Fic: Pickup Lines and Other Natural Disasters (1/1)
This is a story that I wrote for the challenge at
spn_summer_het.
I am also submitting it for the
crossovers100 challenge. Prompt#63 Summer The table is here.
Title: Pickup Lines and other Natural Disasters
Author; Pen37
Fandom(s): Supernatural/Smallville
Pairing:Dean/Chloe
Prompt: Dean/Chloe, any rating. Dean tries his best pick-up lines but is interrupted.
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Need me to unzip your files?
The first time Dean spoke to Chloe, he and Sam were on the trail of something unlike anything they had ever seen.
Dad's journal had an entry concerning glowing green meteor rocks, and the freaky affect they had on will-o-wisps. Although they were tracking a bogie, Sam figured that the rocks might change those, too.
The journal listed a source that Dean hadn't heard of: Tower. Sam thought that they might not have heard of this Tower person because they haven't dealt with meteors before, and the journal only says that Tower has all the 411 on them.
To Dean's surprise, Tower was a short blond dressed all in cyberpunk black. He was further surprised when she was too busy and distracted by her computer to notice his smile, much less flirt with him.
“Was your daddy a fireman? Becasuse --”
“My name is Chloe Sullivan,” she interrupted impatiently. “And unless you boys know how to hack into the DoD, have a seat. I'll be with you in a few.”
Sam looked suitably impressed - which told Dean that she was good at what she did. He watched in fascination as her fingers flew across the keyboard and she spouted technical jargon to someone named Oracle through her headset.
When she has finished with whatever tricky and highly illegal bit of hacking she pulled on their friends at the DoD, she hung up her headset and turned her attention to them. “Okay boys, what can I do for you?”
“Do they call you 'tower' because you're so short?” Dean's smile usually works on frisky, busty, and blonde girls. But Chloe Sullivan's icy stare told him that she only met two of those criteria, and that his attempt at charm just fell flatter than a disco 8-track under the impala’s back tire.
“Heh . . .” he said into the icy silence. “Awkward.”
“It's short for Watchtower,” her words all but drip icicles. “And, trust me: I've heard better pickup lines from billionaires who weren't even trying.”
“Watchtower . . . is that what that is?” Sammy pointed toward her laptop, and Dean noticed for the first time that it was emblazoned with a yellow-on-black, eye-of-sauronesque stylized logo. He did his best not to look at his younger brother, who sounded way too smug and amused to see him strike out. He also resisted the equally-tempting urge to slap Sam on the back of the head.
Payback was gunna be a bitch.
“Yep,” she confirmed. “So what can I do for the sons of John Winchester?” Her words carry the subtle warning that she didn't have much patience to deal with them, even if they were Winchester v. 2.0.
“Dad's journal mentioned that you know about the glowing green rocks,” Sam said.
“Kryptonite,” Chloe said shortly as she turned back to the computer. “It's a form of meteor rock. The radiation that it emits . . . changes things.” As she spoke, she typed a series of keys, and her printer immediately began spitting out pages of research at a high speed.
“Changes . . . Things?” Dean echoed, one eyebrow raised in question.
She handed the printed pages to him, and he immediately knew that they're going up on the wall back in the hotel.
“Biological organisms,”
Chloe handed him an article on square watermelon. “Flora.”
The next article is about catfish with teeth caught in a crater lake. “Fauna.”
The next stack contained stories of humans with super-powers: Chameleons, shapeshifers, teleporters.
“All of this happens because of the craptonite?” Dean cocked an eyebrow.
“Kryptonite,” Chloe corrected mildly. “Think of it like gunpowder. All it takes is a spark to set it off. Then - Bang!”
“Catfish with teeth,” Dean concluded.
“Exactly,” Chloe said.
“What kind of stimulus are we talking about?” Sam asked.
Chloe shrugged. “Electric shock, a good adrenalin rush.”
“Paranormal activity?” Sam guessed.
“That would do it,” Chloe nodded.
“Great, now that we know what we're up against, what do we do?” Dean wondered.
“Tazers work,” Chloe said.
Dean looked from Chloe's matter-of-fact face to Sam's amused one. “Dude, don't even go there.”
