he growled, glaring at her out of the corner of his eyes.
She sighed, inhaling deeply in hopes that it would give her some clarity so not to attack him verbally. "Yes, Bobby… If you'd been following my directions, we wouldn't be on the wrong highway!"
"You heard the radio; said there was a crash over there. You think we got the time to sit around waitin' for the jaws o' life to pull some idjit outta his Porsche?"
Shaking her head, she bit her lip and tried to gather her wits. "I know that if we didn't have time for that, we definitely didn't have to time to get lost!"
"I'm not lost!" He looked around, glaring at the unfamiliar surroundings. "I'm just turned around a little."
She scoffed. "Yeah, well, you see a sign letting us know where we are, point it out so I can get us back on I-380, all right?"
He grumbled under his breath, reached up for his trucker hat and popped it off his head, running his hand back over his hair before sliding his cap back into place. Finally, he saw a small bar up ahead, a little dark with a few bikes out front and a beat-up car. "Looks open… You can go in and ask where we're at," he suggested, pulling over.
She cocked a brow at him. "Thought you were just a little turned around?" Undoing her belt, she hopped out of the truck and called back, "If I'm asking for directions, we're lost…"
As she hurried into the bar, Bobby sat back and muttered, "Not lost…"
Chloe pushed the heavy wooden door open, poked her head inside, and frowned. Despite the vehicles in the front, the inside was empty and gave the appearance that it had been so for some time. Dust riddled the air, cobwebs ringed the tall wood pillars and a criss-cross of slats that reached across the vaulted ceiling.
"Hello?" she called out, walking in a little further and letting the door creak closed behind her. It fell loudly back into place, stirring up a gust of dust and no doubt encouraging various spiders and vermin to run away from the curious stranger. "Lost traveler walks into a bar, gets chopped up and the old man in the truck still refuses to admit he's lost," she muttered under her breath.
"Imaginative," a female voice called out, a scoff following. "'Fraid I'm gonna have to disagree though… Left my chopping tools at home."
Chloe turned quickly, searching out a face to the voice. Immediately, she cocked her hip as if to remind herself that yes, she did have a glock hooked there. And if things happened to get so hairy she emptied a whole magazine, she had a mean looking knife strapped to her ankle. She couldn't help but wonder just when her life got so weird it involved her own body arsenal. Then again, she was a lot safer than the Average Joe who walked in expecting friendly service and normal chit-chat.
"Little to the left," came the voice again.
Squinting, she huffed. "You know, electricity was invented for this very purpose."
She laughed. "Yeah? You wanna pay my bills then, Blondie?"
"Not particularly." Walking forward, she batted a spider web away from her face and side-stepped a fallen stool. She could have left, but there was a chance her imagination was working overtime and they'd only be stuck in the same boat as before. No doubt Dean would disagree, encouraging to get her ass out of the bar and back to the safety of the truck and Bobby's watchful eyes, but she never did like being ordered around. Her foot connected with another stool and she frowned. "This place always this messy?"
"Just the last year," came a sigh. "Back in her prime, this place was where to be, y'know?"
"Not really…" she mused. "Any more directions on how to find you or do I just keep following the faceless voice?"
"Well, you could tell me what you're doing here and head back for the door before you get too confused in the dark," she offered.
"Right…" She smiled slightly. "Directions, actually. We took a detour from I-380, we're on our way to Dayton, or, well, somewhere near Dayton and-"
The voice sounded clearer, closer, when it replied, "Yeah, life story not needed, Princess. You're just outside of Dayton now."
Chloe's nose wrinkled. "Really? Because with the way he drives, I figured we were way off course."
She laughed. "Guess he had a better idea than you thought."
As a hand closed on her shoulder, her entire body went rigid, ready to fight. Her fingers coiled around the butt of her gun, but she refused to pull it unless necessary. She wasn't about to kill a civilian because she'd been through a war of late and was feeling jumpy. And when did everyone else become civilians anyway? Inwardly sighed, she realized she was getting too used to the hunter lifestyle. Maybe Dean wouldn't mind if she invited Lois down for a week of bonding and reviving her old 'civilian' ways for awhile.
"Careful, Spunky, just thought I'd meet you half way," the woman teased.
With a slight laugh, Chloe turned to meet her, finding a tall, slim, toned woman in her late thirties, long dirty-blonde hair falling down to her waist in thick, natural curls. Dark brows arched over thin, feline eyes. She looked like the kind of woman perfectly capable of getting in the middle of a bloody bar-fight and holding her own. Beautiful but dangerous, she wore it well. A pin-striped black vest served as her top over a pair of well-worn jeans that flared out as they met her sharp-heeled black boots.
"So what's Dayton got to offer…?" She shook her head in askance.
"Chloe," she replied. "And you're?"
"Devin." She held a hand out and shook Chloe's hard and quick before looking around at the falling-apart bar. "Owner of Sal's, passed on from the old drunk hisself."
"And he's…?"
"In a ditch somewhere?" She shrugged. "Not here, I know that."
"Sorry," she said.
"Meh, not cryin' any tears. So… any more directions needed or you know where you're goin' now?"
"No, this is great, thanks." Chloe half-smiled. "If we need anymore help though, I'll know where to go."
"Yeah, look for the joint being bull-dozed." She scoffed. "I gotta jet anyway. Dude buyin' the land here keeps flakin' on me, so I'm hopin' if I just drop by his place he'll finally sign the dotted line, right?"
She shrugged lightly. "Couldn't hurt."
Together, they managed to get back through the battlefield of the bar floor and out the door to where the sun shone brightly.
Bobby was staring at her, looking disgruntled. He threw up a hand, waiting impatiently. "Thanks again for the help, Devin."
"No worries. Be seein' ya," she said, waving before she took off toward one of the bikes leaning on its stand in the dirt. Dragging a helmet on over her hair, she sat back, kicked up the stand and revved the engine, backing her bike up to the road behind them.
Bobby watched her go absently. "Well?" he asked as Chloe hopped back into the truck.
"We're just outside of Dayton now."
He smirked. "Told ya I knew where I was goin'."
With a half-smile, she just shook her head.
"Lead on, Master Compass."
[Next: Chapter III.]