5 Times Chloe Fell For A Hero and the One Time Her Heart Wasn't Broken - Chloe/Various - NC17 - 5/5

[sarcastic_fina]

Title: Five Times Chloe Fell For A Hero and the One Time Her Heart Wasn't Broken
Category: Smallville, Batman, Supernatural [Crossover]
Rating: NC17
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Chloe/Various
Word Count: 10,626
Summary: Chloe Sullivan has had too many heartbreaks in her life, but one of these days she's bound to find the right hero, isn't she?

Previous: Part I - Clark Kent, Part II - Oliver Queen, Part III - Jack (OC),  Part IV - Bruce Wayne,






V - The One

When she met him he was just a mechanic working out of Singer Salvage. Her car mysteriously broke down at the dirt road leading to the isolated house with accompanying junkyard. She didn't know how long she'd been driving; it seemed that's all she was ever doing these days. After leaving Gotham, she was constantly on the move. Never really sitting down to take a breath or evaluate anything. She tossed and turned in bed until her body was so exhausted she couldn't stay awake any longer. She was eating out of fast food containers and sustaining wakefulness with stale gas station coffee. She was run down and on constant suspicious mode. Living the life she had, she was always looking around the next corner, waiting for the shadows to jump out and attack her. It made for a few not-so-polite sprays of mace to unsuspecting strangers just asking for directions.

He was the furthest thing from what she expected when she walked down the dirt road, the kingdom of scrap metal up ahead in the distance, an old wood house sitting off to the side in dire need of a remodel. Her heels made an odd clicking noise as she walked through the dirt and not for the first time, she wondered why she wasn't sporting her sneakers. She decided it was because it was that last little bit of herself she couldn't give up. She was so far from glamorous at the moment, she hardly recognized herself. Gone was the intrepid reporter with her trendy skirt and buttoned up jacket; the frilly blouses in enticing colors and the nice jewelry that accented her best assets. Gone too was the billionaire's fiancée, the one who sported floor length gowns to balls and galas, wearing diamonds and jewels, some of the finest silks gracing her body beautifully. She'd never lay in sheets of Egyptian cotton again, just those far too stained for her to even think of if she wanted to sleep a wink. But she had her heels, worn as they may be by now. They were black and three inches high, made her legs look longer and her ankles smaller. She felt beautiful, even though she was wearing a pair of jeans that had seen better days, ripped at the knees and faded far past the popular eligibility. And her t-shirt, no working woman's blouse for her, was a faded grey with a cracked logo she couldn't read. Blended in better this way, she figured.

The man she assumed must know something about cars, or at the very least could have a phone inside, was bent over a sleek black car. Her mouth opened to call out for him, but she instead decided to take just one second to fully take him in. It wasn't as if she had anybody else to help her nearby, but this was pretty much the setting of a horror flick waiting to happen. Poor abandoned woman searches for help only to find a murderer. Okay, so she wasn't what anybody could call helpless and he didn't really fit the murdering build. He was pretty young, couldn't be that much older than her. Then again, she had just celebrated 31, hadn't she?

He had wide shoulders and a toned build that she could see working beneath his shirt as he reached for this or that beneath the hood. Her eyes fell to his arms, the muscular sculpt reminded her for a second of a few other men whose arms were simply to die for; so strong and protective as they wrapped around her. She nearly sighed. She forced her gaze away, only to fall to stare at his butt. She felt a little hot under the collar and told herself to stop staring already; nice as it may be.

"Whatever you're sellin' sister, I ain't buyin'," he called out to her, startling her from her thoughts.

Her brows furrowed and for a second she was almost worried that a snarky remark hadn't immediately left her mouth. Had she been that out of the loop with society? Then she reminded herself that she was trying to stay under the radar and really only needed a quick tune up. "Uh... Door to door sales isn't really my thing... I've actually got a car that needs some kind of miracle, I guess." She mustered a smile. "It's just down the road if you'll-"

He lifted his head from beneath the hood of the car and turned toward her, likely with a sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue if she judged his original expression right. It quickly changed however; his brows raising, mouth dropping slightly. "Hell, you're the prettiest thing to hit this place in a long time," he admitted aloud before shaking his head and clearing his throat.

Great, he was delusional! She looked like crap that had been run over and she knew it.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, where'd you say the car was?"

"End of the drive." She motioned back with her thumb. "It just..." She shrugged, "died suddenly. It was weird, actually."

"Weird." He smiled as if reminiscing and then nodded. "Right, well... Uh, you leave the keys in it or...?"

She dug them out of her pocket and tossed them to him. Wasn't like he could go anywhere with it. Even if he did, worst she'd be out is a crappy car. She'd have her own salvage yard, apparently.

"You thirsty? There's beer inside." He nodded his head to the house and then started down the drive.

"I'm fine," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Suit yourself." He snorted, looking almost amused. "I left my chainsaw in the garage though, so I won't be terrorizing you any time soon."

She snorted. All right, so he saw through her a little bit. "Good to know."

"Nobody else in the house if that's got you scared," he called back to her, turning around so he was walking backwards. "In fact, you feel like goin' in, grab me a beer."

"I think the last thing I want is a drunk mechanic right about now," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Take's more than one beer to get me drunk, sweetheart. And I could fix a car with my hands tied behind my back."

"Show off," she muttered, nowhere near loud enough for him to hear.

He laughed as if he did though, turned back around and kept walking toward the dead car out in the distance.

With a sigh, she turned and walked toward the house. Worst came to worse, she'd pull out the quick moves she'd learned over her lifetime and make sure Leatherface 2.0 knew she wasn't some damsel in distress.

After walking across the spilled salt at the front door, she headed to the beat up fridge and pulled out a couple beers. Tasted a little watered down, but she didn't mind so much. Another thing she didn't need was a drunk her with a hot mechanic in the vicinity. She walked back outside, felt the heat on her neck as soon as she stepped off the stairs and back onto the dirt drive. She held her sweaty bottle up to her forehead and let it cool her skin as she walked back out toward her hopefully running tin can, passing by the car he'd been working on. It was nice; a little big, but in beautiful shape. Nothing like her piece of crap.

