Tomorrow - Strong T - Chloe/Dean - OneShot
Title: Tomorrow
Category: Smallville/Supernatural [Crossover]
Rating: Strong T
Genre: Angst/Tragedy/Romance
Pairing: Chloe/Dean
Word Count: 2,537
Summary: He both loved and hated repetition.
Dean Winchester sat in the same position in the same bad just like he had every morning for the last twelve days. He both hated and loved repetition. The room was the same, the linens on the bed, same, the pictures on the walls, the scattered clothes here or there, all the same. Her jewelry sat where she left it, the window was still just slightly cracked, the morning sun peeked through, annoyingly cheerful. His legs laid out in front of him just as they had every day before, dressed in the same dirty and torn jeans.
The door of the bathroom opened and out stepped his wife, grinning at him. "You're awake," she said.
He swallowed, mustering a half-smile. "I'm awake."
Her robe swished around as she crossed to sit in front of the dresser, searching for her brush. "Have you talked to Sam yet?"
"No." He shook his head, playing with his fingers in his lap. "He'll show up soon though."
She looked at him through the mirror. "Has Sarah called back?"
"Yeah." He cleared his throat, nodding. "Her and Sammy patched things up."
"I told you they would," she reminded, lifting a brow. "There's just something about you Winchesters..."
He half-smiled.
"You okay?" She turned to look at him with concern, her eyes soft and worried.
He looked up at her. "Yeah. ‘Course." He played with his wedding band of nine years before glancing at his boots; they were getting the bed dirty, he noticed. She'd nag him to death about that.
Her brows furrowed as if she didn't quite believe him. "We should stop in and see Bobby," she told him, running her brush through her hair. "He's been calling. I think he misses you guys."
He nodded. "Tomorrow."
"You ain't been answering your phone," Bobby sighed.
"I answered it now, didn't I?"
"Don't take the tone with me now... I'm only calling ‘cause-"
"I know why you're calling," Dean interrupted. "I don't need your help."
"Boy, you need our help, you just don't want it."
He let out a heavy breath. "Why can't you guys just leave this alone?"
"It ain't right, Dean... It just ain't right."
He closed his eyes tight, tugged on his hair and shook his head. "I'll take care of it."
"I heard that before..."
"I said I'll take care of it, Bobby!" he shouted.
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"I don't wanna come out there..."
"You won't have to."
Bobby sighed, but Dean knew he'd accepted it. "All right... You ever need to talk about this, y'know..." He cleared his throat.
"Yeah... I gotta go."
"Tomorrow, Dean."
"Tomorrow."
"Dean?"
He looked up, watching as she walked toward him. The robe had fallen loose, the creamy flesh of her chest showing. God, she was so beautiful. She sat down next to him, reaching out with her hand to touch his face. "You look ready to cry..." she said quietly.
His jaw clenched. "'m fine."
She lifted her robe, moved to straddle his waist and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. "We should go away for awhile," she murmured quietly. "To some secluded beach where clothes are optional." She laughed lightly, her fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt.
"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll book a flight."
She lifted her head and stared at him funny. "Dean, you hate to fly... It's why we drive everywhere."
He shrugged. "Gotta get over our fears someday, right?"
Her brow furrowed. "I guess, but..." She cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks. "Do you want me to call Sam or...? Because something's obviously wrong."
"No." He shook his head. "I just..." He blew out a heavy breath. "I just want to sit here for awhile, okay?"
"Yeah." She nodded, smiling slightly before she put her head back on his shoulder.
He stared at them through the mirror, at her small, delicate body sprawled against him so easily. For twelve years she'd been there, comfortable in his arms; safe and proud. After a hunt that went all kinds of wrong, they ran into Chloe Sullivan, retired investigative reporter and current Queen of the Weird. It was lust at first sight for him and it only grew when she pointedly told him nothing but his upstairs brain interested her. It took awhile but he convinced her to give him a chance and he hadn't let her go since. After three years, they were married in a small get together of friends held at Singer Salvage. They didn't get catering, instead having a big BBQ where Bart ate most of the ribs and Lois had a beer drinking contest with Clark Kent, not her brightest moment. He knew the second she told him a monkey suit wasn't required that he was always meant to marry her and when their I Do's were said, he knew he'd spend his life never regretting that he'd married her.
