Fic: Down the Only Road I've Ever Known (2/7)
Fic: Down the Only Road I've Ever Known (2/7)
Summary: The Impala breaks down in the remote Appalacians, where folks keep to themselves and resent outside intrusion. Sam, Dean and Chloe discover how hard this makes hunting.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg (It's Supernatural, guys. Draw an X on the map and mark it Terror Incognita: here be monsters).
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #50 Spade. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Chloe glanced up at the church as they exited the building. In the cemetery surrounding the churchyard, she could see that three or four men were starting to dig a grave.
“That's a custom around here,” Sam said. “In a lot of these rural communities, it's still common for friends of the deceased to dig the grave.”
Chloe shivered as she climbed into the backseat again. She wasn't sure if it was the dreams from earlier, or Dean's lecture, but the only thing she wanted right now was to crawl back into her great-grampy's books and lose herself.
It was strange and exciting to her - looking at the notations made by an ancestor that she knew nothing of. As she looked at this thin, precise handwriting, she wondered what her great-grandfather had been like. Was he a hunter, like Dean thought? A scholar? Maybe a digger and a storyteller, like her?
She had a lot of fond memories of her grampy: he'd lived with a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step. He'd been full of life and love and orneriness. But for all his stories about Ireland, he'd never told her of his own father. The possibilities awoke her inner storyteller, and kindled within her soul the burning for knowledge.
In the front seat, Dean and Sam settled, and then Dean cranked the engine. It turned over once, and was silent. Through his reflection in the rear-view she could see him throw a funny look to the dash, and then try to crank the engine again. He muttered darkly under his breath as he reached for the hood release.
“What's wrong?” Chloe asked.
“Don't know,” he sounded annoyed. “I just worked on her.” He quickly exited the car and leaned in under the hood.
Sam slid over to the driver's side and rolled down the window to listen for Dean's prompting.
“Try her now,” Dean commanded.
Sam did so. This time the Impala didn't even turn over.
“Battery maybe,” Sam guessed.
“Or the alternator.” Dean shrugged. “I'll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Chloe asked.
“Back inside. I need to find a parts store so we can get her fixed.”
***
As it turned out, there was an auto parts store down on the town square. Despite the waitress' disapproving frown, the diner's manager let them push the Impala around back and park it so that they didn't take up the parking spaces out front. Dean set the combination to the trunk's false bottom, and they set out for town.
Chloe had to admit, if they were going to break down, it couldn't have happened in a nicer place. The weather had turned cooler in the past couple of weeks. Despite the chill in the air, they were soon shrugging out of extra layers as the walk got their blood pumping.
The town square reminded her a little bit of Smallville - minus the corn and the crazy meteor metas. It had that quaint - sleepy feel to it. As Sam and Dean went into the parts store, she turned toward the park that was situated on the square.
There, in the shadows of a monument to confederate soldiers that the ACLU would have protested had they been anywhere close to civilization, she found a park bench, and continued to read her Yeats.
As she looked through the passages, a shadow fell across the book. Chloe looked up to see a tall guy with short dark hair stare at her in naked curiosity. Something in his gaze reminded her of the hostile way that the waitress had greeted her questions earlier.
“Hello. You're not from around here, are you?”
She tilted her head warily. “Just passing through, actually. My boyfriend's car broke down at the diner just off the interstate.”
“Do you need a phone to call a tow truck?”
Chloe shook her head. She pointed across the square to the parts store. “Not really. Dean can fix anything. He's over there getting the stuff he needs to get us on the road again.”
“Oh.” He nodded and continued to stare at her. Chloe looked him in the face and raised an eyebrow.
“Christo.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Sneeze.” She wasn't getting the threatening vibes, and her weirdar wasn't going off in a way that would cause her fingers to creep toward the gun strapped under her arm, but she felt uneasy, nonetheless. She wondered if he'd gotten the boyfriend message, or if he was just one of those socially awkward guys who didn't realize when they were being rude.
“Anything else I can help you with, Sparky? Or should I just charge you for viewing the landscape?”
He seemed to realize that he was being rude and shook himself. “Oh, sorry. We don't see too many strangers around here.”