She found herself scanning the open fields on either side of the junkyard, wondering why it was it was so far out of town. There wasn't a neighbor in sight. When she finally got to her car, he was far under the hood and fiddling with anything and everything it seemed.

"Here," she said, holding out his beer.

"Christo," he replied.

"Huh?"

"What? I said thanks," he muttered, taking the beer from her and popping the cap off before taking a guzzle.

"So what's wrong with it?" she wondered, staring at the inside of her car with complete confusion.

"She's dead."

"I figured that. Bring it back."

He laughed. "Resurrecting this lemon would take a whole lot of cash and waste more time than she's worth." He licked his lips before shaking his head. "I can drive you into town so can get a rental or... whatever."

She put her hands to her hips. "So that's it? It's just dead."

He shrugged. "Shit happens."

She frowned. "To me... often."

He grinned. "I know that feeling."

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair. "Can I use your phone?"

"Sure." He nodded, closing the hood and giving it a thump to make sure it locked into place before he walked around to grab the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to her. He walked next to her back to the house, carrying his beer by its neck and sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"You always this accommodating to strangers who show up out of the blue?"

He smirked at her. "Only the strange women."

She laughed despite herself.

When they got back to the house, he took a seat on the stairs while she went inside to use the phone. She stood in front of it, gnawing her lip. Who was she supposed to call? Three names came to mind, all ex-boyfriends that would be there in a flash, she knew. But did she really want to call them? God, why did her love life have to be so complicated? She sighed, shaking her head. Her best option was take the ride into town, set up in some crap hotel and figure out her next step.

She walked back outside, plopped down beside him and sipped her beer.

"So what do I do with my car?"

He looked over at her, amused. "This is a scrap yard. I think I can find somewhere to throw her."

She nodded, half-smiling. "Thanks."

"Sure." He ran a hand over his hair and she couldn't help but look over at him, at the tanned expanse of skin beneath his worn and car grease smudged t-shirt. He was handsome; more than she'd thought from a back view. Strong jaw, freckles across his nose, hazel eyes, and lips to die for. She swallowed tightly and forced herself to look away. The last time she'd looked at anyone and felt anything had been months ago... Or was it a whole year now? It felt long and short. What was the date?

"July 17th," he answered.

Her brows rose. Huh, maybe she said that last part out loud. If it was July... That meant it'd either been two months or fourteen... And she knew it was the latter. Over a year she'd been driving all over, no wonder the car finally gave up. She wasn't exactly stopping in to get it tuned up as often as she should and it was pretty beat up to begin with. She picked it up for a few hundred at a used lot and never looked back. She was sort of wishing she'd been a little less hasty all those months ago. But here she was, no point in regretting past mistakes.

"You want that ride into town?" he wondered, leaning against the post holding the roof of the porch up. For such an old place, it certainly looked sturdier up close like this.

She sighed, pushing her hair back. "Yeah, I should probably get settled as soon as I can." She stood up from the stairs, brushed off her jeans and smiled at him awkwardly. "Uh thanks, by the way..."

"Dean," he offered, standing up. "Dean Winchester."

"Chloe Sullivan," she replied, forgetting for the moment that an alias would be smarter. She was, after all, supposedly dead.

He smiled at her, mischief in that quirk of her lips. "You need anything from your car?"

She nodded. "A lot actually."

He licked his lips before walking over to the car he'd been working on, fiddled under the hood for a few minutes and then closed it before he walked around to the driver side and hopped in. He nodded his head for her to follow and she left her beer on the stoop before walking over and climbing in. It came to a roaring start and she leaned into the comfortable leather seats, feeling her tiredness catch up. It'd been a long time since anybody else did the driving. They stopped at the end of the dirt road and he popped the trunk for her to move her things. She was glad he gave her a minute to get her stuff together before coming over to help because she had a few guns and other assorted weapons lying around. That probably wouldn't look to good to a civilian, she supposed. Getting everything together, including grabbing a tracking device hidden in her driver seat visor so the League could always make sure she was safe, she tossed her stuff in the back end of his car and climbed back in.

Sighing, she let herself relax into the seat and closed her eyes for a just a minute. Awhile later, she felt him shaking her awake. The warmth of a hand and the gentle motion he was making as he rubbed it back and forth was enough to keep her from startling forward and aiming for his jugular. Attackers don't generally try to ease a person awake. She blinked rapidly, looking around in confusion. It was darker than when she closed her eyes, she noticed immediately.

"You're in room 102," came the deep voice of Dean next to her. "There's a diner around the corner if you're hungry. You tell Doris I sent you; she'll give you a piece of the best pie in the entire world. You gotta give it a try."

She stared back at him, still a little sleep hazed.

When he climbed out of the car, she followed suit, standing up and stretching her back. He tossed her the room key and she caught it on reflex, not catching his grin right away. He popped the trunk and pulled out her large duffel bag for her, tossing it over his shoulder without pause. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I gotta head back in soon."

She nodded, shuffling off toward her intended room, only then realizing she hadn't paid for it. "Hey, you didn't have to pay for this. I can pay you back." She started digging into her pockets for some of her money, but he shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. Wasn't that expensive."

She opened the door, tossing the key down on the table nearby and sighed as she looked around the room, so much like all the others she'd been in.

"Nice wallpaper," he commented.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I've seen worse. There was this sea foam and fish design over in-"

"Ackley."

She looked over at him, brows furrowed. "Yeah! You've been?"

He nodded. "A few times. Unfortunately." He smiled lightly.

"What about... Blue River?"

"Weird yellow flowers and-"

"Water beds!"

"Yeah!" He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

She chuckled, nodding. With a comfortable sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.

"So why's a woman like you visiting America's shittiest motels?" he asked, leaning against the wall with a lifted brow.

She took a deep breath. "It's a long story," she admitted with a nod. "One I hate telling and you probably don't want to hear."

"Well I'd tell you why I visited them, but you'd probably kick me out of your room here and that would be... tragic." He looked around at the walls once more before nodding at the bathroom. "I wouldn't suggest using the shower. They don't clean ‘em here too often."

