Fic: Getting Up (1/?)
Fic: Getting Up (1/12)
Authors: Clarksmuse and Pen37
Series: Slayer!Chloe
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Supernatural, Smallville, Buffy/Angel Verse
Pairing: Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg-13
Wordcount: 1,308
Summary: Chloe has left the relative safety of the Winchester's company. But she may regret it when she's stalked by a former Slayer who is now of the fanged persuasion.
Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch.8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12
Chloe walked until she was just out of sight of Missouri's house. Then she broke into a ground-devouring run.
She felt torn inside. Half of her wanted Sam and Dean to come after her. The other half was desperate to hide, just in case they did. Back in Cleveland, she'd obeyed the first impulse, and look where it had gotten her? This time she listened to the urgings of her other half.
Maybe she'd been planning on listening to the urgings of her pessimistic side all along, but she'd been very careful to back up her database to a flash drive. That, along with her bank card were now riding alongside a stake in the various pockets of her cargo pants.
She might not have anything but the clothes on her back, but she hadn't hit rock bottom yet. The trick now was to figure out how to climb out of the hole she'd dug herself into.
She slowed to a walk, and looked around. Her steps had brought her close to the campus, to one of those funky little alternative areas that always seem to pop up wherever students gather. This late in the afternoon, as class let out, the area seemed to be crawling with people her age.
Chloe let herself be pulled along by the flow of pedestrian traffic. For a moment, she could pretend that she was back at Met U, worrying about how to get by with less sleep so that she could get her Journalism Lit paper done and still cover the Metropolis City Council meeting and turn in her story for the Metro section in time.
Less sleep wasn't a problem now. Of course, neither was school, or the job. She shook her head. self-sabotaging thoughts like those were what got her into this in the first place. What she needed to do was figure out a plan, and where to go from here.
Before long, she was standing in front of a neon sign she recognized.
Gaslight Tavern.
She smiled a nostalgic smile, and remembered Senior English and reports on counter culture and beat poets. Sam might have liked it there, Dean: Not so much. So she headed for the entrance.
For a bar and coffeehouse, the Gaslight Tavern was cozy and eclectic, with little Vishnu and Buddhas competing for space with photos of the original Gaslight from the sixties and seventies.
Chloe considered the cash in her cargo pocket. These days, overpriced coffee was out of her budget range, and she was still too young for a good Guinness. But the smell of roasted beans reminded her of exactly how long ago it had been since she'd forced down bad motel coffee and with another mental shrug, she dug out enough change for a mocha.
“You a student here?” The waitress asked as Chloe took a seat in the back corner, facing the door.
“Not sure yet,” Chloe smiled up at her. “I'm kind of figuring life out right now.”
“I see that a lot here,” she nodded sympathetically. “Anything I can get you?”
Chloe placed her order, and then stared at her hands. Outside on the patio, a live band started playing. She let her mind drift, and swayed in time with the music. It was an odd feeling. At no point in her life, had she ever felt directionless. There was always some goal to chase, whether it was the next deadline, or a future at the Daily Planet. Even after her dad died, she'd come up with a plan. Find a hellmouth and start taking her pain, anger and bitterness out on any ugly evil that dared to show its face.
But now she wasn't sure what to do. She supposed that she could call Spike. The blonde vampire could pick her up within a day, and have her back at the hellmouth in two.
But that didn't feel right. As much as she'd been focused on helping the Winchesters, she'd also been getting clues that something big was looming on the horizon. The slayer dreams, which were a fun little trip down memory lane, and the Cleveland Hellmouth going all ghost town-y in the monster sense. If there was something wacky going down, she would probably be better served by drawing the big bad far away from the hellmouth located in the mistake by the lake.
Then again, there were all those feelings that reading Susan Ride's journal had provoked in her. And although there were times when she felt that the world would be better off if she just died and handed off the job to the next girl, deep down she couldn't do that.
Because the next girl might be another Susan Ride. Another scared thirteen year old. And she couldn't do that to some poor girl. So like it or not, she needed to stay alive as long as she could. Which meant that her first step, before even finding a place to sleep tonight, would be to procure a few weapons.
