FIc: Catch Me If I fall (3/7)

[pen37]

Fic: Catch Me If I Fall (3/7)
Series: Special Projects
Summary: The Demon Meg gets the revenge she promised.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: Hard R.  This one is pretty dark, folks.

This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7


They went back into the store and tracked down the General Manager. Isaac hung back, arms crossed, leaning against the wall in a slump that predicted a future in juvenile hall.
With a bit of fast talking, Sam had the GM convinced that he was a plainclothes police officer. Since the GM kept shooting suspicious looks at Isaac, Sam went with it, and convinced him to give him a copy of the security footage from the parking lot so that he could prosecute the juvenile offender that he had in custody.

The GM brought him the footage, and even let him run it through the store's computer.

Given that they were trying to stay off the radar, Sam disabled the computer's Internet access when the GM left the room.

“Dude! That was awesome!” Isaac said.

Sam sighed. So much for being a role model.

“Lets - Just review the tape.” He cued up the tape to the point where the impala parked.

“Okay - there we are getting out of the car . . . and there is Dean going somewhere.”

“Probably to the bathroom,” Isaac said. “That's where we found his stuff.”

“And here he comes back. Chloe gets out of the car to greet him, and . . .”

It almost happened too quickly to see. Dean lashed out, seized the back of her head, and slammed her - face-first into the hood of the impala.

“Jeez!” Isaac flinched. “Why didn't anyone try to stop that?”

“No one saw it.” Sam grimaced as Dean gathered her into his arms, and carried her into the car.

“What happened to him?” Isaac asked.

“I don't --” Sam started as he picked up Dean's amulet.

Suddenly, pain blossomed behind his eyes. He fell to his knees as his sight blurred - to be replaced by a vision.

As Sam watched, Dean stood at the bathroom sink, washing his hands. A tall, sandy-haired stranger walked into the bathroom. Sam noted that the stranger was wearing driving gloves.

Dean must have noticed this, because Sam saw a tightening in Dean's habitually tense stance as he assessed the risk subtly. The stranger turned to stare at Dean, and its eyes flashed black.

Dean reached for his flask of holy water, but the thing was faster. It pinned him to the wall, and yanked on his amulet until the cord broke.

Then it slammed his head into the wall.

Dean slumped against the sink. His weight quickly pulled him to the floor. But not for long. The sandy haired stranger knelt over him, and stripped him of his remaining protection - the band on his right ring finger and the bracelet. Even with the driving gloves on, it pulled a thick handkerchief from its pocket when it removed his anti-possession charm, and tossed it into a nearby urinal with a disdainful flick of the wrist. Then, thick, black smoke erupted from the sandy-haired stranger's nose and mouth. It swarmed Dean.

The stranger blinked in confusion, as if waking from a dream. He stood and fled the bathroom.

Then Dean sat up. Or the demon wearing Dean's body, at any rate. It got to its feet, and studied itself in the mirror for a few minutes. Then it grinned - as if charming someone.

“You look like a handsome devil,” it said. Then it fished the keys from Dean's pocket and headed toward the exit.

The vision shimmered like a lousy picture in a cheap motel room, before settling back into Sam's present surroundings - the office they'd staked out.

“Sam?” Isaac asked tentatively.

“I'll be fine. Give me a minute.” Sam rubbed his temples with a grimace of pain. “What happened?”

“You tell me,” Isaac asked. “One minute you were watching the video, and the next you were on the ground.”

“I think I had a vision,” Sam stood up while still rubbing his temples.

“You get visions?” Isaac asked.

“Not for a long time. . . at least until now. Man, it feels like someone pried open my skull and tried to stuff the Encyclopedia Britannica in there.” He frowned. “Why is this all suddenly happening now?”

Isaac frowned, and tilted his head down.

Sam glared at him. “What?”

“Nothin',” the kid mumbled.

“Isaac.” Sam knelt before the kid, grabbed him by the shoulders, and forced him to look. “My vision showed me that Dean was possessed. We know that whatever happened to Dean - Whatever has him also has Chloe.

“They're my family, Isaac.” Sam clenched his jaw. “I can't loose them. I just can't. So if you know something --”

“It's me, okay?” Isaac cut in.

“What's you?” Sam asked.

“I'm the one that's causing your powers to go crazy.” The kid crossed his arms again.

“Come again?”

“It's my power,” Isaac sighed. “When I'm around other metas - I amplify their powers.”

“How?” Sam asked thoughtfully.

“How should I know?” He shrugged. “My folks wanted me to go for testing. But the last thing I want to do is get poked and prodded like a lab rat.”

Sam nodded. “Maybe it's some kind of electromagnetic field. Or pheromones or something.”

“Whatever,” the kid rolled his eyes. “So now what?”

“We've got to find Dean and Chloe and get that thing out of him.”

“Dude - what if they're dead?” Isaac asked.

Sam shook his head. “Don't say that. Don't even think it.”

***

Dean had never been one to think much on hell. Oh, he’d worried about it, back during the year he’d sold his soul. But he hadn’t thought about what it would be like. He’d even made jokes. Hell was like playing poker and only ever drawing duces.

But now he knew. Hell was here, and he wasn’t laughing.

Hell was having no control over your body. Of watching helplessly from the sidelines while some monster used it to do unspeakable things. To hurt the people you loved.

And hell was knowing that you were powerless to stop it. That the monster would go on hurting people you loved, and when they were gone - it would hurt again and again and again.

The demon had given him a short list of people it would kill. But now that it had access to his memories - it was expanding. Missouri, the Barr family, the Warren family. Everyone he’d ever helped. People who’s names he didn’t even think he’d remembered. Names the demon still managed to pull out of him.

