Head Games (4/6)
Fic: Head Games(4/6)
Summary: Sam and Chloe each have their heads examined for very different reasons
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: G
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #99 Writer's choice (Mnemosyne). The table is here.
Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6
When Sam and Missouri worked on their brain-prison, Dean felt pretty useless. He wanted to be there, because you never knew when things might go all pear shaped. But it wasn't like an exorcism. He couldn't read a few lines of a Rito Romano and then kick demon ass. This sort of thing required more finesse than he had patience for.
So while they were busy doing the brain thing in the other room, he sat on Missouri's steps and read over Chloe's story. He didn't know a lot about writing, but her story was on the front page, right under the Daily Planet banner. That was supposed to be a big deal, wasn't it?
Reading over the story made him feel closer to her. As if she was right there reading to him, instead of all the way across the big-ass state. It was written the same way she relayed information when they were researching a case - minus the sarcastic asides and pop culture references of course. Dean didn’t realize how much he missed her snark until it had been abruptly removed from the equation.
He wondered what she was doing. Metropolis was across the state from Lawrence. But at least they were in the same state. He stopped himself from reaching for his cell phone. If she hadn't called in the past couple of days, then she hadn't called in the past five minutes; he was getting tired of acting like a sissy girl.
Once they got this mess with the demon cleaned up, he was going to settle this thing with her. But right now, he needed his head in the game. With that decided, he turned back to her article.
He'd just gotten into it, when he heard the crash of glass from the parlor. He dropped the article, vaulted from the steps, and rounded the bend into the room to find Missouri on the floor, the shards of a lamp all around her. He looked from her prone form to the chair where they'd tied Sam.
A pair of demon-black eyes looked back at him from Sam's face. The demon-in-Sam tilted its head sideways and smirked at him. “Hello, Dean.”
Dean ignored it in favor of seeing if Missouri was alright. He helped her up, eased her onto the couch, and then knelt in front of her to check on her.
“I'm fine,” she shook her head and waved him off. “Just a little stunned.” She looked warily over her shoulder at Sam. “That girl's gotten stronger. I don't think we can contain her.”
Dean glanced over his shoulder warily. “I was afraid you would say that,” he sighed. They'd always meant to find a way to destroy the demon's daughter. Because every time they sent her back to hell, she found a way to claw her way out. And every time that happened, she was that much stronger. And that much more irritated at the Winchesters, hell-bent on revenge.
But it didn't look like they had much of a choice, now. Because there was no way he was leaving Sammy in this condition.
He stood, and walked over to the entryway, where he'd sat a bucket of holy water and his journal.
“Missouri . . .” he broke off apologetically.
“I needed to wash that floor anyway,” she said.
With a nod, he walked back to Sam's body and poured part of the bucket on him. The thing inside Sam howled in anguish.
“Hello, Meg.”
It looked up at him with a malevolent expression. “Go to hell, Dean Winchester.”
“You first.” Dean responded with the other half of the bucket and sent it into more howls of anguished pain.
He heard the sharp intake of breath, and turned to see Missouri place a hand over her mouth.
“It’s not hurting Sam,” he reassured her. “Just the demon.”
“I know.” She nodded. Still, she looked unsettled by the way that his brother’s body was smoking. The fact that she wasn’t reading Dean’s thoughts, or giving him a hard time was a testament to how rattled she was.
Dean thought that it might be a good idea to keep her busy, and less focused on worrying about Sam. That way, there were less emotions in the room that the demon could use against them.
“Do you know how to bless water to make it holy?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Good,” he handed her the bucket. “Please whip up another pail-full, Ma’am. We may need it.”
She smiled briefly at him. “I know what you’re doing.”
Dean smiled faintly back. “Showing you that my daddy taught me a few manners.”
“At least you’re using them. For once.”
Dean watched her out of the room. Then, with a tired sigh, he turned back to his possessed brother.
“I don't really want to send you to hell, Meg,” Dean said conversationally. “You only crawl back out, and then we've got to send you back, and the whole thing is just more of a pain than it's worth. But you've got a choice. You can go back into your little prison in Sam's brain and stay there like a good little demon.” He crooned at her the same way a parent would a wayward child.
“Until you get the rest of my legions sent back to hell, and you find some way of killing me?”
Dean shrugged. “I never said it was much of a choice, but it keeps you out of hell for right now.”
Dark, empty eyes watched him intently, and he resisted the urge to shudder at the thing wearing Sam’s face. “You should stick with letting your brother do the talking, Dean. It's what he's good at.”
“I guess so.” He ran his hands through a puddle of holy water, and then flicked the droplets onto Sam’s face. The drops smoked as they landed against his nose and cheeks. Then Dean picked up his journal. “Just don't say I didn't give you the choice this time.” He flipped it open and began the Latin incantation, his voice deep and quick.
