Fic: Down the Only Road I've Ever Known (6/7)
Fic: Down the Only Road I've Ever Known (6/7)
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
The address they had for Susan Rush was a sprawling brick home about three blocks from the church.
The house looked like it had been well-cared for at one time, but had recently fallen on hard times. The shutters next to each window had been painted a bright sunshine yellow, but the paint was flaking away to reveal bare wood underneath. Flower beds that at one time had been carefully tended were now overgrown with weeds.
As they parked the rental car, Chloe felt a sense of foreboding. She shivered as they walked up to the house, and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, Sam pulled his lock picks from his pocket, and within minutes had the door open.
As the door swung open, a cat bounded past their feet and down the steps. They looked at each other and shrugged before Sam stepped through the door, and stopped.
“You’re holding up the line here, Sammy,” Dean complained.
“I don’t think that Susan Rush is going to tell us anything,” Sam said flatly.
“Why not?” Dean asked.
Before Sam could say anything, Chloe craned her neck to stare over his shoulder, and realized the reason why. A denim-clad pair of legs dangled limply in her line of sight. She shut her eyes against the view as Sam confirmed what she’d already guessed.
“Because she’s dead.”
Dean looked back at Chloe, and then glanced up the street to make sure that they hadn’t been spotted.
“Okay, Chloe. You go move the car. Circle the block and we’ll slip out the back and meet you.”
Chloe nodded, took the keys from Dean, and turned from the room.
***
Dean slipped into the house behind Sam. He looked up at the body with a shake of his head. The girl was probably about Chloe’s height. Her hair was the same shade of blonde. It fell forward, obscuring her face.
Dean put out a hesitant hand and felt cold limbs that had grown stiff with rigor mortis. He judged that she’d probably hung herself sometime in the night.
He frowned at that. No matter how long he had been in the family business, seeing something self-inflicted like this bothered him. Maybe it was the way they’d been so desperate to get him out of his crossroads deal, but seeing someone else throw her life away like that just seemed incredibly wasteful.
Sam had been poking around the room and came up with a hastily scrawled, tearstained letter.
“I think I found a suicide note,” he said.
Dean nodded. “What does it say?”
“Poor girl,” Sam muttered as he skimmed the note. “Basically - she blamed herself for the other deaths. She said that it’s punishment for . . .” He trailed off, and swallowed convulsively. “For killing the baby.”
“Sonofa -“ Dean glanced up at the limp body.
“She wrote that justice is done.”
Dean jerked his thumb toward the back door. “We better go.”
They slipped out the back, and snuck around the block to rendezvous with Chloe.
“Did she hang herself?” Chloe asked as they slipped into the car. Dean nodded somberly. “Why?”
“She blamed herself for the baby’s death. She thought she killed it,” Sam said.
“Or maybe she did kill it,” Dean put in. The two other occupants in the car turned to glare at him.
“What?” He frowned back. “All I’m saying is that she’s a single girl, still in her teens. And don’t pregnant chicks get all moody?”
Chloe shut her eyes, and shook her head. “So that’s it then. Everyone associated with this whole mess is dead.”
“Unless the dad wasn’t one of the first three boys,” Dean added.
“He wouldn’t have been,” Chloe said. “She wouldn’t have asked someone who basically abandoned her to turn around and bury his own child. And if she did - he probably would have broken down and said something.”
“Which means that Sara Sutter still has one more victim to go after,” Sam said.
Chloe blinked at that - remembering row after row of photos on a paneled office wall, and a shameless tendency to say inappropriate things. “I . . . think I might know who the father was.”
***
Michael O’Shawnasee was just about to lock up his office for the night, when Chloe Sullivan barged in the front door. Righteous anger hung around her like a cloud.
“You’re the father, aren’t you?” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You knocked up some poor teenage girl, and then abandoned her to deal with the baby on her own.”
Michael thought about throwing her out on her cute little ass. But the two guys who were with her didn’t look like they’d stand for it. The taller one - he remembered that she’d called him Sam. Her boyfriend’s brother. Which meant that the shorter one was the boyfriend.
Judging by the scowl that the shorter one was giving him - he was definitely the boyfriend. His eyes were flat and hard. Eyes that promised murder if he so much as looked at Chloe Sullivan the wrong way.
Instead, Michael settled for giving her the verbal dress-down.
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Really? Because now three of her friends are dead because of Sara Sutter, and Susan Rush hung herself!”
Michael felt his legs give out. He stumbled to the nearest chair, and sat. The blood pounded in his ears as he replayed the words that she used like live grenades. Dead? Susie’s . . .
“Dead?” He looked at her and blinked. “She’s . . .”
“Mr. O’Shawnasee?” The taller one, Sam, knelt in front of him to look into his eyes. “We need to know - were you the father?”
Michael looked into the young man’s sincere face and found himself nodding. “I - Yes.”
“Great,” the boyfriend said. “Which means that Sara Sutter is coming after him next.” He gestured with his thumb at Michael.