He’d tried struggling at first. When the bitch seized control of him. It told him what it planned to do to Chloe. He’d been desperate to stop it. Hadn’t Dad thrown off the Yellow Eyed Bastard for a few minutes? If Dean could get free even for thirty seconds, he could create a scene. Something that would warn Chloe.

By the time the demon used his hands to bounce her head off the hood of the Impala, he’d started screaming.

Not mindless screaming. He’d threatened it, called it every name in the book and promised to send it back to hell where it belonged. Anything to distract it. To make it focus on him, rather than hurting Chloe. But the Demon had been focused on hurting him by hurting Chloe.

By day two, he’d stopped screaming.

It was his fault. He’d failed her. He’d failed everyone. He had a simple job to do. Protect his family. And like always, he screwed it up, and they were paying the price.

So he had little to say to what the demon did to him now. Because it wasn’t anything less than he deserved.

***

The Demon in Dean's body lay still in a prostitute's bed, and contemplated the water stained ceiling of her hotel room. He let her get up, and go take a shower - which was his cue to leave. Still - he lay there, contemplating this marvelous new body.

When she'd been in Meg's body, the demon thought of herself as Meg. When he'd possessed Sam, he'd thought of himself as Sam.

Now that he was in Dean's body - he naturally thought of himself as Dean. Which was kind of funny, because his host was right there with him - a prisoner, trapped in his own head.

Kind of ironic, when you thought about it. And the demon appreciated irony.

Chloe Sullivan had complete control of her mind - for all the good it did her. She may as well have been a vegetable. While the host had no control of his mind, yet was trapped in a body that could move unrestricted. Could go from place to place.

And the places he'd go, and the people he'd do. And do in.

A year ago - the host might not have minded being taken for a ride, in all senses of the word. Dean Winchester was kind of a walking endorsement for lust and instant gratification. But then again, a year ago the host hadn't yet gone sniffing after Chloe Sullivan like she was the last woman on earth.

The demon didn't quite get it. He'd sampled the wares, so to speak. She wasn't anything special Okay, she'd been unconscious, so it wasn't as if it was a completely objective experiment.

But his host had been right there - screaming obscenities at him the whole time. That had more than made up for things.

And then when she finally woke up - she'd been a complete downer. You'd think someone being entombed would scream or cry or beg for mercy. But she'd shown chutzpah like he hadn't seen since John Winchester was in hell.

Of course, the host did more than enough of the screaming for both of them.

If he hadn't planned on taking this new body on a test drive - bouncing a few mattresses, killing a few hunters - he would have been tempted to hang around and just listen in on her thoughts. Because you can only keep up a brave front for so long - especially in your own personal hell.

But it was enough have the host's reaction when he entertained thoughts about what she was going through. Hell was - Well, it was hell, even for demons. But it was sure educational.

And speaking of educational - the demon left some of Dean's money on the nightstand on his way out. Whatever the fuck her name had been - Jasmine? Violet? Some kind of flower. Had been - pretty bendy and real enthusiastic. He had been tempted to try that with Jo back when he had a hold of Sam. But hadn't really had time with Dean in hot pursuit.

But now - once he got his hit-list out of the way - he was going to do this as much as possible.

But the checklist was more important right now. More important than seeing what color flower-girl's lower intestine was. Maybe he'd come back and do that later.

But first, he had a promise to fulfill to his host.

“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. Their blood will be on your hands. Before the end, you will beg for death.”

He chuckled as his host made vaguely disquieted noises in the prison of his brain. He'd given up screaming and cursing sometime during - whatever her name was - now he was just kind of . . . sulking. A sullen presence in the corner of the shared host body.

“You can't say I didn't warn you,” the demon said as it opened the trunk, and surveyed the weapons. He wasn't sure, but he thought that one of those dividers held the components of a high-powered sniper rifle.

He grinned a toothy grin as he ran a caressing hand over the barrel.

Don't con a con man.

“No sir, I won't.” he chuckled, and closed the trunk.

***

It had been, by her estimation, a long time since she’d grabbed a sip of water from the drinking fountain at Wal-Mart.

Of course, in the dark, time had no meaning. And her internal clock counted in troll numbers anyway. Many, many many, many many many, Lots.

So it wasn’t really surprising that she felt pressure low in her belly. As she’d stood in the dark for what had to be hours, pressure became discomfort. Discomfort became pain. Until at length, one of the things the demon promised came to pass - she felt warmth and moisture seep down her legs.

She closed her eyes again - and sobbed against the brick in humiliation. She felt like a less-than-human ball of misery. This wasn’t the way she wanted to be found - living or dead.

The smell mixed with vomit, sweat, and stale air, and triggered her gag reflex again. She leaned her head forward as her body was rocked with dry heaves.

Her inability to move - even through spasms that tried to rock her tiny body - triggered something in the back of her brain. Her mind seemed to close in - just as she imagined the walls closing in. She kicked out at the wall - and felt her toes ache at the contact. Heedless of the pain, she kicked again and again, and screamed in silence as the alcove seemed to get smaller in her mind.

Once her mind stopped running in circles like a frightened rabbit, she leaned her head against the brick in exhaustion that was both mental and physical. She tried to think of all the places that she knew of that were open, and warm and sunny. Invariably, her thoughts turned to Kansas, which had to have the most wide-open spaces out there. In her mind, she pictured the rolling pastures of the Kent farm. She thought of the beach at Crater Lake, where she Clark and Pete used to swim together in summers past.

Finally, she thought of going there with Dean. Of making love to him under an open sky, curling up in his arms, and taking a cat nap on the sun-warmed clay of the lake banks. Safe and secure, with no worries about demons, possession, or commandeered laser death rays.

With that picture fixed in her mind, she felt less afraid. It was a small victory. But right now she would take any victory she could get.