“With the welcome I got when we pulled up, I can see why,” Chloe said.
“Sorry about that,” his cheeks flushed a little. He stuck his hand out, almost in apology. “I'm Michael O'Shawnasee, by the way. I'm with the county extension office.”
“Chloe Sullivan,” she shook his hand to show that there were no hard feelings. “I'm actually with the Daily Planet.”
“You're a reporter?” The way he said that - in a slightly panicked tone of voice, caught her attention. She realized that her combat boots didn't exactly scream reporter. But shouldn't she be hearing disbelief in his voice, rather than panic.
“On vacation,” Chloe said. “Just passing through. With my boyfriend and his brother.”
“Oh.” He looked like he didn't quite want to believe her.
“I did have a couple of questions, though.” Chloe said. “Do they really ring the church bells whenever someone dies?”
“It's an old custom.”
“I like reading about old customs.” Chloe smiled up at him as she held up her book.
He nodded. “We're a small community, so everyone knows everyone else. Around here, if someone dies, it's a big deal.”
“I grew up in a place like that,” Chloe said. “In Kansas.”
“Chloe.” They looked over to see Sam standing at the other end of the sidewalk under the monument. His narrowed gaze was on Michael. “You okay?”
“Fine, Sam,” she nodded reassuringly to him.
“This your boyfriend?” Michael's gaze on Sam was measuring.
“His brother,” Chloe said. “And my friend.”
“Christo,” Sam returned Michael's gaze measure-for-measure.
“God bless you,” Michael said automatically. He turned to Chloe with a small, self-depreciating smile. “I'd better be getting back to the office. It was nice meeting you, Chloe.”
Chloe was still not sure what to make of the strange encounter. She nodded to him and watched as he walked away.
“You sure you're okay?” Sam asked.
Chloe drew her feet up from the end of the bench, and allowed Sam to sit down before dropping them back on his knees. “I'm confused as heck, but other than that, I'm fine. What was that all about?”
“My guess?” Sam looked at her earnestly.
“Please.”
“That was the town welcoming committee,” Sam said. “He came out here to find out who we are and what our business is.”
“How very Nell Potter of him.”
“The joys of small town life,” Sam sighed. “I used to hate moving to places like this.”
“I guess I was pretty lucky to make friends with Clark and Pete. Both their families had been in Smallville for a long time. I was still an outsider, but it did give me an in.”
“Lucky you,” Sam said. “I have some bad news: Dean said that the parts are on order. The good news is that there's a little motel back at the exit. We can maybe get a room for the night, so we don't have to sleep in the Impala.”
“That's good,” Chloe said. “With the way that guy was casing us out, Barney Fife would probably show up and arrest us for vagrancy. And I don't think the warden would be as benevolent as Andy Griffith.”
Sam snorted, leaned his head back, and shut his eyes.
“So, have you called Jo yet?”
He and pinned her with a mournful expression. “I figured that Ellen would fill her in.”
“Oh no,” Chloe frowned.
“What?”
“I know that look. Hell, I invented that look. One of you two pulled the just friends card.”
Sam gave her a watery puppy-sad gaze. “It's just . . . This job isn't exactly conducive to a long-term relationship.”
Chloe pulled her feet from his lap, leaned across the bench, and slipped her arm around him. “I'm sorry,” she said as she rested her head on his shoulder.
He gave her a grateful smile, and squeezed the arm that was draped over his shoulder. “I know. Hey Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
“Dean's pretty lucky to have you.”
She grinned at him, and shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“I'm pretty lucky too, you know.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
“We should head back.” Sam shrugged her arm away and stood.
“Lead on, Sundance,” Chloe grinned.
“Sundance? I'm totally Butch Cassidy. You're Sundance.”
“Nuh, huh.” Chloe shook her head. “Butch was the brains of the group.”
“And you're with my brother. Which proves that - of the two of us - I am definitely the brains.”
“Oh yeah? Well Butch was shorter.”
“That's true. But that name. Butch? Totally not a girl's name.”
Chloe paused and thought about it. “You have a point.”
They had reached the parts store just as Dean stepped out. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Of the two of us, who is more Butch,” Chloe grinned up at him.