She grimaced. "Lovely."

He half-smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You ever need anything, you know where to find me."

She looked up at him, brows raised. She kind of didn't want him to go. It'd be far too long since she'd met anybody she felt comfortable enough talking to. "Oh, well... Yeah, I'll just hitchhike out there, right?"

He raised a brow. "You thought I was a chainsaw wielding maniac so you refused to go inside, but you'll hop a ride with some stranger with a car?"

"My priorities have always been a little mixed up," she admitted freely.

He chuckled lightly. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll take you out for a slice of pie tomorrow, maybe show you around a little so you're not the lost traveler, hitching rides out to strange places."

She grinned. "I'd like that."

He nodded, backing out of the room. "Yeah, well, see ya."

"Bye."

And it all started there.

Her first real friend was a mechanic who lived out of town, liked watered down beer and every-flavored pie, and was a bit of a traveler in his own right, with a history that was probably just as shrouded as her own.

She stayed in the motel for two weeks, feeling grosser and grosser with each passing day of no shower, using a hand towel to wash up as best she could. She practically lived off the pie in the diner around the corner. There was a new one every day and she fell in love with each delicious flavor. Doris was a godsend, always sending her home with an extra piece and a wink telling her to enjoy. Dean came into town every second day or so, picking up provisions as he called them and showing her around town in his Impala - or his baby, as he called her. She got a job at the local newspaper, fixed it so she could write under an alias and wrote little things here or there, enough to put some money in her pocket. She had to buy a new car and get herself back on the road as soon as possible. But the more time she spent there, meeting the locals and getting to know Dean, she found she kind of liked the sleepy town.

On a Thursday afternoon, she stood in front of Dean's baby with a wrench in her hand. He was going to teach her how to change something or other. She wasn't quite sure what, she only knew that he was covered in grease and it was one of the sexiest sights she'd ever seen. He gave her a pair of coveralls that were way too big and laughed as she stepped outside in them, the bottom of the legs rolled over ten fold before she could even move. Pushing her sleeves up, she came to stand next to him, a lot of what he was saying sounding like complete nonsense to her. She'd never touched the insides of a car in her life and frankly, she was a little scared she was going to ruin his Impala.

"I'll be here the whole time," he assured with a shrug. "You do anything wrong, I'll know. Now lean over and look at this..."

She leaned in, the heat of the engine and the surrounding summer wind making her swelter in the confines of the coveralls. It wasn't long before she'd let the fall to her waist and tied the arms around her, not worried about getting grease on her off-white beater.

She didn't know what they were doing or what they were fixing, but she did know that whenever he wanted to move her somewhere else or show her something, his hands wrapped around her hips and directed her there, the grip of his fingers felt through the layers of fabric, sending shivers up and down her spine. She could feel the warmth of his body at her back, his arms brushing hers as he leaned right across her to point something out. It was like an erotic dance involving engine grease and cold beer, which she would laugh at if she heard from anyone else. But standing there, surrounded by Dean Winchester, she could barely breathe.

"You know what a sparkplug is?" he asked her, lifting a brow at her.

"Vaguely," she said, lifting a shoulder before she brushed her hair off her face.

He grinned suddenly, reached out with his hand rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "Grease," was all he said.

But her mind wandered, all she could think of was how he'd looked at her then, how his eyes had darkened, how his smile was more genuine than its usually sarcastic feel. She saw his mouth moving, his expression twisting as he told her more and more about sparkplugs or something, but all she could think of was how she could still feel the brush of his thumb on her cheek.

"You listening, Blondie?"

She nodded abruptly, swallowing before she forced her ears to open, to hear what he was saying. But all they heard was the growl in his tone, the deep texture that made her skin prickle and her insides tighten.

These last two weeks, she'd learned a lot about Dean. That he had a little brother who graduated from Stanford, and worked his smart ass off as some big lawyer. That his parents were dead; lost his mom when he was little and his dad over a decade back. That the house he lived in was his old friend Bobby's, who died in a hunting accident that he didn't go into detail about. She knew he'd been living on the road from a young age, only really set up house in the last few years, working on cars and making a living that way, rather than moving into town and trying something more stable. From what she could tell, he was pretty alone though. With his brother gone, who she could tell he was really close to, he didn't seem to have many friends or any other family to hold close. It felt familiar, which is why she found she enjoyed his company that much more. All they really had were each other, a couple of relative strangers living day by day.

She felt his hand on hers as he brought it beneath the hood, placed it over something and moved her fingers around. "You feel that?"

She nodded jerkily, her eyes set on their hands sliding together, his so much larger than her own. She swallowed, licking her lip and felt a droplet of sweat run down her spine.

She could feel his eyes on hers but continued to stare at his large hand sitting on top of hers. She felt his fingers threaded between hers and then his hand was sliding up, his forefinger trailing beneath and along her wrist, stroking her accelerating pulse. Higher and higher, his hands slid, leaving a smudge of black behind until he reached her shoulder and ran behind to cup her neck. She turned her head then, stared right at him, took in the heat in those hazel eyes, now more brown than green and felt her whole body cave in.

He tugged her hair and she responded instinctively, turning herself so she was fully facing him, taking an unsteady step forward that he met with his own. His eyes washed down her face and she felt his hand slide up along the side of her neck, his palm graze her cheek, fingers threading in her hair at her temple. He tipped his head, leaning forward, but left space there for her to fill, for her to cross and finish what he started. She drew in a shaky breath and met his lips, softer than she had suspected. The heat of the summer sun was nothing compared to that of his tongue embracing hers. Her body arched, she lifted up on her toes, leaning far into him until she was molded to his hard chest. His other arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her in closer. Gasping breaths were taken in between the slant of their lips, their teeth gnashing, tongues dueling. Her hands gripped his shirt at his shoulders, smudging grease into it and nearly tearing the fabric with her ferocity.