He looked from Sam’s sincere face, to Chloe’s angry one and from there to the boyfriend’s exasperated expression.
“You know it’s true,” Chloe said. “You gave me her name.”
“It was just a story,” he shook his head in mute denial. “Just something to send you chasing shadows.”
“It wasn’t a story, and you know it. Sara Sutter’s spirit wasn’t at rest. You’re the only one in this whole mess left alive. She’s going to come after you.”
He looked from Chloe to the two men and back. “What do I do?”
Some wordless communication passed between them, and then the boyfriend turned to him. “My brother and I will take care of Sara Sutter. Chloe is going to stay here and protect you.” He stepped around Chloe, and got in Michael’s face. “You try anything with her - and a restless spirit is the least of your worries.
He swallowed, and nodded. “Just . . . Help me, please.”
***
Michael watched from his desk chair as Chloe circled it with a thick line of salt.
“I don’t understand. Salt?”
“Salt has purification properties.”
“Okay?”
“Means ghosts can’t get you if you stay inside the lines.”
“Oh.”
“Still think I’m exotic?” She shot him a humorless smile.
He gave a short bark of tension-releasing laughter. “So . . . what are those guys going to do?”
“They’ll find a way to permanently stop the ghost.”
“How?”
She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
He considered that - and decided that she was probably right.
She finished the circle, stood, and brushed her hands clean. He was about to ask her another question, when suddenly the room felt colder. He looked at her and saw her face twist into an expression of concern. She carefully stepped over the salt line, and picked up a sawed-off shotgun. The way she loaded it with shells told him that she’d done this on more than one occasion.
Then she sat cross-legged on the floor, and waited.
Before long, a person just appeared at the door. She was dressed in an antique dress, and her hands were bruised. She glared at him with a look of hate that left him cold. As she crossed the room, she seemed to flicker. She reached the line of salt and stopped as if she had hit a barrier.
Chloe stood and cocked the weapon. The . . . whatever it was turned to regard her. Its malevolent look turned into a pleading expression. “Please,” it said. Then it whispered something that he couldn’t make out.
Chloe’s face turned pale. She looked back at him. “Stay in the line,” she commanded. Then she stepped over the circle of salt and ran out of the room.
“What?” He looked after her in confusion. Then he looked at the spirit that had remained behind. It’s smile made him shiver with intense fear and dread.
Then the overhead fans came on. Blowing at a faster speed than was mechanically possible.
He looked down and noticed the salt was blowing away on a current of air. As he looked up, he realized that she was no longer glaring at him from across the barrier. She was now right in front of him.
He had a moment to be afraid before she reached for 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
The address they had for Susan Rush was a sprawling brick home about three blocks from the church.
The house looked like it had been well-cared for at one time, but had recently fallen on hard times. The shutters next to each window had been painted a bright sunshine yellow, but the paint was flaking away to reveal bare wood underneath. Flower beds that at one time had been carefully tended were now overgrown with weeds.
As they parked the rental car, Chloe felt a sense of foreboding. She shivered as they walked up to the house, and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, Sam pulled his lock picks from his pocket, and within minutes had the door open.
As the door swung open, a cat bounded past their feet and down the steps. They looked at each other and shrugged before Sam stepped through the door, and stopped.
“You’re holding up the line here, Sammy,” Dean complained.
“I don’t think that Susan Rush is going to tell us anything,” Sam said flatly.
“Why not?” Dean asked.
Before Sam could say anything, Chloe craned her neck to stare over his shoulder, and realized the reason why. A denim-clad pair of legs dangled limply in her line of sight. She shut her eyes against the view as Sam confirmed what she’d already guessed.
“Because she’s dead.”
Dean looked back at Chloe, and then glanced up the street to make sure that they hadn’t been spotted.
“Okay, Chloe. You go move the car. Circle the block and we’ll slip out the back and meet you.”
Chloe nodded, took the keys from Dean, and turned from the room.
***
Dean slipped into the house behind Sam. He looked up at the body with a shake of his head. The girl was probably about Chloe’s height. Her hair was the same shade of blonde. It fell forward, obscuring her face.
Dean put out a hesitant hand and felt cold limbs that had grown stiff with rigor mortis. He judged that she’d probably hung herself sometime in the night.
He frowned at that. No matter how long he had been in the family business, seeing something self-inflicted like this bothered him. Maybe it was the way they’d been so desperate to get him out of his crossroads deal, but seeing someone else throw her life away like that just seemed incredibly wasteful.
Sam had been poking around the room and came up with a hastily scrawled, tearstained letter.
“I think I found a suicide note,” he said.
Dean nodded. “What does it say?”
“Poor girl,” Sam muttered as he skimmed the note. “Basically - she blamed herself for the other deaths. She said that it’s punishment for . . .” He trailed off, and swallowed convulsively. “For killing the baby.”
“Sonofa -“ Dean glanced up at the limp body.
“She wrote that justice is done.”
Dean jerked his thumb toward the back door. “We better go.”
They slipped out the back, and snuck around the block to rendezvous with Chloe.