The demon shook inside Sam’s body a little at the words, though it didn’t seem inclined to let go of its earthy meat sack. “This is about you. Did you know that Dean?” It said as it twisted Sam's face into a hideous grin. “I don't give a damn about the plan, the demon legions, any of it. But it will hurt you. And I want that very much.”
Dean paused to glare at the demon. He was vaguely aware of Missouri as she returned with a bucket of water. While she was gone, she must have mastered her emotions, because her footsteps were more sure, and her face, when he took a moment to glance at her, was set with grim determination.
She took her place unobtrusively next to him with the bucket cocked back, ready to throw the water on Sam at a moment’s notice.
He frowned, at it’s words, and remembered that a demon would say anything when cornered. With a shake of his head, he returned to his reading.
“Wait!” The voice that issued sounded like Sam, rather than the demon.
Dean broke off and stared at it. It tilted Sam's head, and for a second, the whole room seemed to shake. It was just like the first time they had tried to pull the demon free from Sam’s body. As Dean looked on in horror, the floorboards on which Bobby's trap were painted seemed to shift. Then one of them sprang free. A split second later, the ropes binding Sam to the chair did the same.
He glanced up in time to see the demon in Sam's body make a pushing motion. It must have been using Sam's powers, because Dean was tossed backwards into the couch, into Missouri. The two of them fell to the floor, sprawling helplessly.
Then, the demon was there, it movements sure and speedy, and held Dean in a choke hold. Missouri moved to stop it, but it pushed her across the room with Sam’s power, and held her there against the wall.
The it turned it’s attention back on Dean. It pulled his face closer and cracked a maniacal grin as it spoke. Dean closed his eyes to keep the image of Sam’s contorted face out of his mind forever.
“I'll take them away from you one-by-one. Starting with that little blonde reporter, then the old Demon hunter, then the bartender in Nebraska, then little bitch in Memphis and ending with sweet Sammy.” When Dean didn’t favor the demon with a response, his face closed off and neutral, it shoved him to the floor and stood up slowly, towering over him. “Their blood will be on your hands. Before the end, you will beg for death.”
With a final smile, the demon ejected itself from Sam in a cloud of greasy black smoke. It slid out through the open window. Dean opened his eyes to see the trail of darkness leave before he dared to breathe.
Sam staggered and sank to the floor. His body folded over itself as he landed next to Dean. “I couldn't hold it,” he said apologetically and looked around the room. His eyes sparked hazel and sadness.
“It's okay,” Dean groaned as he rolled to his feet. He helped Missouri over onto her couch, and then turned to help Sam.
“It was stronger than we thought it would be,” Missouri said.
“It seems to get stronger each time,” Sam let Dean help him up. “I wonder if that's how the Yellow-Eyed Demon got as powerful as he did.”
“There's a happy thought,” Dean frowned. “I think it's going after Chloe.” He winced at the thought and kicked himself for not calling her, not telling her, when he’d had the chance.
“She should be fine,” Sam said and gave his brother a look. “She never takes her amulet off.”
“Yeah, but do her super-powered friends?” Dean shook his head. He had an uneasy, unsettled feeling. That particular demon liked to play head games. To get close to people and then betray them. And because it had a major jones to hurt Dean, he knew it would, at least, try to make good on its threat to harm those close to him. So in theory, there was time to get to Chloe and warn her.
He glanced ruefully at the mess in Missouri's parlor. It looked like they might need that time to clean things up.
Sam must have read his mind. “Go. I'll stay here and fix things.”
Dean looked at Sam with a hesitant expression. The last thing he wanted was to leave Sam alone.
“You stop worrying about Sam,” Missouri said as she pulled the thought from Dean’s head. “There’s no way that it would come back. Not with two strong psychics in the house.”
“I'm fine here,” Sam agreed. “Once I'm done helping Missouri, I'll call Bobby and Ellen, and then catch a flight to Memphis.”
“Jo?” Dean guessed with a slight grin.
Sam nodded. “She was on the Demon's hit list. I want to make sure her place is secure.”
Dean nodded. He didn't like the idea of leaving Sam, but the people they loved were in danger. And they could cover more ground this way. “We'll meet up in a few days,” Dean said.
Sam nodded in agreement. “Be careful.”
“Missouri,” Dean turned to thank the psychic.
“You drive careful, you hear me?” She waved a finger under his nose. “You won’t do your lady friend any good if you wind up in a wreck.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dean smirked at her. He turned to leave, visions of leaving long skid marks down her driveway tickled his fancy.
“And if you skid out, I’ll make you have a headache that will follow you all the way to Dodge City.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dean shook his head in amusement.
Dean only paused on his way out the door to pick up his newspaper. He squealed his tires as he turned his car toward western Kansas, glad to be leaving Lawrence in the dust.