“Suck it up,” Sam pushed his shoulder lightly.
Chloe's computer beeped at her, and she was immediately distracted. She leaned over, and punched a few more keys.
“Uh oh. It's been fun boys, but now I have to get this DoD information to . . . someone.” She took a couple of business cards off her desk, and handed them off. “Call me if you need the 411. I make it my business to know things.”
“Things, huh?” Dean's flirtatious grin was back. “I've got all kinds of things I could tell you, darlin.' I'm all about sharing.”
“Please! Let's not with the sharing.” Chloe rolled her eyes. But her expression was more amused than annoyed now. Which told Dean that her earlier frosty demeanor might've been just the combination of a bad pickup line and bad timing. He figured: What the hell, why not try again?
“Have dinner with me, then.”
“You don't ever give up, do you?” She shook her head, a faint smile of intrigue crossing her lips.
“Is that a yes?”
“No,” she smiled.
Dean smiled back, and pressed his luck. “Is that a no?”
“No,” she chuckled.
“Sweet,” he smiled at her faintly. Maybe was good. He could work with maybe. He put her card in his wallet so that he wouldn't accidentally wash it with his pants. He was going to make certain that he had plenty of reasons to call her. Even if he had to make a couple up.
As they let themselves out, she was speaking rapidly over her headset in some weird language that they'd never heard of.
Sam shook his head in amusement at Dean. “Do they call you Tower because you're so short? Dude!”
“Whatever, Bitch,” Dean growled. “Don't we have a monster to kill?”
“Jerk,” Sam grinned. “For once, we found a girl out of your league, bro.”
“Shut it,” Dean growled.
“I don't even think she's playing the same sport.”
“You. Nair. Shampoo. Sound familiar? Shut it!”
“I'm serious brother-mine,” though Sam wiped the smile off of his face, his eyes still danced with mirth. “A girl like that is so not a one-night stand kind of girl.”
“So maybe I'll change sports,” Dean shrugged, his eyes thoughtful.
“Seriously?” Sam raised his eyebrows.
“A woman like that? Hell yeah!” Dean glanced back at her door. One thing was clear to him, Chloe wasn't a girl: she was her own woman, and probably two handfuls of trouble, besides. If ever there was someone to hold his attention, she was it.
Now it would just be a matter of convincing her.
Hey, how 'bout I take off your cover and insert a bigger CPU?
The second time Dean spoke to Chloe, he and Sam were crossing the Texas Panhandle. Sam was sleeping shotgun, and Dean was bored out of his gourd. He was digging through his pocket for a spare ink pen so that he could draw a mustache under Sammy's nose, when he came across a business card with a familiar, eye-of-sauronesque design on it.
What the hell. He thought as he punched the telephone number that was on the corner of the card.
“Tower speaking,”
“Does that mean I can climb you?”
“Hello, Dean,” She said in a longsuffering voice.
“How did you know it was me?”
“There are exactly two guys who like to fire off lame pickup lines at me. Since I didn't once hear the nickname Chloelicious, it had to be you.”
“Darlin', I'm hurt.” He said in mock-pain.
“No, but that can be arranged,” She muttered. “So tell me, Winchester. What can I do for you?”
“Well, we're crossing Texas, and I figured that it was either talk to you, or torture Sammy,” he said. “So you're actually doing a huge favor for my brother. Since he usually wakes up in a pissy mood every time I draw on his face.”
“You draw on your brother's face?” She sounded morbidly intrigued. Like she was watching a train wreck that she couldn't quite look away from.
“Only when I'm bored. The little Hitler smudge under his nose was almost as funny as the bitchface he pulled when he saw it.”
She was quiet for a long time. Finally, she cleared her throat. “You're kinda’ scary. You know that?”
Dean sighed. Not what he wanted to hear from a girl he was trying to impress. “So . . . is now a good time, or did I catch you in the middle of saving the world?”
“Nah, It’s actually pretty quiet on the com tonight. So . . . Texas.”
“Ever been?”
“Surprisingly, no. I hear it’s like Kansas, only bigger.”
“Parts of it. You can drive all day, and still be in Texas. Hence the boredom.”
“My senior year of high school, most of us had a post-graduation trip planned for Corpus Christi.”