She barely felt her feet moving as they stumbled away from the front of the car, or her back hitting the driver door as he pushed her back. Their mouths parted and her head fell back, half open eyes staring up at the blue, cloudless sky above. She could feel his mouth on her neck, marking her, searing her flesh, his hair brushing against the underside of her jaw. His fingers ran over her sides, drawing up her shirt as they ran along her curves. She slid her arms down, her hands falling beneath the hem of his shirt and reaching for bare flesh, the feel of his defined stomach clenching beneath her touch.

He wasn't a relationship guy and she told herself that was good. The heat between them was palpable but the last thing she needed was a boyfriend, somebody to fall for and have her heart broken again. She was done with that; done with anything that resembled love. He took her against the driver door of the Impala, the coveralls pushed down and off, hanging from one ankle as her legs wrapped around his waist. She could care less that they were in the wide open, that anybody driving by could look over and see him screwing her into oblivion. She focused on the sensations; on the feel of the few days' whiskers along his cheek brushing harshly against her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. On his long fingers running all over her body, smudging her pale skin with engine grease. On his mouth, so soft compared to the hard angles of the rest of him, smoothing over every plain he could reach. And oh god, the fulfillment with each stroke of him inside of her.

The door of the Impala was hot, near scalding from the sun beating down on it all day and pressed up against her back as he slid her beater up made her cry out. But her attention turned back to how his mouth felt on her, on his lips surrounding her nipple, suckling as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, and she didn't care that the car was burning her back, she just arched into the heat of his tongue. Weeks ago, she remembered meeting him here, thinking he was downright sexy in a place filled with scrap metal, but she'd never really expected this. They'd become friends; good friends, the only person she could really rely on anymore. She couldn't turn to friends or family and the men of her life were a big no-no. So here she was, wrapped up in Dean Winchester, a stranger in some ways and yet a man who in that moment felt like he knew her better than anyone.

She bit his shoulder when her release finally washed over her; a fierce wave of pleasure that had her entire body shaking violently. She could feel the sweat all over his and her skin; she could taste it in her mouth as she kissed her bite mark away. He held her there, his large body pressing against hers, keeping her up against the car. She could hear him panting at her shoulder, his lips brushing her neck every once in awhile. She ran a hand down his back, bare and tanned, the sweat slick beneath her palm. She didn't want to let go; she didn't want to pull back and step into one of those awkward moments. She didn't want a definition of what they were or weren't and she didn't want there to be a long few weeks where they avoided each other.

She didn't have to say anything because he seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Why don't we take a shower and then get some lunch?" he mumbled against her neck.

"With pie?" she said hopefully.

He laughed and she could feel the rumble from his chest to hers. "You kidding? ‘Course there'll be pie!"

He let her down to her feet and there wasn't a moment of insecurity; she was just comfortable, with whatever they were. And when he took her hand before they walked inside, she told herself that tingle was just anticipation, knowing that their shared shower wasn't only going to be a quick clean up. Still, she let their fingers thread and she enjoyed the heat and warmth and all encompassing comfort his large, calloused hand held.

Months later, they were still undefined and she never asked for more than that. However, she no longer saw the inside of the crappy motel because she'd become a constant guest in his bed. Neither of them questioned that. She spent more time at his place than she did in town and one afternoon while he was fixing up one of the other cars in the yard, planning on selling it for a nice penny, he called out to her, "Your motel room's a waste of money."

She snorted. "I'm well aware."

"So get rid of it." He shrugged. "Plenty of room here."

And that was that. She handed in the keys, grabbed her stuff and was now living with him. Except not; because that would entail some kind of relationship, which she was completely avoiding. Even if he did make her feel like she was the only woman on the face of the Earth that got him. Even if she felt more comfortable in a scrap yard than anywhere else. She had her lap top with stolen internet, he wouldn't tell her how he did that, and she was comfortable. He went hunting a lot, sometimes leaving for a couple weeks at a time, but he always came back. Sometimes a little scraped up, but never too bad. And when she showed him she could heal, she even surprised herself, taking away all the cuts and bruises that littered his body. He wasn't scared, more interested really, and she felt gratitude well up in her throat when all he said was, "Cool."

But whenever he was gone she found herself listening for the growl of the Impala coming up the drive and missing the warmth of his body next to her in bed. Still, she wouldn't let herself admit to any feelings beyond desire. And she did desire him, often. It wasn't hard when she was with him day in and day out and he seemed to be taking his shirt off at every corner. Sure, it was hot out, but standing beneath the cover of the porch roof, watching him as he worked beneath the hood of a car, his back flexing, arms muscled and tight, sweat gliding down him in rivulets that made her thighs squeeze together, he was just asking for it! It helped that he was like every lover she'd ever had, all mixed into one incredible ecstasy driven man.

He was sarcastic and blunt and somehow a mixture of all the men she'd ever loved in her life. He had Clark's need to help people; no matter the situation, he always seemed to be there and willing to lend a hand. He had Oliver's need to keep her safe; the second there was any sign of danger, he was immediately trying to take care of her. She cut her finger once and he looked like he was ready to drive her to the hospital. He had Jack's easy attitude; he wasn't much of a dancer, but when they went to the bar in town, he'd parade her around the dance floor just because he liked seeing her laugh. And he had Bruce's dark beauty; it was obvious there was something always haunting him, but he was constantly trying to live past it, to pretend it didn't hurt.

It was a year before she met Sam. She spoke to him first, picking up the phone while Dean was showering, singing ACDC loud and off key while she made breakfast.

"Hello?" she answered, snickering as Dean began belting out the chorus.

"Uh... Hi... This is Sam... Dean's brother... He's not answering his cell and I was just..." He cleared his throat.

"He's in the shower," she replied, leaning her hip on the counter. "Singing. Loudly. And badly."

Sam laughed. "ACDC, right?"

"Yeah." She chuckled, rolling her eyes.

"Forget the hearse, cause I never die," they both sang. "I got nine lives, cat's eyes, cruisin' every woman, never wonderin' why..."

They laughed, her grin widening. "I've never heard so much mullet rock in my life," she admitted.

"You and me both!" he agreed.