Summary: Sam and Chloe each have their heads examined for very different reasons
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: G
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #99 Writer's choice (Mnemosyne). The table is here.
Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6
When Sam and Missouri worked on their brain-prison, Dean felt pretty useless. He wanted to be there, because you never knew when things might go all pear shaped. But it wasn't like an exorcism. He couldn't read a few lines of a Rito Romano and then kick demon ass. This sort of thing required more finesse than he had patience for.
So while they were busy doing the brain thing in the other room, he sat on Missouri's steps and read over Chloe's story. He didn't know a lot about writing, but her story was on the front page, right under the Daily Planet banner. That was supposed to be a big deal, wasn't it?
Reading over the story made him feel closer to her. As if she was right there reading to him, instead of all the way across the big-ass state. It was written the same way she relayed information when they were researching a case - minus the sarcastic asides and pop culture references of course. Dean didn’t realize how much he missed her snark until it had been abruptly removed from the equation.
He wondered what she was doing. Metropolis was across the state from Lawrence. But at least they were in the same state. He stopped himself from reaching for his cell phone. If she hadn't called in the past couple of days, then she hadn't called in the past five minutes; he was getting tired of acting like a sissy girl.
Once they got this mess with the demon cleaned up, he was going to settle this thing with her. But right now, he needed his head in the game. With that decided, he turned back to her article.
He'd just gotten into it, when he heard the crash of glass from the parlor. He dropped the article, vaulted from the steps, and rounded the bend into the room to find Missouri on the floor, the shards of a lamp all around her. He looked from her prone form to the chair where they'd tied Sam.
A pair of demon-black eyes looked back at him from Sam's face. The demon-in-Sam tilted its head sideways and smirked at him. “Hello, Dean.”
Dean ignored it in favor of seeing if Missouri was alright. He helped her up, eased her onto the couch, and then knelt in front of her to check on her.
“I'm fine,” she shook her head and waved him off. “Just a little stunned.” She looked warily over her shoulder at Sam. “That girl's gotten stronger. I don't think we can contain her.”
Dean glanced over his shoulder warily. “I was afraid you would say that,” he sighed. They'd always meant to find a way to destroy the demon's daughter. Because every time they sent her back to hell, she found a way to claw her way out. And every time that happened, she was that much stronger. And that much more irritated at the Winchesters, hell-bent on revenge.
But it didn't look like they had much of a choice, now. Because there was no way he was leaving Sammy in this condition.
He stood, and walked over to the entryway, where he'd sat a bucket of holy water and his journal.
“Missouri . . .” he broke off apologetically.
“I needed to wash that floor anyway,” she said.
With a nod, he walked back to Sam's body and poured part of the bucket on him. The thing inside Sam howled in anguish.
“Hello, Meg.”
It looked up at him with a malevolent expression. “Go to hell, Dean Winchester.”
“You first.” Dean responded with the other half of the bucket and sent it into more howls of anguished pain.
He heard the sharp intake of breath, and turned to see Missouri place a hand over her mouth.
“It’s not hurting Sam,” he reassured her. “Just the demon.”
“I know.” She nodded. Still, she looked unsettled by the way that his brother’s body was smoking. The fact that she wasn’t reading Dean’s thoughts, or giving him a hard time was a testament to how rattled she was.
Dean thought that it might be a good idea to keep her busy, and less focused on worrying about Sam. That way, there were less emotions in the room that the demon could use against them.
“Do you know how to bless water to make it holy?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Good,” he handed her the bucket. “Please whip up another pail-full, Ma’am. We may need it.”
She smiled briefly at him. “I know what you’re doing.”
Dean smiled faintly back. “Showing you that my daddy taught me a few manners.”
“At least you’re using them. For once.”
Dean watched her out of the room. Then, with a tired sigh, he turned back to his possessed brother.
“I don't really want to send you to hell, Meg,” Dean said conversationally. “You only crawl back out, and then we've got to send you back, and the whole thing is just more of a pain than it's worth. But you've got a choice. You can go back into your little prison in Sam's brain and stay there like a good little demon.” He crooned at her the same way a parent would a wayward child.
“Until you get the rest of my legions sent back to hell, and you find some way of killing me?”
Dean shrugged. “I never said it was much of a choice, but it keeps you out of hell for right now.”
Dark, empty eyes watched him intently, and he resisted the urge to shudder at the thing wearing Sam’s face. “You should stick with letting your brother do the talking, Dean. It's what he's good at.”
“I guess so.” He ran his hands through a puddle of holy water, and then flicked the droplets onto Sam’s face. The drops smoked as they landed against his nose and cheeks. Then Dean picked up his journal. “Just don't say I didn't give you the choice this time.” He flipped it open and began the Latin incantation, his voice deep and quick.