Dean looked from one of them to the other. “Neither of you,” he grinned. “I'm the most Butch.”
Chloe and Sam looked at each other, grinned and shook their heads. They linked arms, like Dorothy and the tin man, and walked off down the street.
“So Holmes or Watson?” Sam grinned down at her. “Holmes was taller.”
“Always with the short jokes,” Chloe complained.
Dean’s lip twisted in a look of confusion as he watched them go.. He'd figure out what they were fangirling about later. Right now his other girl needed his full attention.
* * *
The motel wasn't much to write home about. It was basically a room with a bed and a shower. Once they'd gotten their stuff into the room, they were left to stand around and stare at the single bed.
Sam looked over at Dean with a frown. “You sure this is the only--”
“Yes!” Dean cut him off and let his own frustrations creep into his voice. He hated feeling like he'd screwed up, and the three of them staring at this one bed looked like a huge, colossal blunder. “This is the only room. They didn't have any others. Just this one. With one bed.”
Chloe sighed. “This is silly, guys. It's not like I'll even be sleeping tonight. You two grab some sleep. I'll take a nap tomorrow when we're on the road again.”
Dean frowned at her. That was the simple solution. But not the solution that he wanted to hear. He liked falling asleep to the feel of her - warm and soft, with skin like satin and hair like corn silk, all wrapped up secure in his arms. And he was starting to enjoy the way she tried to get back into bed without waking him in the mornings -- smelling like coffee. And the little moan of pleasure she made when he rolled her onto her back and tasted that first cup on her lips.
Sam looked at Dean's heated expression, and headed toward the door. “I'm just going to hike back to that cafe and bring back some dinner,” he said hurriedly. Dean shot him a grateful look, and the look he received in return promised him that he was so going to owe his baby brother a favor.
Once he was gone, Dean wrapped his arms around Chloe and pulled her close to him. “I like to hold you while I'm sleeping.”
“I know,” Chloe nodded. “But I also know that you can't sleep unless you've got the spot closest to the door. And me sleeping between you and Sam might just freak him out a little bit.”
“It doesn't have to be weird if we don't let it,” Dean wheedled.
Chloe shook her head. “Sorry, Dean, but this is really important. When I hit the road with you two, I promised myself that I wasn't going to come between you. Part of that is not letting anyone be a third wheel, being sensitive to Sam's personal boundaries and respecting them.” She ticked her priorities off on her fingers as she spoke.
“This is a lot of work,” Dean grumbled.
“This is a relationship,” Chloe replied. “Relationships are work.”
“You're the expert on that, not me.” Dean grinned at her. “You going to make all this work worth my while?”
She raised a single eyebrow in question. “You going to tell me why I should?”
He knew what she was asking. She thought he was a great guy - for reasons that were unrelated to hunting or sex. She wanted him to believe that for himself.
And until he could - she was holding out on him.
Which was not to say that he didn't think he could change her mind on the no nookie deal. He was working on that. But it was important to her that he hug himself daily, or whatever. So - he was working on that too.
“Well, I've got the most awesome girlfriend on the planet,” he chuckled as he pulled her backwards toward the bed.
“Keep trying, mister.” Her tone of voice was both amused and sarcastic.
“I'm adorable,” he grinned as he reached the bed and pulled her down with him.
“You are, but that's still not going to cut it.” Her expression was tender as she smiled down at him. She leaned forward, putting pressure in all the right places as she rested her chin against his chest. He shut his eyes against the feeling and rumbled in appreciation.
“Why don't you tell me?” he asked.
“I could, but that would be cheating.”
“Tease,” he accused as he rolled them over so that he was the one on top.
“Just a little bit,” she laughed. “Tell you what? You give me reasons to keep kissing you - and I'll give you a kiss for every reason.”
“Oh, I like this game.”
“Thought you might.”
Dean leaned his head back in thought. The problem, as he saw it, was that he related everything back to hunting. Except maybe sex. So Chloe's attempt to boost his self-esteem by pointing out other things he was good at wasn't that helpful. Because when you came right down to it - hunting covered pretty much everything.