“Sounds like fun.” Dean wondered what it would've been like to have had normal teen years. Actually sticking around to receive his diploma. Doing the whole cap-and-gown march with Dad and Sam taking photos. Going out for a post-graduation party with friends.
“I wouldn't know. They called off graduation when the second meteor shower hit. After that we were too busy with rebuilding to actually go anywhere - if you don't count teleporting above the arctic circle, that is.”
“Then again, maybe not.” He pulled the phone from his ear, and stared at it as if he were staring at the two-headed calf at the state fair. “What kinda' whacked-up town do you live in?”
“The meteor-freak capital of the world,” She deadpanned.
Right. Time to change the subject. “So you've never seen a beach?”
“Nope.”
“That's sad.”
She sighed. “Yup.”
“Tell you what, why don't I take you sometime?”
“What - to the beach?”
“Yeah, why not? Next time Sam and I are near the coast - I'll give you a call.”
“Maybe.”
“Again with the maybe? I'm losing my touch,” Dean muttered.
“Work on your pickup lines. Then we'll see.”
You make my software turn to hardware!
The third time Dean spoke to Chloe, she was rather busy.
“This is Tower.”
“Is that 'cause your legs go --”
“Not a good time, Dean.” Chloe's voice sounded kind of distracted. In the background, he could hear explosions.
“Tell me that's a video game.”
“Wish it were. Things are kind of pear-shaped in an apocolypticy sort of way. I'll call you later. If there is a later.”
“What? You're joking right?”
“Wish I was. Incoming!” Suddenly the line went dead.
“Chloe? Chloe!” He glanced over at Sam, and noted that his brother looked at him with a concerned expression.
“Explain to me,” he said to Sam, “What it means to be pear shaped in an apocalypticy sort of way.”
“I think it means we should head to Metropolis,” Sam said.
Your graphics are so beautiful, they rival Doom 3.
The fourth time Dean spoke to Chloe, she was underneath the body of a super computer, trying to salvage what she could from the rubble of her clocktower - which was apparently ground zero for her apocalypticy thing. He could just see the tips of her shoes, and was reminded of a mechanic under the frame of a car. The noises that came from inside the machine reminded him a bit of an auto body shop, as well.
“Hey, you need a screwdriver?” he called to her.
There was a banging sound under the machine, and then the sound of her soft voice swearing. She slid out to where she could see him, and then glared at his smirking face. “Don't even think of finishing that one, Winchester.”
He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and shrugged nonchalantly. “So I guess you survived the pear-shaped apocalypse.”
Despite herself she grinned at him. “Helped to save the world and everything.”
“That's good,” Dean smiled. “So I was thinking. You look like you need a vacation. Ever been to Key West?”
“No,” she looked intrigued.
“Me neither. I hear you can drive all the way out there.”
She sat up. “Sounds interesting. You worked on those pickup lines?” Her smile was suggestive in ways he wanted very much to explore.
“I'm sure you could help me refine my technique.”
“I'll pack my bathing suit.”
I wish to uncompress you over *all* my disk space.
“Loo Key!” Chloe looked up from the road map with a smile like pure sunshine. “Duck Key.”
Dean couldn't help it. He felt the corners of his mouth pull back in a smile of his own. His whole face was aching from smiling so damn much. But he couldn't remember the last time he felt this relaxed.
They were sitting at a picnic table overlooking a spit of white sandy beach. Before them, the impossibly wide ocean spread out like a giant picnic blanket -- Sapphire and sparkling and temptingly inviting. Dean already felt the urge to strip off his jeans and t-shirt, and dive in.
“Um . . . Cudjoe key?”
“You would remember that one.” The little blonde rolled her eyes.
“I thought you guys were doing bad pickup lines?” Sam asked.
“We ran out of those in Memphis,” Chloe shrugged. “Then we started naming blues songs until Orlando.”
“Then it was Disney movies,” Dean added. “Which we'll never do again, because I suck at it.”
“When we ran out of those, it was name the keys.” Chloe said. “Deer Key.”
“Sugarloaf Key.”
Sam sighed. “It's going to be a long trip to Key West, Isn't it?”