She stirred the bacon in the pan in front of her. "Were you worried about his hunting trip?" she wondered. "He got back early this morning."

"Oh, uh yeah... He just usually calls when he gets back."

"He was dead tired. He only woke up a little while ago and jumped right into the shower." She heard the water turn off. "He's almost done though."

"Good, good..." He paused for a moment and she knew he was waiting to say something. He reminded her of his brother that way. "So, you and Dean..."

"Me and Dean," she repeated, shaking her head slowly, not sure what he was waiting for.

"What are you guys exactly?" he finally asked, bluntly.

"Exactly? Uh, we're... Oh look, there he is, just a minute..."

"Who is it?" he asked, standing in front of her with a towel hung loose around his hips. She stared at him a moment, watching the water dribble down the expanse of his sculpted chest. She swallowed tightly. God, how did a mechanic look so good?

"Babe?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, it's Sam." She shook her head.

He smirked at her knowingly before taking the phone. "Yeah?" She didn't know what his brother said, but he snorted, walking toward their bedroom. "Shut up. What are you doing?"

She returned her attention to breakfast and finished it up, serving it on two dishes. When he came back, he was still tugging his shirt on before he stepped up behind her and stole a piece of bacon from the plate before kissing the side of her neck. "Thanks," he said, taking his plate over to the table and sitting down.

Pouring a cup of coffee for herself, she followed him over "So? How's Sam?"

"Good. He's, uh, thinkin' of coming out for a few days." He nodded, staring at his food.

"That's good. I know you missed having him around."

He half-grinned. "Yeah, not the same without him around to bitch at me." He chuckled to himself.

She smiled. "So when's he planning on visiting?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "This weekend."

She nodded. "We should pick up groceries. If he eats half as much as you, there'll be nothing left before dinner."

He grinned, for some reason looking more relaxed and then stole her coffee. "We're out of M&M's."

She rolled her eyes. Weren't they always?

That weekend, Sam showed up with a duffel bag and a pretty brunette with a nervous smile. While Sam and Dean hugged in a manly/brotherly fashion that involved a lot of clapping on the back and Dean calling his brother a bitch, Chloe stood uncomfortably on the porch.

"Hi," said the woman, "You must be Chloe." She stepped forward, holding out her hand. "I'm Sarah."

"Hi. I didn't know Sam was bringing anyone," she admitted, shrugging.

"Neither did he." She grinned. "But when I found out Dean had a girlfriend, I had to come and meet you." She lifted a shoulder.

She didn't bother correcting her; too many questions.

"So far so good?" Chloe asked.

Sarah chuckled. "Depends. Are you a run and hide kind of girl or face your fears?"

Chloe was slightly confused by the question, but her answer was quick and honest. "Face your fears. Always. Nothing gets done otherwise."

"Definitely good so far," Sarah said. "While those two pretend they don't like each other, why don't we go inside? I haven't talked to an actual girl in a way too long!"

Chloe laughed, stepping back inside the house. From that moment on, Chloe had a new friend. Sarah Blake.

When Sam and Dean came inside, she could finally put a face to a voice. He was much taller than Dean and oddly just as muscular; must run in the genes, she thought. He had more boyish features though and a gentler smile than Dean did. She found herself thinking they'd be the perfect good cop, bad cop types. But then shook her head of the thought, why would they ever need to practice that? It was just her former reporter kicking in. She shook Sam's hand and then smiled awkwardly.

"So... What are you two planning on doing today?" she wondered.

"Ah, bitchface here wants to check out the town," Dean told her, nodding toward his brother. "We need anything else from the store?" he wondered, grabbing his favorite leather jacket.

"Not unless you polished off your M&M's already," she replied, lifting a knowing brow.

He grinned at her. "You staying here or coming?"

She turned to Sarah with a lifted brow. "How much do you like pie?"

Sarah tipped her head in confusion. "Um, it's good...?"

"Great. We're coming!" Chloe walked over and grabbed the car keys before racing outside.

"No way! You're not driving!" Dean chased after her.

"I grabbed the keys first!" she exclaimed, hurrying toward the Impala.

"Not fair! You didn't say go!"

"Not my fault you're slow," she replied, sticking her tongue out at him as she pulled open the driver door.

She let out a shriek as he picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder. "No way I'm sitting in the passenger seat!"

"I didn't make the rules I just follow them," she told him laughing.

"Come on!" He pouted.

"Fine! But I get to drive back!" She held the keys out for him.

"Maybe," he said, grabbing the keys and letting her down.

"Maybe my butt, Winchester," she told him, smirking. "You're not careful, you're sitting in the back and Sarah's riding up front."

He pursed his lips and just to make him stop, she kissed him. She went to pull away a moment later, but he drew her forward again, kissing her deeply. She sighed, leaning into his chest and forgetting all about their game of who gets to drive. When he leaned away, licking his lips, she missed the warmth of them immediately. She shook her head, hoping to make the fog fade. "I'm still driving home," she told him before opening the back door and climbing in.

Grumbling, he climbed into the car, waving at his brother and shouting, "Hurry up!" as he and Sarah walked over to get in.

Most of the weekend was spent just having fun. She found Dean was more lighthearted with Sam around; he goofed off and played pranks and acted like a little kid again. She loved seeing that; the way his face lit up and his amused grin whenever his brother came out looking frustrated at something Dean had done. As long as she and Sarah weren't the target of his or Sam's pranks, she stayed out of it. Although, she did tell Sam how to make itching power, purely out of scientific reasons.

She felt younger than she was, watching movies and hanging out with them. She could enjoy spending an hour curled up against Dean as they watched some DVD they rented, eating popcorn and talking about how the movie really wasn't the least bit scary. She liked waking up to find Sarah yawning over a cup of coffee and reading the Arts and Culture page of the newspaper before passing her the news. And having Sam around to have debates with was always fun; he was smart and interesting and he had an opinion on just about everything.

She was rather sad to see them go early Monday morning, but they both had work and couldn't stay. She hugged Sarah tightly, telling her to e-mail her and let her know how the drive was. Sam hugged her close and she was reminded of Clark for just a moment; the younger farmboy that was her best friend from day one. "Take care of him," Sam whispered in her ear.