But if she hadn't figured that out - he wasn't going to enlighten her. Not when he could get as much mileage out of this as he could.
“I'm a good cook.”
“You're kidding, right?” Her voice was incredulous.
“You going to talk or you going to kiss?”
Her reply was the soft, gentle pressure of her lips pressed firmly against his own. Dean opened his mouth to hers, inviting her in, suckling her bottom lip, laving with his tongue. He slid his hands underneath her and traced little circles over her shoulder blades before he trailed them down her sides to pull her legs up and lock them around his waist.
“When did you learn to cook?” she whispered as he kissed his way down her neck.
“Someone had to,” he whispered as he tilted his head back to stare into her face. “It was me, dad and Sam. And Sam was a picky eater. He hated the way the cheap beef tasted in meatballs and spaghettio-s. If I didn't learn to fix things he liked, he wouldn't eat anything but cold cereal and mustard sandwiches.”
“Who taught you to cook?”
“Pastor Jim to start with. When Dad was on long hunts, we stayed with him. I learned a little more from cooking shows. The rest was trial and error. You’d be surprised what you’ll do to stay entertained when you’re left alone for three days with orders not to leave the hotel room.”
“So you were a quick study.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because a call to the fire department leads to a call to social services. I’ve written stories about kids who get picked up that way.”
“We would have just run off again.” Dean cut off all further discussion when he bent his neck and sucked greedily at the hollow of her throat.
She was wearing one of those t-shirts with buttons running down into the valley between her breasts, and when he reached the top button, he started working it loose with his teeth.
“Hey, don't break the thread,” she whispered.
“I can sew too - but that's a hunting thing.”
“It is?”
“It is when you've got to stitch someone up.”
She stared quietly at him, and Dean cursed his big mouth. Then she placed a kiss over each of his eyes, and pulled his head down to rest against her chest. “So you're domestic. Good thing one of us is.”
He snorted at that. “Considering the way you keep your apartment.”
“No real mother figures to teach me how to be domestic after Mom left. Dad didn't really need anyone to cook or sew or clean random firearms. It was Chinese takeout, and read the tabloids to each other and make stupid jokes and pretend that we were okay with those long work days and short father/daughter bonding weekends. You're pretty lucky that I even know that I'm a girl.”
“If you're confused about that - I can totally clear it up.”
She grinned at him. “No, I'm pretty clear on it right now. I'm just not much of a cook.”
“You're good at waffles.”
“Waffles, like country music, are the language of pain.”
“You're good at funny.” He ran his hands down her sides.
“Don't,” she bucked against him. Dean shut his eyes at the feel. As far as he was concerned, she could keep that up.
“You're ticklish,” he grinned.
“You wouldn't.” Her voice took on a warning note.
“Look how instructional this getting to know one another thing really is.” He grinned as he pinned her down, and ran his free hand lightly over her ribs.
“Dean!” She squealed as she tried to buck and roll away from him.
“You see,” he said huskily. “This has nothing to do with hunting.”
“Maybe not,” she breathed in between fits of laughter. “But your thinking is totally south-of-the-border. You are so not getting kissed for this one.”
“Well, life is just full of trade-offs,” he said as he leaned back down to trail his own kisses behind her ear. “I think it's time that I kissed you, anyway.”
Her frantic motions gentled under his ministrations, and before long, she had her head thrown back to give him better access. Dean grinned against the curve of her shell-like ear. In the space of a few short minutes, he'd turned her into putty in his hands.
“Dean?” Her voice sounded faint. “We should stop.”
Dean sighed and rested his head against her collarbone. “Or not,” he muttered.
“Come on,” she said as she pushed at him ineffectually. “Sam will be back soon.”
“Fine,” Dean said and rolled off of her. “But we are going to finish this.”
“Not before we have a talk,” Chloe said.
Dean shut his eyes and beat his head against the soft mattress a couple of times. “You're killing me, Chloe.”
“Don't be silly,” Chloe said. “No one ever died from lack of sex.”
“Maybe I'll be the first case,” Dean snapped.
“It could be worse,” Chloe shrugged as she climbed out of the bed.
“How?”
“I could be devout.”