The demon shook inside Sam’s body a little at the words, though it didn’t seem inclined to let go of its earthy meat sack. “This is about you. Did you know that Dean?” It said as it twisted Sam's face into a hideous grin. “I don't give a damn about the plan, the demon legions, any of it. But it will hurt you. And I want that very much.”
Dean paused to glare at the demon. He was vaguely aware of Missouri as she returned with a bucket of water. While she was gone, she must have mastered her emotions, because her footsteps were more sure, and her face, when he took a moment to glance at her, was set with grim determination.
She took her place unobtrusively next to him with the bucket cocked back, ready to throw the water on Sam at a moment’s notice.
He frowned, at it’s words, and remembered that a demon would say anything when cornered. With a shake of his head, he returned to his reading.
“Wait!” The voice that issued sounded like Sam, rather than the demon.
Dean broke off and stared at it. It tilted Sam's head, and for a second, the whole room seemed to shake. It was just like the first time they had tried to pull the demon free from Sam’s body. As Dean looked on in horror, the floorboards on which Bobby's trap were painted seemed to shift. Then one of them sprang free. A split second later, the ropes binding Sam to the chair did the same.
He glanced up in time to see the demon in Sam's body make a pushing motion. It must have been using Sam's powers, because Dean was tossed backwards into the couch, into Missouri. The two of them fell to the floor, sprawling helplessly.
Then, the demon was there, it movements sure and speedy, and held Dean in a choke hold. Missouri moved to stop it, but it pushed her across the room with Sam’s power, and held her there against the wall.
The it turned it’s attention back on Dean. It pulled his face closer and cracked a maniacal grin as it spoke. Dean closed his eyes to keep the image of Sam’s contorted face out of his mind forever.
“I'll take them away from you one-by-one. Starting with that little blonde reporter, then the old Demon hunter, then the bartender in Nebraska, then little bitch in Memphis and ending with sweet Sammy.” When Dean didn’t favor the demon with a response, his face closed off and neutral, it shoved him to the floor and stood up slowly, towering over him. “Their blood will be on your hands. Before the end, you will beg for death.”
With a final smile, the demon ejected itself from Sam in a cloud of greasy black smoke. It slid out through the open window. Dean opened his eyes to see the trail of darkness leave before he dared to breathe.
Sam staggered and sank to the floor. His body folded over itself as he landed next to Dean. “I couldn't hold it,” he said apologetically and looked around the room. His eyes sparked hazel and sadness.
“It's okay,” Dean groaned as he rolled to his feet. He helped Missouri over onto her couch, and then turned to help Sam.
“It was stronger than we thought it would be,” Missouri said.
“It seems to get stronger each time,” Sam let Dean help him up. “I wonder if that's how the Yellow-Eyed Demon got as powerful as he did.”
“There's a happy thought,” Dean frowned. “I think it's going after Chloe.” He winced at the thought and kicked himself for not calling her, not telling her, when he’d had the chance.
“She should be fine,” Sam said and gave his brother a look. “She never takes her amulet off.”
“Yeah, but do her super-powered friends?” Dean shook his head. He had an uneasy, unsettled feeling. That particular demon liked to play head games. To get close to people and then betray them. And because it had a major jones to hurt Dean, he knew it would, at least, try to make good on its threat to harm those close to him. So in theory, there was time to get to Chloe and warn her.
He glanced ruefully at the mess in Missouri's parlor. It looked like they might need that time to clean things up.
Sam must have read his mind. “Go. I'll stay here and fix things.”
Dean looked at Sam with a hesitant expression. The last thing he wanted was to leave Sam alone.
“You stop worrying about Sam,” Missouri said as she pulled the thought from Dean’s head. “There’s no way that it would come back. Not with two strong psychics in the house.”
“I'm fine here,” Sam agreed. “Once I'm done helping Missouri, I'll call Bobby and Ellen, and then catch a flight to Memphis.”
“Jo?” Dean guessed with a slight grin.
Sam nodded. “She was on the Demon's hit list. I want to make sure her place is secure.”
Dean nodded. He didn't like the idea of leaving Sam, but the people they loved were in danger. And they could cover more ground this way. “We'll meet up in a few days,” Dean said.
Sam nodded in agreement. “Be careful.”
“Missouri,” Dean turned to thank the psychic.
“You drive careful, you hear me?” She waved a finger under his nose. “You won’t do your lady friend any good if you wind up in a wreck.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dean smirked at her. He turned to leave, visions of leaving long skid marks down her driveway tickled his fancy.
“And if you skid out, I’ll make you have a headache that will follow you all the way to Dodge City.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dean shook his head in amusement.
Dean only paused on his way out the door to pick up his newspaper. He squealed his tires as he turned his car toward western Kansas, glad to be leaving Lawrence in the dust.