She nodded. "It's a full time job but I think I got it handled," she assured.

He grinned, stepping back and turned to his brother. "Jerk," he said fondly.

Dean sighed, half-smiled rather sadly. "Bitch."

They hugged, longer than they had when he first arrived and then Dean clapped his back and stepped away, clearing his throat.

"We'll call when we get in," Sam assured, walking toward the car where Sarah was waiting.

Dean nodded and she felt his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She leaned into him, sure that he was just feeling alone. She waved as the car pulled away and felt Dean's arm tighten around her. "Well," he muttered. "Guess it's nice to have the house back to ourselves."

She nodded, biting her lip. She turned around, tipping her head. "You know what that means?"

He stared at her a moment and then grinned. "You're naughty." He lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. "I like it."

Sam and Sarah kept in touch and it became a natural thing for them to come by once a month, when possible. She hadn't realized just how long she'd been with Dean but when another Easter, Halloween and even Christmas passed by, soon it'd been two years. Her feelings were put on the back burner, she didn't like thinking what they meant or where they'd led her to. It was hard to think of a future that didn't involve Dean and despite the fact that she knew she could leave at any time, she didn't. She had her own car now, though she didn't use it often, and she could easily pack her stuff up and hit the road. But still, she stayed. She stayed in the junkyard, surrounded by mountains of metal and beat up cars. She stayed sleeping in his bed, wrapped up in his arms, waking up to inhale that scent that she'd grown so accustomed to. Every morning, they'd take a shower and she'd serve them up a cup of coffee. He'd give her the news while he read the comics and, oddly enough, the obits, and their day would go on as usual. She'd go into town to work on the paper and he'd work on cars, those in the yard and brought to him from town.

She liked her life and she didn't want it to change, but it was going to have to. She was getting too close to him, growing to rely on waking up with him and she knew what that meant. As soon as she felt right, it would blow up in her face and she couldn't go through that again. She wouldn't.

She packed her bags while he was in town and brought them out to her car. She swallowed the sob in her throat and wiped the tears from her eyes before they could fall. She didn't hear him come in while she was searching their bedroom for one last keep sake. But she heard his boots clomping when he came inside. Her stomach tightened and her throat burned, but she didn't move, she just waited for him to find her.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked her.

She turned around slowly, taking a long, steadying breath. "I'm leaving."

"Yeah, I got that. What I want to know is why." He threw his arms up, eyes wide, brow cocked.

She licked her lips, eyes falling. "It's just time." She grabbed the picture of them she'd come for and moved toward the door, but he blocked her way stubbornly. "Dean, please..."

"No way... You're not leaving until we figure this shit out. Because as far as I knew, we were fine." His breathing was picking up with anger and confusion.

"We were..." She shook her heard. "Are."

"Then why?" He stared at her searchingly. "Chlo?"

She sighed. "When things go good, it only means that they'll go bad even worse." She lifted a shoulder. "It's best if I leave now, just trust me."

"No. No, I'm not gonna just trust you, all right?" He frowned at her. "You really wanna go?"

"I don't want to, Dean, I have to." He wouldn't understand.

"Bullshit." He shook his head. He turned around and walked toward the kitchen. "I'm callin' Sarah!"

She sighed, following after him. "She's not going to have any answers. I didn't tell her I was going!"

He sighed, turning back to glare at his, his hands on his hips. "You didn't tell Sam either."

She shook her head.

"So what? You were gonna sneak away when I wasn't looking?" He pursed his lips. "Weren't gonna let anyone know you were okay?"

"Clean break," she murmured.

"Clean? You call this clean?" He waved his arms around. "You're fucking leaving me, Chloe!"

Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth shook. "It's best if-"

"No. Shut up." He shook his head. "It's not for the best, okay? I don't know what happened or why the hell you think you need to go, but you're not." He crossed his arms.

She lifted her eyes to glare at him, frowning. "You can't make me stay."

"The hell I can't!" he exclaimed.

"Why are you being so difficult?" she half-yelled.

"Oh I dunno, maybe my girlfriend of two and a half years is suddenly leaving me!" he shouted. "It's a little fucking disturbing is all!"

She turned her head away. "We never labeled this."

"Are you kidding me?" He laughed derisively. "After all this time you wanna pull this shit now? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, sweetheart, I labeled this the day you showed up with a broken car, all right?"

"Dean..."

"No, listen, okay?" He licked his lips, glancing away for a moment. "Now I know we're not the most conventional couple. I don't even think we've really gone on a date or whatever. But... You're mine, okay? And I'm... yours. I just thought... you knew that by now."

She sniffled, closing her eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be like that... It..."

"Well it is... And I like it that way." He looked away for a moment before turning back. "And I thought you did too."

She nodded. "I did." She swallowed. "I do."

"Then hell, Chloe. Stay." He held his hands out in the closest thing to a pleading gesture.

"I c-can't." She shook her head, turning and fleeing from the kitchen. She climbed into her car and started it, refusing to look back at the house she'd been living in for the last few years. She pulled out of the drive and onto the highway, turning away from the town she'd grown to really like. The tears wouldn't stop; they were flowing constantly down her cheeks no matter how many calming breaths she took or how often she wiped them away. She finally pulled over to the side of road and sobbed her heart out. God, what was wrong with her? Why was she doing this? Why was she running away? She loved him; she really did. Her heart ached over the simply idea of leaving him and now here she was, driving away.

She leaned back into the seat and stared ahead at the open road. Where would it lead? Hotel rooms and lonely beds. No more M&M's or morning showers where he lathered her body up with his soap just because he liked her smelling like him. No more late nights of coming back home to curl up in his arms on the couch and watch stolen cable or sitting on the porch swing, admiring him as he worked on the Impala. No more hot days in the junkyard, her back burning as he screwed her against the Impala door. No more lazy days of making love where all she knew was Dean's voice and his hands and his mouth, everywhere, touching and loving every single inch of her body. No more running for the keys to see who might get to drive this time or sharing a slice of heaven in the form of pie while they sat on the porch swing, watching the sun set over the field. No more Dean.