Her wicked grin left no doubt in Dean's mind that she was, in fact, trying to kill him.
Summary: The Impala breaks down in the remote Appalacians, where folks keep to themselves and resent outside intrusion. Sam, Dean and Chloe discover how hard this makes hunting.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg (It's Supernatural, guys. Draw an X on the map and mark it Terror Incognita: here be monsters).
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #50 Spade. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Chloe glanced up at the church as they exited the building. In the cemetery surrounding the churchyard, she could see that three or four men were starting to dig a grave.
“That's a custom around here,” Sam said. “In a lot of these rural communities, it's still common for friends of the deceased to dig the grave.”
Chloe shivered as she climbed into the backseat again. She wasn't sure if it was the dreams from earlier, or Dean's lecture, but the only thing she wanted right now was to crawl back into her great-grampy's books and lose herself.
It was strange and exciting to her - looking at the notations made by an ancestor that she knew nothing of. As she looked at this thin, precise handwriting, she wondered what her great-grandfather had been like. Was he a hunter, like Dean thought? A scholar? Maybe a digger and a storyteller, like her?
She had a lot of fond memories of her grampy: he'd lived with a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step. He'd been full of life and love and orneriness. But for all his stories about Ireland, he'd never told her of his own father. The possibilities awoke her inner storyteller, and kindled within her soul the burning for knowledge.
In the front seat, Dean and Sam settled, and then Dean cranked the engine. It turned over once, and was silent. Through his reflection in the rear-view she could see him throw a funny look to the dash, and then try to crank the engine again. He muttered darkly under his breath as he reached for the hood release.
“What's wrong?” Chloe asked.
“Don't know,” he sounded annoyed. “I just worked on her.” He quickly exited the car and leaned in under the hood.
Sam slid over to the driver's side and rolled down the window to listen for Dean's prompting.
“Try her now,” Dean commanded.
Sam did so. This time the Impala didn't even turn over.
“Battery maybe,” Sam guessed.
“Or the alternator.” Dean shrugged. “I'll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Chloe asked.
“Back inside. I need to find a parts store so we can get her fixed.”
***
As it turned out, there was an auto parts store down on the town square. Despite the waitress' disapproving frown, the diner's manager let them push the Impala around back and park it so that they didn't take up the parking spaces out front. Dean set the combination to the trunk's false bottom, and they set out for town.
Chloe had to admit, if they were going to break down, it couldn't have happened in a nicer place. The weather had turned cooler in the past couple of weeks. Despite the chill in the air, they were soon shrugging out of extra layers as the walk got their blood pumping.
The town square reminded her a little bit of Smallville - minus the corn and the crazy meteor metas. It had that quaint - sleepy feel to it. As Sam and Dean went into the parts store, she turned toward the park that was situated on the square.
There, in the shadows of a monument to confederate soldiers that the ACLU would have protested had they been anywhere close to civilization, she found a park bench, and continued to read her Yeats.
As she looked through the passages, a shadow fell across the book. Chloe looked up to see a tall guy with short dark hair stare at her in naked curiosity. Something in his gaze reminded her of the hostile way that the waitress had greeted her questions earlier.
“Hello. You're not from around here, are you?”
She tilted her head warily. “Just passing through, actually. My boyfriend's car broke down at the diner just off the interstate.”
“Do you need a phone to call a tow truck?”
Chloe shook her head. She pointed across the square to the parts store. “Not really. Dean can fix anything. He's over there getting the stuff he needs to get us on the road again.”
“Oh.” He nodded and continued to stare at her. Chloe looked him in the face and raised an eyebrow.
“Christo.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Sneeze.” She wasn't getting the threatening vibes, and her weirdar wasn't going off in a way that would cause her fingers to creep toward the gun strapped under her arm, but she felt uneasy, nonetheless. She wondered if he'd gotten the boyfriend message, or if he was just one of those socially awkward guys who didn't realize when they were being rude.
“Anything else I can help you with, Sparky? Or should I just charge you for viewing the landscape?”
He seemed to realize that he was being rude and shook himself. “Oh, sorry. We don't see too many strangers around here.”
“With the welcome I got when we pulled up, I can see why,” Chloe said.