"You love her... There's nothing wrong with that," Ellen told him bluntly. "But there's a thin line between love and insanity and you're walking on it."
"You think I'm insane, Ellen?"
"I think you're getting close to obsession."
"Maybe I became obsessed a long time ago... And this is just me payin' for it."
"Back then... Hell, even now... You love that girl like you need air." She sighed. "Sometimes all that does is hurt you more."
He took a shaking breath. "I can't do it."
"It's hard."
"It's fucking killing me," he said through grit teeth.
"Get Sam to... Pass this one on, Dean... Just- Just let your brother do it."
"No!"
"Listen to me," she ordered and he shut his mouth. "There are things in this world that matter so goddamn much we can't fathom losing ‘em. But it happens... It happens, Dean. And in this line of work, it's gonna happen a lot." He let out a shaky sigh, nearly whimpering. "Now you let your brother do it. You unlock that damn door and you let him in there and then you leave. Drink until you pass out, I don't care. But you get the hell outta there."
He swallowed, opening his tear-filled eyes and glaring out at the dark room around him. "Okay."
She sighed with relief.
"Tomorrow."
"Dean," she objected.
"Tomorrow, Ellen." He hung up before she could say anymore.
"I should get dressed," she told him, moving to stand from where she was. She crossed the room to their dresser, kneeling next to it before pulling out the outfit he knew she would. She lifted a brow at him. "You gonna watch me?" she teased, smiling.
He nodded, mustering a smile.
She untied her robe, let it fall from her shoulders, pooling on the floor. He swallowed the lump in his throat, just staring at her naked beauty. All these years and she was still as gorgeous as she'd been when he met her. Sure there were a few wrinkles here or there, but she was the prettiest woman alive to him. She dragged a pair of lacy panties up and on, he followed each movement with his eyes, taking in her creamy thighs and her round bottom, the blonde curls between her legs before they were hidden. She rubbed body lotion over each leg and across her stomach before she reached for her bra, the same that matched her panties. She put it in her lap for a second as she rubbed the lotion across her chest, her delicate hands running over her breasts briefly before rubbing down each of her arms and then up and around her neck. She lifted her bra, slid it on with ease, covering her pale breasts and rosy nipples from his view. She wasn't insecure around him, not after all this time. If anything, she grinned at him knowingly, watching his dark eyes roam her form. Her jeans were next, hiding away her long, toned legs, and then her favorite t-shirt. One of his old ones, a faded Led Zeppelin logo on front. It didn't fit him any more, hadn't since he was in high school, probably. She snagged it early on in their relationship and had worn it since.
She turned around and walked back over to him, sitting down on the end of the bed next to his feet. "You remember the other day? In the shower..." She lifted a brow, her lips curling.
He nodded, licking his lips. He remembered how she arched for him, her hands gripping his shoulders, her head falling back as she cried his name. He remembered how tight she felt around him, how her legs wrapped around his waist and her body jerked each time he thrust into her, how she bit his shoulder as she came. "Yeah..."
She smiled oddly. "It's weird..." She leaned back on the bed, holding her head up with her upturned arm. "You're right here and yet I feel like I miss you." She stared at him, eyes soft.
He stared right back. "Me too."
It was silent for a long moment and he took the time to memorize her, despite knowing her just as well as his own reflection.
"You hungry?" she wondered, suddenly standing back up and moving to the dresser. She picked up a pair of earrings and started putting them in.
"No." He shook his head. "Uh... Let's just... Let's stay in, okay?"
"Stay in?" She lifted a brow at him through the mirror. "Are you feeling well? There's a diner down the road. It has pie, Dean!" She grinned. "Come on, I'm buying."
"I'll send Sammy," he offered rather loudly. "Just... Let's just..." He rubbed his face with his hand.
She dropped her other earring back on the dresser and crossed the floor, climbing across the bed. She reached out, running her fingers over his hair, stroking his temple. A tear escaped, sliding down his cheek. Her brow furrowed deeply. "What's wrong?" she asked, nearly begging for an answer.
"Nothing," he breathed, closing his eyes. "Nothing at all."
"Dean... It's wrong..." Sam stared at him, eyes wide and shoulders hunched. "You have to tell her..."
Dean stared away from him, shaking his head side to side. "I can't."