She stiffened her shoulders, turned on the car and drove back onto the highway, making a U-turn and returning the way she came. She pulled in next to the Impala and hurried into the house. She hadn't been gone long, but he managed to trash the living room and was now sitting in the middle of the mess, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. She approached slowly, falling to her knees in front of him and reaching out, expecting him to push her away and start yelling at her. Instead, he just sat there and she buried her face against his neck.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

His arms wrapped around her, dragging her into his lap and she relished in his arms wrapped so tight around her she almost couldn't breathe. His face pressed against his shoulder and the only sound made that alerted her he was crying was the random sniffle. She ran her hand down his hair and gripped the back of his shirt. "Stay," he mumbled. "Just stay."

She nodded. "I'm staying. I'm not... I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Hours later, after telling him the reasons for her running, breaking down every relationship she'd had - leaving the hero angle out of it - he understood a little better why she what she did. Still, he told her he wasn't them and he didn't want to have to pay for how much they royally fucked up. So in turn, she too learned more about him and understood that they were different; whatever they were.

From anger and fighting to understanding and resolutions, they wound up in bed, as usual. Together, they lay panting in his bed, wrapped in each others arms and she realized how foolish she was for ever considering leaving him. "I love you," he said against her hair.

Her eyes fell closed and she finally admitted to him and herself. "I love you too."

Months later, that would be tested. She nearly dumped him the second she realized he was a lot like the rest. Another hero. When he asked her, "Why didn't you?" She'd always reply with a wink and a, "You were just too good in bed." Because it always made him smirk and deep down they both knew why she really didn't... She couldn't.

It was late and they were fast asleep in bed. She was dressed in one of his ratty Led Zeppelin t-shirts and lying on her stomach with his arm thrown across her and his legs entwined with hers. They both woke up to the sudden crashing noise coming from the living room. Her first thought was that some idiot was actually trying to rob them. She was shocked silent when a woman appeared in the door way, her eyes completely black and a sadistic grin on her face.

She disappeared a second later when Dean pulled a sawed off out of nowhere and shot it. She could hear whatever it was hurrying down the hall, but she wasn't focusing on the fact that some kind of creature was in the house. Instead, she was noticing that he was prepared for some kind of creature to infiltrate the house. He was looking through drawers, mumbling about where his dad's journal was and how Sammy was better at Latin that he was.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me!" she exclaimed.

Shot gun in hand, he moved toward the doorway and looked over at her with a shrug. "Sorry sweetheart, the things that go bump in the night are real," he replied absently, trying to look around the corner carefully.

She rolled her eyes. "I knew that. What I didn't know was that you hunted them. Another friggin' hero!" She shook her head, sighing heavily. "You know for the longest time, I couldn't get a hero to squint in my direction, but the last twelve years or so..." She shook her head.

"Uh, yeah, we'll do the I Dated a Hero recap thing after, ‘kay? I gotta kill this sonuvabitch first," he replied casually, with a hint of sarcasm evident in his smirk.

Falling back to lie on the bed, she sighed. Un-freaking-believable. No matter where she went or what she did, she always wound up dating heroes. Well, that was it. No way was she sticking around with some demon hunting bad ass. No wonder he was so built and the hunting trips! Of course! How could she not notice something like that? She just assumed it was a stress reliever or something; like a memorial to his dad and Bobby, who both died hunting. But no, of course not, he was still in the game. The whole saving people thing made even more sense; he did it every day so what was a flat tire or a kid stuck in a tree? When they were in town, he seemed to step up whenever somebody needed help. Unless it had to do with yard work, then he was totally out.

Near dawn, he crawled back into bed.

"Exactly why did it show up here?" she wondered, still rather aggravated.

"Ah, I pissed it off over in Oakland. Killed its boyfriend or something, I dunno." He wrapped his arm around her and put his head on the pillow, ready to get back to sleep.

"When were you in Oakland?" she wondered, brows furrowed.

"Few months ago," he mumbled. "I'm tired. Can we have this talk tomorrow?"

She rolled over. "Dean! You're a demon hunter thing!"

"I hunt a lot of things, not only demons." His eyes were still closed.

She pushed his shoulder. "We seriously have to talk about this."

With a sigh, he opened his eyes. "Okay, so I hunt. I kill bad things and save people. Been doing it most of my life. Learned from my dad who died to save me after some yellow eyed freak killed my mom when I was like four." He shrugged. "Sammy was a hunter too. We were on the road a lot; dad was always searching for the yellow eyed demon. Anyway, he finally found it, and it wanted Sam to become some kind of leader to the demons or whatever. But things didn't go that way, I killed the freak. Course he also killed Sam who I brought back with a crossroads deal giving me a year to live. I died, went to hell, Sam resurrected me, and after a few more years of fighting the demon war, Sam retired and I fight off what's left of them." He smiled. "There you go. Anything else?" She didn't reply, so he nodded. "Good." He closed his eyes. "Night."

She laid back, staring up at the ceiling. Seriously?

He fell asleep quickly and she turned on her side to watch him for a moment. So he was a hunter, a hero, another in a line of many she'd known... And she knew what that meant; danger and killing and darkness... she was used to it. But could she go through it again? He didn't do what Clark or Oliver or Jack or even Bruce did... He fought a different kind of evil. There would be no other woman, like in Clark's case. She knew that. There'd be no fear for her life and turning her away; after three years, he seemed confident enough that he wasn't going to suddenly turn her away for her safety. He wasn't going to shun her for her powers, like Jack, because he'd seen them first hand when she healed him years ago. There were no mobs coming to get her, no reason to fake her death, and really, she knew, if she had to, he'd go with her. He didn't have roots set down anywhere like Bruce, he didn't have a city relying on him. So where she went, he'd go. So what were her options? She already loved him, already started a life with him... Did she turn around now?

Of course not. She was a stay and face her fears type.