“Sorry about that,” his cheeks flushed a little. He stuck his hand out, almost in apology. “I'm Michael O'Shawnasee, by the way. I'm with the county extension office.”
“Chloe Sullivan,” she shook his hand to show that there were no hard feelings. “I'm actually with the Daily Planet.”
“You're a reporter?” The way he said that - in a slightly panicked tone of voice, caught her attention. She realized that her combat boots didn't exactly scream reporter. But shouldn't she be hearing disbelief in his voice, rather than panic.
“On vacation,” Chloe said. “Just passing through. With my boyfriend and his brother.”
“Oh.” He looked like he didn't quite want to believe her.
“I did have a couple of questions, though.” Chloe said. “Do they really ring the church bells whenever someone dies?”
“It's an old custom.”
“I like reading about old customs.” Chloe smiled up at him as she held up her book.
He nodded. “We're a small community, so everyone knows everyone else. Around here, if someone dies, it's a big deal.”
“I grew up in a place like that,” Chloe said. “In Kansas.”
“Chloe.” They looked over to see Sam standing at the other end of the sidewalk under the monument. His narrowed gaze was on Michael. “You okay?”
“Fine, Sam,” she nodded reassuringly to him.
“This your boyfriend?” Michael's gaze on Sam was measuring.
“His brother,” Chloe said. “And my friend.”
“Christo,” Sam returned Michael's gaze measure-for-measure.
“God bless you,” Michael said automatically. He turned to Chloe with a small, self-depreciating smile. “I'd better be getting back to the office. It was nice meeting you, Chloe.”
Chloe was still not sure what to make of the strange encounter. She nodded to him and watched as he walked away.
“You sure you're okay?” Sam asked.
Chloe drew her feet up from the end of the bench, and allowed Sam to sit down before dropping them back on his knees. “I'm confused as heck, but other than that, I'm fine. What was that all about?”
“My guess?” Sam looked at her earnestly.
“Please.”
“That was the town welcoming committee,” Sam said. “He came out here to find out who we are and what our business is.”
“How very Nell Potter of him.”
“The joys of small town life,” Sam sighed. “I used to hate moving to places like this.”
“I guess I was pretty lucky to make friends with Clark and Pete. Both their families had been in Smallville for a long time. I was still an outsider, but it did give me an in.”
“Lucky you,” Sam said. “I have some bad news: Dean said that the parts are on order. The good news is that there's a little motel back at the exit. We can maybe get a room for the night, so we don't have to sleep in the Impala.”
“That's good,” Chloe said. “With the way that guy was casing us out, Barney Fife would probably show up and arrest us for vagrancy. And I don't think the warden would be as benevolent as Andy Griffith.”
Sam snorted, leaned his head back, and shut his eyes.
“So, have you called Jo yet?”
He and pinned her with a mournful expression. “I figured that Ellen would fill her in.”
“Oh no,” Chloe frowned.
“What?”
“I know that look. Hell, I invented that look. One of you two pulled the just friends card.”
Sam gave her a watery puppy-sad gaze. “It's just . . . This job isn't exactly conducive to a long-term relationship.”
Chloe pulled her feet from his lap, leaned across the bench, and slipped her arm around him. “I'm sorry,” she said as she rested her head on his shoulder.
He gave her a grateful smile, and squeezed the arm that was draped over his shoulder. “I know. Hey Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
“Dean's pretty lucky to have you.”
She grinned at him, and shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“I'm pretty lucky too, you know.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
“We should head back.” Sam shrugged her arm away and stood.
“Lead on, Sundance,” Chloe grinned.
“Sundance? I'm totally Butch Cassidy. You're Sundance.”
“Nuh, huh.” Chloe shook her head. “Butch was the brains of the group.”
“And you're with my brother. Which proves that - of the two of us - I am definitely the brains.”
“Oh yeah? Well Butch was shorter.”
“That's true. But that name. Butch? Totally not a girl's name.”
Chloe paused and thought about it. “You have a point.”
They had reached the parts store just as Dean stepped out. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Of the two of us, who is more Butch,” Chloe grinned up at him.
