.437-- A Rough History, Part I. SV/SPN. Chloe/Dean. PG-13.
clarksmuse asked for a drabble, so I wrote one. And then it grew a little. And then the plotbunnies came and I ended up with this. At this point it's nothing more than a long drabble and I don't plan for it to be anything big. A collection of long drabbles, maybe, that I'll probably write at my leisure.
So here's part one for you clarksmuse. There's more to come soon.
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville or Supernatural. If I did, naughty things would happen.
Summary: Chloe and Dean; a rough history.
Author's Note: I've always liked the idea of an older, rougher Chloe. Not the cynical, bitter Chloe that can't exist without Clark Kent, but a capable, edgy Chloe. I hope you like her, too.
---
i: impressions
They met in a tiny, dark bar in a tiny, dark town just outside of Kansas. It was the first time in a long time that Chloe Sullivan had ventured anywhere near her old home and it would be the last.
He swaggered in not an hour before sunrise, sat down beside her and ordered a tequila.
He didn't even introduce himself before he turned towards and told her to back off and go home. And on that rare occasion, she played dumb.
"Come again?"
"We know who you are and what you do," he said, and knocked back his tequila. "Go home. You're screwing things up."
A few years ago Chloe had learned patience, had needed it to survive, and she used it now, sipping her beer slow and easy. She knew who this was, though she'd never had the honour of meeting him until now. And he was right on time.
"'Bout time you showed, Winchester," she said offhandedly. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't."
She saw him freeze out of the corner of her eye and smiled to herself.
Too cocky, she thought. You didn't even know you were being played.
Another swig of her beer and she was straight to the point. "He likes blondes. Always has. The last girl was a mistake. Dye job. That's why he ripped her to shreds."
Anger temporarily forgotten, he replied arrogantly, "We know that already."
"I know. I made sure you did." She paused. "So which one are you? Dean or Sam? I'm guessin' Dean. I heard you were an arrogant little shit."
"Nothing little about me, sweetheart," he countered, flashing her a shit-eating grin. "And you're stupid if you think we're going to let you help us."
Chloe shook her head and downed the last of her beer. "No, I'm not stupid enough to think that. But I am smart enough to know that you're going to help me."
She slid off the barstool then and turned to face him, hitching her bag up on to her shoulder. "I know more about this guy than the both of you put together. And I know how to take him down. You're here because I wanted you here."
She moved towards the door, leaving him to his forgotten drink, and with her parting words, she headed out into the sunrise.
"You know where to find me."
So here's part one for you clarksmuse. There's more to come soon.
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville or Supernatural. If I did, naughty things would happen.
Summary: Chloe and Dean; a rough history.
Author's Note: I've always liked the idea of an older, rougher Chloe. Not the cynical, bitter Chloe that can't exist without Clark Kent, but a capable, edgy Chloe. I hope you like her, too.
---
i: impressions
They met in a tiny, dark bar in a tiny, dark town just outside of Kansas. It was the first time in a long time that Chloe Sullivan had ventured anywhere near her old home and it would be the last.
He swaggered in not an hour before sunrise, sat down beside her and ordered a tequila.
He didn't even introduce himself before he turned towards and told her to back off and go home. And on that rare occasion, she played dumb.
"Come again?"
"We know who you are and what you do," he said, and knocked back his tequila. "Go home. You're screwing things up."
A few years ago Chloe had learned patience, had needed it to survive, and she used it now, sipping her beer slow and easy. She knew who this was, though she'd never had the honour of meeting him until now. And he was right on time.
"'Bout time you showed, Winchester," she said offhandedly. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't."
She saw him freeze out of the corner of her eye and smiled to herself.
Too cocky, she thought. You didn't even know you were being played.
Another swig of her beer and she was straight to the point. "He likes blondes. Always has. The last girl was a mistake. Dye job. That's why he ripped her to shreds."
Anger temporarily forgotten, he replied arrogantly, "We know that already."
"I know. I made sure you did." She paused. "So which one are you? Dean or Sam? I'm guessin' Dean. I heard you were an arrogant little shit."
"Nothing little about me, sweetheart," he countered, flashing her a shit-eating grin. "And you're stupid if you think we're going to let you help us."
Chloe shook her head and downed the last of her beer. "No, I'm not stupid enough to think that. But I am smart enough to know that you're going to help me."
She slid off the barstool then and turned to face him, hitching her bag up on to her shoulder. "I know more about this guy than the both of you put together. And I know how to take him down. You're here because I wanted you here."
She moved towards the door, leaving him to his forgotten drink, and with her parting words, she headed out into the sunrise.
"You know where to find me."