It was worth it. All the heartache and broken relationships; losing the men in her life that once made her feel so cherished. Walking away from Clark because he was meant to be with Lois. Leaving Oliver because he needed someone he wasn't afraid would break. Escaping Metropolis and keeping Jack as a distant memory of the man she once knew. And even saying goodbye to Bruce; her dark knight and beacon of hope. Having her heart trampled on time and time again, walking away from those she loved and starting a new life for herself after months of being on the road and living out of fast food cartons. She was finally home. She was finally where she was meant to be and nothing was going to get in her way.

"Mom! Dad ate all my M&M's!"

Chloe sighed, turning around and looking down at her seven year old son. "What'd I tell you?"

Logan sighed, shoulders slumping. "Never let dad know I have them if I don't want ‘em eaten."

She nodded, smiling. "Dean!"

He walked in behind their son, shoulders slumped in the same fashion. "I'll buy him a new bag." He ruffled Logan's hair. "Nark."

Frowning at him, Logan crossed his arms. "I ain't no rat!"

"You told your mom!"

"Hey, stop fighting you two!" She shook her head. "Where's Sam?"

"Calming Sarah down," Dean replied, walking over to lean against the counter next to her.

She sighed. "What'd you say?"

"I didn't say anything. Sammy's the one who mentioned it might be hard for her to get up from the porch swing." He smirked, shaking his head. "Doesn't learn."

Chloe grabbed a cold glass of lemonade and then went outside to find a sobbing Sarah and a worried Sam still trying to calm her down.

"You're not fat! You're beautiful! I just meant-"

"I know what you meant!" she cried, her shoulders heaving.

Shaking her head, Chloe sat down on the swing next to her and passed her the cold glass of juice.

"My h-husband doesn't find me attractive anymore," Sarah told her, her face red with tears.

"What?" Sam exclaimed, throwing his arms up. "I do too!"

Shaking her head, Chloe waved at him to go away, glaring over her shoulder at Dean as he laughed at his brother.

"Dad, why is Aunty Sarah always crying?" Logan wondered.

"Hormones. It's a girl thing," Dean replied, sighing. "Come on, little man. Let's show your Uncle Sammy how to change a sparkplug."

"Yeah!" Logan shouted, racing toward the Impala.

"I know how," Sam argued.

"Then why do you keep bringing your car to the auto shop?" Dean cocked a brow.

"Two times!"

"Hey, if you knew what you were doing..." Dean shrugged.

Moping, Sam followed, dragging his feet.

"D-Do you think I'm fat?" Sarah wondered.

"I think you're pregnant," Chloe replied. "And for someone who's seven months in, you look really good."

"R-Really?"

"Oh yeah." Chloe nodded. "When I was seven months with Logan, do you remember how big I got?"

Sarah chuckled, nodding. "Sam thought it was triplets."

Chloe scowled. "Exactly."

"I just feel so..." Her shoulders slumped.

"It'll pass." She grinned. "We have some leftover pie!"

"Ooh!" Sarah's face brightened. "With pecan ice cream?"

"Sure." She stood up from swing and started walking toward the door before realizing Sarah wasn't following. She turned around with a lifted brow. "You coming?"

"I can't."

"Why?"

She sniffled. "I'm stuuuck!"

Chloe stifled a laugh. "Sam!"

Turning around, Sam sighed, realizing what was happening and came over. Carefully, he helped her up from the swing and rubbed her back. As the two walked inside, Chloe decided to check on her two favorite men. "'Kay, hand me the socket wrench."

"This one?" Logan asked, holding it up high for Dean to see.

"Yeah." He took it from him and then pointed inside. "You see that?"

"Uh huh!"

Dean grinned before explaining to him what it was and what it did.

Chloe slid up behind him and leaned against his back, watching over his shoulder as he fiddled with things.

"Hey bud, why don't you go grab me a beer?" he asked.

Logan hopped down from the car. "Can I have popsicle?"

"Ask your mom."

Chloe snorted. "Only one!"

Logan ran off toward the house eagerly.

Wiping his hands on a rag, Dean turned around to smirk at her. "Sarah, okay?"

"Sam's soothing her." She nodded. "Don't think we'll have any pie or ice cream left though."

He frowned. "Guess we'll have to make a trip into town."

"Apparently we need more M&M's for you and Logan both."

He smiled innocently. "Kid should know better."

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning against him. His arms slung low on her waist as he sat on the car comfortably. She pressed their foreheads together and sighed. "Big hunt," she murmured.

Sam came down to give him a hand and brought Sarah so she'd have Chloe to look after her while they were gone. Dean didn't often have to call his brother in and that worried her a little. He told her it was just because he wanted some back up and he hadn't seen Sammy since they found out Sarah was pregnant, but she was still worried.

"Piece of cake," he assured, squeezing her hips with his arm.

She ran a hand through his hair and licked her lips. "Just try and not get killed, huh?"

He grinned. "We'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it."

"I'll stock up on pie," she replied, smiling.

"You guys aren't gonna kiss are ya?" came the young voice of their son. She looked down to see him holding a beer in one hand and pink popsicle in the other.

Dean laughed. "So what if we are?"

His nose wrinkled. "That's gross, dad!"

"Dude, how do you think you got here?" his dad said with a chuckle.

"Kissing makes babies?" He tipped his head in thought. "How come I don't have like a bajillion brothers then?"

Chloe laughed, her head falling back.

Dean shook his head before cupped her cheek and drawing her mouth toward his. "You heard him, he wants a brother."

She smiled, her eyes falling closed as they kissed. His hand buried in her hair and her feet lifted from the ground as he picked her up, hugging her tight. She laughed against his mouth, letting her head fall to his shoulder. "Maybe I want him to have a little sister."

"We'll have to keep trying ‘til we get both," he agreed, smirking at her.

Sighing, she buried her face in his neck and breathed in his musky scent. She closed her eyes and relished in the comfort of his arms. There wasn't a doubt in her mind any more; they'd all faded away long ago. Chloe Sullivan had finally found the one hero she was meant to with. A demon-hunting mechanic with a love for pie, M&M's and her. She'd never been happier and she planned to stay that way.
COMPLETE