Dean looked from one of them to the other. “Neither of you,” he grinned. “I'm the most Butch.”
Chloe and Sam looked at each other, grinned and shook their heads. They linked arms, like Dorothy and the tin man, and walked off down the street.
“So Holmes or Watson?” Sam grinned down at her. “Holmes was taller.”
“Always with the short jokes,” Chloe complained.
Dean’s lip twisted in a look of confusion as he watched them go.. He'd figure out what they were fangirling about later. Right now his other girl needed his full attention.
* * *
The motel wasn't much to write home about. It was basically a room with a bed and a shower. Once they'd gotten their stuff into the room, they were left to stand around and stare at the single bed.
Sam looked over at Dean with a frown. “You sure this is the only--”
“Yes!” Dean cut him off and let his own frustrations creep into his voice. He hated feeling like he'd screwed up, and the three of them staring at this one bed looked like a huge, colossal blunder. “This is the only room. They didn't have any others. Just this one. With one bed.”
Chloe sighed. “This is silly, guys. It's not like I'll even be sleeping tonight. You two grab some sleep. I'll take a nap tomorrow when we're on the road again.”
Dean frowned at her. That was the simple solution. But not the solution that he wanted to hear. He liked falling asleep to the feel of her - warm and soft, with skin like satin and hair like corn silk, all wrapped up secure in his arms. And he was starting to enjoy the way she tried to get back into bed without waking him in the mornings -- smelling like coffee. And the little moan of pleasure she made when he rolled her onto her back and tasted that first cup on her lips.
Sam looked at Dean's heated expression, and headed toward the door. “I'm just going to hike back to that cafe and bring back some dinner,” he said hurriedly. Dean shot him a grateful look, and the look he received in return promised him that he was so going to owe his baby brother a favor.
Once he was gone, Dean wrapped his arms around Chloe and pulled her close to him. “I like to hold you while I'm sleeping.”
“I know,” Chloe nodded. “But I also know that you can't sleep unless you've got the spot closest to the door. And me sleeping between you and Sam might just freak him out a little bit.”
“It doesn't have to be weird if we don't let it,” Dean wheedled.
Chloe shook her head. “Sorry, Dean, but this is really important. When I hit the road with you two, I promised myself that I wasn't going to come between you. Part of that is not letting anyone be a third wheel, being sensitive to Sam's personal boundaries and respecting them.” She ticked her priorities off on her fingers as she spoke.
“This is a lot of work,” Dean grumbled.
“This is a relationship,” Chloe replied. “Relationships are work.”
“You're the expert on that, not me.” Dean grinned at her. “You going to make all this work worth my while?”
She raised a single eyebrow in question. “You going to tell me why I should?”
He knew what she was asking. She thought he was a great guy - for reasons that were unrelated to hunting or sex. She wanted him to believe that for himself.
And until he could - she was holding out on him.
Which was not to say that he didn't think he could change her mind on the no nookie deal. He was working on that. But it was important to her that he hug himself daily, or whatever. So - he was working on that too.
“Well, I've got the most awesome girlfriend on the planet,” he chuckled as he pulled her backwards toward the bed.
“Keep trying, mister.” Her tone of voice was both amused and sarcastic.
“I'm adorable,” he grinned as he reached the bed and pulled her down with him.
“You are, but that's still not going to cut it.” Her expression was tender as she smiled down at him. She leaned forward, putting pressure in all the right places as she rested her chin against his chest. He shut his eyes against the feeling and rumbled in appreciation.
“Why don't you tell me?” he asked.
“I could, but that would be cheating.”
“Tease,” he accused as he rolled them over so that he was the one on top.
“Just a little bit,” she laughed. “Tell you what? You give me reasons to keep kissing you - and I'll give you a kiss for every reason.”
“Oh, I like this game.”
“Thought you might.”
Dean leaned his head back in thought. The problem, as he saw it, was that he related everything back to hunting. Except maybe sex. So Chloe's attempt to boost his self-esteem by pointing out other things he was good at wasn't that helpful. Because when you came right down to it - hunting covered pretty much everything.
But if she hadn't figured that out - he wasn't going to enlighten her. Not when he could get as much mileage out of this as he could.