Beyond that, it she would just have to take things as they came.
The waitress brought back her mocha, and gave her another smile. “Anything else I can get for you, hon?”
“A pen and paper would be good,” she nodded.
Once she had both items she began to scratch out a note.
Dear Sam,
I'm sure by now, you've figured out exactly how hard it is to crack my laptop. I don't doubt that you're a pretty good hacker in your own right, but back before I was a slayer, I had access to a lot of resources that you didn't.
And this is not me saying I told you so. I just wanted to give you the passwords so that you could access the files on there. I promised back in Cleveland that I would give you all the help that I could. And as far as I can see, that's limited to the findings in my database.
From what I could tell, there are omens that start to pop up in the days leading up to the attacks. Look in my database under the keyword Omens. That should give you plenty to go on.
Take care of yourself, Sam. And take care of Dean, too. I don't plan to see the two of you again. But please know that I'm not being stupid about things. I don't have a death wish. The way I see it, as long as I'm still alive, some other poor girl isn't getting chosen for this shitty job.
That's something, I guess.
As for the rest, I'm taking things day-by-day.
Well, I suck at goodbyes. I'm sure you have guessed that by now. So I'll just close with this.
Be well.
Chloe.
She stared at the letter for a few minutes, and debated whether she should send it or not. There were a lot of things that she wanted to add in. Bittersweet, remorse-filled things to tell Dean. Things that were better left unsaid. Instead she scrawled her passwords across the bottom of the letter, sealed it up, and addressed it to Missouri's house.
The motherly psychic would probably know the best way to get the letter to Sam, anyway.
She finished off her coffee. And stood. In the reflection of a mirrored beer advertisement, she caught a glimpse of herself. If Sam and Dean did try to look for her, they would spot her right away in her purple jacket.
Of course, the leather jacket on the coat rack by the door was her size. And the black fedora hanging over it would hide her blonde hair.
With a mental apology to the owner of the garments, Chloe quickly exchanged them for her own coat, and then slipped out the door and down the sidewalk.
Authors: Clarksmuse and Pen37
Series: Slayer!Chloe
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Supernatural, Smallville, Buffy/Angel Verse
Pairing: Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg-13
Wordcount: 1,308
Summary: Chloe has left the relative safety of the Winchester's company. But she may regret it when she's stalked by a former Slayer who is now of the fanged persuasion.
Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch.8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12
Chloe walked until she was just out of sight of Missouri's house. Then she broke into a ground-devouring run.
She felt torn inside. Half of her wanted Sam and Dean to come after her. The other half was desperate to hide, just in case they did. Back in Cleveland, she'd obeyed the first impulse, and look where it had gotten her? This time she listened to the urgings of her other half.
Maybe she'd been planning on listening to the urgings of her pessimistic side all along, but she'd been very careful to back up her database to a flash drive. That, along with her bank card were now riding alongside a stake in the various pockets of her cargo pants.
She might not have anything but the clothes on her back, but she hadn't hit rock bottom yet. The trick now was to figure out how to climb out of the hole she'd dug herself into.
She slowed to a walk, and looked around. Her steps had brought her close to the campus, to one of those funky little alternative areas that always seem to pop up wherever students gather. This late in the afternoon, as class let out, the area seemed to be crawling with people her age.
Chloe let herself be pulled along by the flow of pedestrian traffic. For a moment, she could pretend that she was back at Met U, worrying about how to get by with less sleep so that she could get her Journalism Lit paper done and still cover the Metropolis City Council meeting and turn in her story for the Metro section in time.
Less sleep wasn't a problem now. Of course, neither was school, or the job. She shook her head. self-sabotaging thoughts like those were what got her into this in the first place. What she needed to do was figure out a plan, and where to go from here.
Before long, she was standing in front of a neon sign she recognized.
Gaslight Tavern.
She smiled a nostalgic smile, and remembered Senior English and reports on counter culture and beat poets. Sam might have liked it there, Dean: Not so much. So she headed for the entrance.