"You have to!" he exclaimed, glancing at the bedroom door before looking back at him. "I know this is hard-"
"Don't!" Dean's teeth clenched, his eyes dark. "Don't pretend you know what this feels like."
"I'm sorry... I..." Sam sighed, eyes falling. "I just want you to be happy."
"I am, okay? I'm... I'm fine!" he assured, voice lowering.
"No, you're not." Sam pointed to the door. "That's not right... She has to know."
Dean ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily, his shoulders falling. He was so damn tired. "I can't... I just..." His chin shook. "I can't."
"Dean..."
"Please... For just today... I'll... I'll tell her tomorrow."
Sam sighed, staring at him sadly. "Tomorrow."
Dean nodded, pushing past him and back into the room.
"We'll go out tomorrow," he promised her.
She nodded, still looking worried. "You're sure you don't want me to call someone?"
"Hey," he said, lifting a shoulder. "I got you here... What's there to be upset about?"
She smiled slightly. "You're lying... But if you don't want to talk about it, I'll wait."
He nodded. She moved to stand back up but his voice stopped her. "Wait."
She turned back, tipping her head questioningly.
He slid down the bed and patted the side next to him. Her smile was soft and genuine now as she moved to lie next to him, hiding her face in his chest and sighing. "If you just wanted to stay in bed all day, I would've completely understood," she told him.
He half-smiled. "Don't I know it."
She chuckled, tipping her head back so she could see him and he stared down at her.
"You know I love you, right?" he asked, his throat tight.
Her brow furrowed. "Of course I do. Why would you even ask?" She shook her head. "I'm really starting to worry about you..." She reached out, palm against his cheek.
"It's nothing." He shook his head. "I'm fine... We're fine... I'll deal with it tomorrow."
She lifted a brow.
"Tomorrow." He stared at her reassuringly.
"If you're sure."
"I am." He sighed, resting his head against the pillow. "It's just one day, right?"
She lifted a shoulder. "As long as whatever it is can wait..."
"Yeah..." He swallowed. "Yeah."
They laid there for hours, but his eyes shot open he heard it...
"Everybody down! Get down! Now! Put your wallets on the table and get on the floor! Don't look at us!"
Shuffling.
"We can't let these idiots rob all these people!"
"There's nothing we can do!"
"Dean, they're amateurs... They probably don't even have bullets in there."
"This is not our job."
"Saving people is our job," she whisper-shouted at him.
"Chloe! Chloe, no!"
"Hey! What are you two doing back there?"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Oh my god! What did you do? We agreed! We said we weren't gonna hurt ‘em!"
Fearful crying.
"Oh my god! She'd bleeding out, man! She's... We gotta get outta here... We gotta go! Fucking run, you idiot! Look what you did!"
The bell above the door rang as they ran away.
"Chlo? Baby, look at me..." Sniffle. "Come on, sweetheart. It's just a fucking bullet, right? Hell, we've been hit with worse than that..."
"Dean..."
"Come on... Open your eyes for me... Just keep your eyes on me... COME ON! Don't you fucking die on me!" He screamed from the back of his throat, gathering her into his arms. "Please, Chloe! PLEASE!"
Her hand lifted, fingers stroking his temple, streaking it with her blood. "I love you," she whispered against his ear.
"No, no, no don't say that. Come on, baby. We're gonna be fine. We're gonna be... Sonuva... Jesus Christ..." He shook her, sobbing against her shoulder as he clutched her body against him.
When he opened his eyes she was gone. The spot next to him was empty. If he looked around the room he knew it would all be how it was when he got home that day. The window open a crack, the bathroom door wide with her used towel hanging over the laundry basket, her robe pooled on the floor in front of the dresser. He reached into the bed side table, pulled out the half empty bottle of scotch and started drinking, staring out into the dark room around him with the tears flowing freely and the pain reverberating in every inch. He drank through the night, pulling out his full bottle of scotch from where he'd put it last time. He was stocked up for now.
Dawn arrived, birds chirping, sun peeking in like a never-ending beacon searching him out.
And Dean Winchester sat in the same position in the same bad just like he had every morning for the last thirteen days.
The door of the bathroom opened and out stepped his wife, grinning at him. "You're awake," she said.
He swallowed, mustering a half-smile. "I'm awake."
He both loved and hated repetition. But it would end... tomorrow... Just like all the other tomorrow's he'd promised before it.