“I'm a good cook.”
“You're kidding, right?” Her voice was incredulous.
“You going to talk or you going to kiss?”
Her reply was the soft, gentle pressure of her lips pressed firmly against his own. Dean opened his mouth to hers, inviting her in, suckling her bottom lip, laving with his tongue. He slid his hands underneath her and traced little circles over her shoulder blades before he trailed them down her sides to pull her legs up and lock them around his waist.
“When did you learn to cook?” she whispered as he kissed his way down her neck.
“Someone had to,” he whispered as he tilted his head back to stare into her face. “It was me, dad and Sam. And Sam was a picky eater. He hated the way the cheap beef tasted in meatballs and spaghettio-s. If I didn't learn to fix things he liked, he wouldn't eat anything but cold cereal and mustard sandwiches.”
“Who taught you to cook?”
“Pastor Jim to start with. When Dad was on long hunts, we stayed with him. I learned a little more from cooking shows. The rest was trial and error. You’d be surprised what you’ll do to stay entertained when you’re left alone for three days with orders not to leave the hotel room.”
“So you were a quick study.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because a call to the fire department leads to a call to social services. I’ve written stories about kids who get picked up that way.”
“We would have just run off again.” Dean cut off all further discussion when he bent his neck and sucked greedily at the hollow of her throat.
She was wearing one of those t-shirts with buttons running down into the valley between her breasts, and when he reached the top button, he started working it loose with his teeth.
“Hey, don't break the thread,” she whispered.
“I can sew too - but that's a hunting thing.”
“It is?”
“It is when you've got to stitch someone up.”
She stared quietly at him, and Dean cursed his big mouth. Then she placed a kiss over each of his eyes, and pulled his head down to rest against her chest. “So you're domestic. Good thing one of us is.”
He snorted at that. “Considering the way you keep your apartment.”
“No real mother figures to teach me how to be domestic after Mom left. Dad didn't really need anyone to cook or sew or clean random firearms. It was Chinese takeout, and read the tabloids to each other and make stupid jokes and pretend that we were okay with those long work days and short father/daughter bonding weekends. You're pretty lucky that I even know that I'm a girl.”
“If you're confused about that - I can totally clear it up.”
She grinned at him. “No, I'm pretty clear on it right now. I'm just not much of a cook.”
“You're good at waffles.”
“Waffles, like country music, are the language of pain.”
“You're good at funny.” He ran his hands down her sides.
“Don't,” she bucked against him. Dean shut his eyes at the feel. As far as he was concerned, she could keep that up.
“You're ticklish,” he grinned.
“You wouldn't.” Her voice took on a warning note.
“Look how instructional this getting to know one another thing really is.” He grinned as he pinned her down, and ran his free hand lightly over her ribs.
“Dean!” She squealed as she tried to buck and roll away from him.
“You see,” he said huskily. “This has nothing to do with hunting.”
“Maybe not,” she breathed in between fits of laughter. “But your thinking is totally south-of-the-border. You are so not getting kissed for this one.”
“Well, life is just full of trade-offs,” he said as he leaned back down to trail his own kisses behind her ear. “I think it's time that I kissed you, anyway.”
Her frantic motions gentled under his ministrations, and before long, she had her head thrown back to give him better access. Dean grinned against the curve of her shell-like ear. In the space of a few short minutes, he'd turned her into putty in his hands.
“Dean?” Her voice sounded faint. “We should stop.”
Dean sighed and rested his head against her collarbone. “Or not,” he muttered.
“Come on,” she said as she pushed at him ineffectually. “Sam will be back soon.”
“Fine,” Dean said and rolled off of her. “But we are going to finish this.”
“Not before we have a talk,” Chloe said.
Dean shut his eyes and beat his head against the soft mattress a couple of times. “You're killing me, Chloe.”
“Don't be silly,” Chloe said. “No one ever died from lack of sex.”
“Maybe I'll be the first case,” Dean snapped.
“It could be worse,” Chloe shrugged as she climbed out of the bed.
“How?”
“I could be devout.”
Her wicked grin left no doubt in Dean's mind that she was, in fact, trying to kill him.