For a bar and coffeehouse, the Gaslight Tavern was cozy and eclectic, with little Vishnu and Buddhas competing for space with photos of the original Gaslight from the sixties and seventies.
Chloe considered the cash in her cargo pocket. These days, overpriced coffee was out of her budget range, and she was still too young for a good Guinness. But the smell of roasted beans reminded her of exactly how long ago it had been since she'd forced down bad motel coffee and with another mental shrug, she dug out enough change for a mocha.
“You a student here?” The waitress asked as Chloe took a seat in the back corner, facing the door.
“Not sure yet,” Chloe smiled up at her. “I'm kind of figuring life out right now.”
“I see that a lot here,” she nodded sympathetically. “Anything I can get you?”
Chloe placed her order, and then stared at her hands. Outside on the patio, a live band started playing. She let her mind drift, and swayed in time with the music. It was an odd feeling. At no point in her life, had she ever felt directionless. There was always some goal to chase, whether it was the next deadline, or a future at the Daily Planet. Even after her dad died, she'd come up with a plan. Find a hellmouth and start taking her pain, anger and bitterness out on any ugly evil that dared to show its face.
But now she wasn't sure what to do. She supposed that she could call Spike. The blonde vampire could pick her up within a day, and have her back at the hellmouth in two.
But that didn't feel right. As much as she'd been focused on helping the Winchesters, she'd also been getting clues that something big was looming on the horizon. The slayer dreams, which were a fun little trip down memory lane, and the Cleveland Hellmouth going all ghost town-y in the monster sense. If there was something wacky going down, she would probably be better served by drawing the big bad far away from the hellmouth located in the mistake by the lake.
Then again, there were all those feelings that reading Susan Ride's journal had provoked in her. And although there were times when she felt that the world would be better off if she just died and handed off the job to the next girl, deep down she couldn't do that.
Because the next girl might be another Susan Ride. Another scared thirteen year old. And she couldn't do that to some poor girl. So like it or not, she needed to stay alive as long as she could. Which meant that her first step, before even finding a place to sleep tonight, would be to procure a few weapons.
Beyond that, it she would just have to take things as they came.
The waitress brought back her mocha, and gave her another smile. “Anything else I can get for you, hon?”
“A pen and paper would be good,” she nodded.
Once she had both items she began to scratch out a note.
Dear Sam,
I'm sure by now, you've figured out exactly how hard it is to crack my laptop. I don't doubt that you're a pretty good hacker in your own right, but back before I was a slayer, I had access to a lot of resources that you didn't.
And this is not me saying I told you so. I just wanted to give you the passwords so that you could access the files on there. I promised back in Cleveland that I would give you all the help that I could. And as far as I can see, that's limited to the findings in my database.
From what I could tell, there are omens that start to pop up in the days leading up to the attacks. Look in my database under the keyword Omens. That should give you plenty to go on.
Take care of yourself, Sam. And take care of Dean, too. I don't plan to see the two of you again. But please know that I'm not being stupid about things. I don't have a death wish. The way I see it, as long as I'm still alive, some other poor girl isn't getting chosen for this shitty job.
That's something, I guess.
As for the rest, I'm taking things day-by-day.
Well, I suck at goodbyes. I'm sure you have guessed that by now. So I'll just close with this.
Be well.
Chloe.
She stared at the letter for a few minutes, and debated whether she should send it or not. There were a lot of things that she wanted to add in. Bittersweet, remorse-filled things to tell Dean. Things that were better left unsaid. Instead she scrawled her passwords across the bottom of the letter, sealed it up, and addressed it to Missouri's house.
The motherly psychic would probably know the best way to get the letter to Sam, anyway.
She finished off her coffee. And stood. In the reflection of a mirrored beer advertisement, she caught a glimpse of herself. If Sam and Dean did try to look for her, they would spot her right away in her purple jacket.
Of course, the leather jacket on the coat rack by the door was her size. And the black fedora hanging over it would hide her blonde hair.
With a mental apology to the owner of the garments, Chloe quickly exchanged them for her own coat, and then slipped out the door and down the sidewalk.