“Did she hang herself?” Chloe asked as they slipped into the car. Dean nodded somberly. “Why?”
“She blamed herself for the baby’s death. She thought she killed it,” Sam said.
“Or maybe she did kill it,” Dean put in. The two other occupants in the car turned to glare at him.
“What?” He frowned back. “All I’m saying is that she’s a single girl, still in her teens. And don’t pregnant chicks get all moody?”
Chloe shut her eyes, and shook her head. “So that’s it then. Everyone associated with this whole mess is dead.”
“Unless the dad wasn’t one of the first three boys,” Dean added.
“He wouldn’t have been,” Chloe said. “She wouldn’t have asked someone who basically abandoned her to turn around and bury his own child. And if she did - he probably would have broken down and said something.”
“Which means that Sara Sutter still has one more victim to go after,” Sam said.
Chloe blinked at that - remembering row after row of photos on a paneled office wall, and a shameless tendency to say inappropriate things. “I . . . think I might know who the father was.”
***
Michael O’Shawnasee was just about to lock up his office for the night, when Chloe Sullivan barged in the front door. Righteous anger hung around her like a cloud.
“You’re the father, aren’t you?” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You knocked up some poor teenage girl, and then abandoned her to deal with the baby on her own.”
Michael thought about throwing her out on her cute little ass. But the two guys who were with her didn’t look like they’d stand for it. The taller one - he remembered that she’d called him Sam. Her boyfriend’s brother. Which meant that the shorter one was the boyfriend.
Judging by the scowl that the shorter one was giving him - he was definitely the boyfriend. His eyes were flat and hard. Eyes that promised murder if he so much as looked at Chloe Sullivan the wrong way.
Instead, Michael settled for giving her the verbal dress-down.
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Really? Because now three of her friends are dead because of Sara Sutter, and Susan Rush hung herself!”
Michael felt his legs give out. He stumbled to the nearest chair, and sat. The blood pounded in his ears as he replayed the words that she used like live grenades. Dead? Susie’s . . .
“Dead?” He looked at her and blinked. “She’s . . .”
“Mr. O’Shawnasee?” The taller one, Sam, knelt in front of him to look into his eyes. “We need to know - were you the father?”
Michael looked into the young man’s sincere face and found himself nodding. “I - Yes.”
“Great,” the boyfriend said. “Which means that Sara Sutter is coming after him next.” He gestured with his thumb at Michael.
He looked from Sam’s sincere face, to Chloe’s angry one and from there to the boyfriend’s exasperated expression.
“You know it’s true,” Chloe said. “You gave me her name.”
“It was just a story,” he shook his head in mute denial. “Just something to send you chasing shadows.”
“It wasn’t a story, and you know it. Sara Sutter’s spirit wasn’t at rest. You’re the only one in this whole mess left alive. She’s going to come after you.”
He looked from Chloe to the two men and back. “What do I do?”
Some wordless communication passed between them, and then the boyfriend turned to him. “My brother and I will take care of Sara Sutter. Chloe is going to stay here and protect you.” He stepped around Chloe, and got in Michael’s face. “You try anything with her - and a restless spirit is the least of your worries.
He swallowed, and nodded. “Just . . . Help me, please.”
***
Michael watched from his desk chair as Chloe circled it with a thick line of salt.
“I don’t understand. Salt?”
“Salt has purification properties.”
“Okay?”
“Means ghosts can’t get you if you stay inside the lines.”
“Oh.”
“Still think I’m exotic?” She shot him a humorless smile.
He gave a short bark of tension-releasing laughter. “So . . . what are those guys going to do?”
“They’ll find a way to permanently stop the ghost.”
“How?”
She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
He considered that - and decided that she was probably right.
She finished the circle, stood, and brushed her hands clean. He was about to ask her another question, when suddenly the room felt colder. He looked at her and saw her face twist into an expression of concern. She carefully stepped over the salt line, and picked up a sawed-off shotgun. The way she loaded it with shells told him that she’d done this on more than one occasion.
Then she sat cross-legged on the floor, and waited.
Before long, a person just appeared at the door. She was dressed in an antique dress, and her hands were bruised. She glared at him with a look of hate that left him cold. As she crossed the room, she seemed to flicker. She reached the line of salt and stopped as if she had hit a barrier.
Chloe stood and cocked the weapon. The . . . whatever it was turned to regard her. Its malevolent look turned into a pleading expression. “Please,” it said. Then it whispered something that he couldn’t make out.
Chloe’s face turned pale. She looked back at him. “Stay in the line,” she commanded. Then she stepped over the circle of salt and ran out of the room.
“What?” He looked after her in confusion. Then he looked at the spirit that had remained behind. It’s smile made him shiver with intense fear and dread.
Then the overhead fans came on. Blowing at a faster speed than was mechanically possible.
He looked down and noticed the salt was blowing away on a current of air. As he looked up, he realized that she was no longer glaring at him from across the barrier. She was now right in front of him.
He had a moment to be afraid before she reached for him.