Headtrip (4/7)
Spoiler warning: I came up for the idea for this fic long before there were spoiler warnings that Supernatural was going to be doing something similar this season. Just in case, though: If you don't want to be spoiled for a future episode, don't read.
Fic: Headtrip (4/7)
Series: Special Projects
Summary: On their way to Metropolis for Christmas, Dean, Sam and Chloe take a detour though Colorado Springs to investigate a series of mysterious deaths, but Dean is still broken, Chloe looks ready to run and Sam is just worried about holding things togeather.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg-13.
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #40 Sight. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Dean figured he was dreaming. On some level, he was aware of the clean vanilla scent of Chloe’s shampoo and soap, and he figured that she was close enough to touch. But she seemed so very far away when compared with his surroundings.
He was sitting on a park bench watching a couple of kids play. Out of the periphery of his vision, a stranger walked up and sat next to him.
“You’re pretty remarkable, you know that?”
Dean turned, and raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t really surprised that he couldn’t make out any distinguishing features about the other person. They were all there, but when he tried to focus on them, or mark them for later memory, they seemed to slip away like water. But this was a dream, right?
“That’s what the ladies tell me.” He smirked to hide his own unease.
“You know, I like your style. Always a snappy comeback to hide that pain. Your outlook on life is very similar to the Norsemen.”
Dean shrugged. “Sorry, but I’m not very well read. I heard the 3-D Beowulf had Angelina Jolie naked in it. But I couldn’t get Sam to go with me.”
The stranger shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “The Norse were very practical folks, even if they did believe that hell was cold,” he said. “They lived life with one thing in mind: we all die.”
“Well, that’s pleasant.”
“We all die,” the stranger continued as if he hadn’t heard Dean. “What matters is how we die. On your feet or on your knees. You are a man who believes in living well, and dying well, for that matter.”
Dean looked uneasily at the stranger. As far as dreams went, it was strange even by his standards.
“I look for people in pain, Dean. I use that. Most folks, they can’t take the pain. They’re weak. Not you.”
Dean’s gut twisted a little. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”
“In a way it is. But you’re not going to be playing strip poker with the Del Sol Girl in this one, sorry to say.”
Dean frowned at the stranger. “You’re the guy with the pink hair.”
“Out there I am. In here, I’m whatever I want to be. You see, this is as much my dream as it is yours.
“So are you some kind of life force parasite, like . . .” Dean broke off before he could say too much.
“Like Chloe thinks?” The stranger smiled at him.
Dean blinked at him in consternation.
“She’s a clever girl. But I prefer to think of myself as a type of psychic vampire,” the stranger turned to stare off into the distance. “You know, with most of the others, I had to push them to bring them down to the point that I could feed. But you and your family? You guys have issues.”
“You grabbed the wrong guy,” Dean said. “Chloe and Sam apart have three times the brains I do. Together? They’re going to figure out everything about you.”
“Nice try,” he grinned at Dean. “You really don’t know how important you are to them, do you? They’re going to be so wrapped up in the fact that you’re stuck in a coma, that they’re not even going to be looking for me.”
“Sam knows how to prioritize. He knows that the job is more important than I am.”
“He knows that his brother is in danger. If your positions were reversed, would you leave your brother in a coma to go chase some monster?”
Dean turned to look out into the distance.
“Funny thing, Dean. I never needed to pull someone into the dream state to feed. I just need to push them into fear, doubt and worry. I’ve got you here for the fear. Chloe and Sam out there are worrying. And the longer they can’t wake you up, the more they’re going to doubt. They won’t even know that I’m feeding on them as well. At least until it’s too late.”
Dean got up, and started to walk away. He’d heard enough.
“I’m wherever you are, Dean. You can’t run away from yourself.”
***
“Chloe! Wake up.”
Chloe opened one eye, to see Sam kneeling on the floor next to her bed. “Whazzait?”
“Something’s wrong.” Sam’s lips compressed in a thin line and he cast worried eyes at Dean.
She sat up, and looked at Sam speculatively. “What?”
“I’ve just got this funny feeling that there’s something wrong.” He looked at her with worried eyes, and then looked pointedly at his brother.
Chloe turned and nudged Dean’s shoulder. When there was no response, she nudged harder.
“Dean,” she leaned down to whisper.
Sam crossed to the other side of the bed. Between the two of them, they shook him thoroughly.
“He’s not waking,” Sam said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she snarked as lines of deep concern etched into her face. “How did you know?”
Sam shrugged. “I just. . . had a feeling.” Off her inquisitive stare, he shrugged. “I’ve been a little more in tune with the paranormal since Isaac ramped up my meta abilities. They’ve regressed, but I know what feels differently now.”
“How much more in tune?”
“Nothing really big,” Sam said. “It’s just like the telekinesis: kind of like a muscle. You have to work at it and build it up.”
“Okay,” Chloe said. “Getting back on topic . . . what do we do about Dean?” Chloe asked.
Sam turned his head to stare at his laptop. “I think . . .” he said slowly, “that we had better track down the dude with the pink hair and find out what he did to my brother.”
“Then let’s go.” Chloe sprang from the bed and reached for her bag full of clean clothes.
***
The bouncer at Club Nocturne recognized Sam and Chloe as they walked up to the entrance.
“Oh no,” he shook his head. “It’ll be my job if I let you two in again.”
Sam ignored his protests, and flashed his falsified FBI badge at the bouncer.
“FBI?” The bouncer looked from Sam to Chloe incredulously. Is this about all those suicides?”
“That’s classified,” Sam said shortly. The bouncer didn’t argue. They were near the Air Force academy, and Cheyenne Mountain, so the thought of questioning a government official didn’t even cross his mind. Sam then presented the man with an image that he’d pulled off the security feed of the pink-haired guy.
“You know him?”
“Yeah,” the bouncer nodded as he took the photo fro a closer study. “Little creepy dude. I think he goes by the name of Lookstwice. Native. Off the res, you know?” He handed the picture back to Sam.
“Thanks,” Sam said as he took the photo back.
“No problem.” The bouncer glanced at the pocket where Sam had placed the photo, and shuddered involuntarily. “I hope you find something on the creepy little dude. Guys like him don’t need to be out on the streets.”
As they walked away, Sam looked over at Chloe with a grim smile. “I bet there aren’t too many guys named Lookstwice in the telephone book.”
“You might be right,” Chloe said. “Even if there are, there can’t be too many with a pink Mohawk.”
***
A quick search with Chloe’s laptop pointed to a loft in the industrial section of town that was leased to a Michael Lookstwice. Chloe and Sam drove to the warehouse, and then climbed up the fire escape to the loft. Within a few moments, Sam picked the lock at the window, and they slipped in.
The loft was an open floor plan, much like Chloe’s own apartment. But where hers had always been filled - first with unpacked boxes and now, thanks to Dean, with those little touches that implied that someone lived there --, this space was empty, except for a mattress and rumpled blanket in one corner of the room and a stack of dirty dishes in the sink.
“Looks like we missed him,” Chloe observed.
“Looks like,” Sam walked over to a recessed closet, pushed aside the cargo pants and punk band t-shirts and looked inside. Then he pulled out his knife, and knelt on the floor.
“Did you find something?” Chloe asked as she crossed the floor to stand next to him.
“Yeah, maybe.” Sam answered as he began prying up floorboards. “When I was twelve, we lived in this beach shack in Tampa. Dad was trying to locate the remains of some Spanish explorers who got lost while looking for the fountain of youth and died of malaria. It took a while, so I got to spend the school year in one place. The cockroaches were the size of rats and the rats were the size of Chihuahuas.”
“Charming,” Chloe said. “Any particular reason for this trip down memory lane?”
“The floor boards under Dean’s bed were loose,” Sam said as he pried one of the boards back. “So we used the space to stash anything we didn’t want Dad to find. Mostly Dean’s playboys.”
“Again we’re being overly with the sharing,” Chloe grinned.
“We were boys, Chloe. All boys have at least one playboy sometime in their teen years.” Sam shrugged.
“And you were twelve.”
“And my brother was Dean.”
“Point taken.”
Sam grinned at her and put out his hand. “Hand me your flashlight.”
Chloe reached into her pocket, and retrieved her LED. Sam then laid his head next to the opening in the boards, and reached into the hole in the floor. He felt around a little, and then pulled out a shoebox. He looked at Chloe and raised his eyebrows. Chloe shrugged in response, so Sam opened the box.
Inside was a collection of newspaper clippings. Chloe took the box into the loft, and spread the clippings across the floor in chronological order. Once she’d arranged them, Sam could see that the oldest were obituaries dealing with the earliest suicides. Later, as the number of suicides increased and drew media attention, the articles included news stories from an ever-increasing number of sources.
“Looks like we found our guy,” Sam said.
“Yeah, but we still don’t know who or what he is.” Chloe frowned. “Or how he’s pushing these folks into suicide.”
“Wait,” Sam looked up and blinked. “I think I remember . . .” He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go to the library. I need to look something up.”
***
Two hours later, Sam sat an old book of Hopi folklore on the desk in front of Chloe.
“You were close when you guessed that we might be dealing with an energy parasite. I think we might have a Powaqa on our hands.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow at that. “I’m not familiar with the term.”
“It’s a Hopi word. It means sorcerer: Someone who uses magic for selfish gain. Sort of the opposite of a shaman. According to these legends, the Powaqa gains the victim’s confidence by pretending to be helpful, then feeds off of the victim’s life force.”
“So then he’s getting into their heads, and using them up. When there’s nothing left, he disposes of them.”
“In a way that makes it look self-inflicted.” Sam set his jaw in a hard line. “And right now, he’s got Dean.”
“And Dean’s already close to the breaking point,” Chloe blanched. “How do we stop this Powaqa?”
Sam pulled out his dad’s journal. “Dad has a couple of old Anasazi shamanistic rituals in here. They’re designed to help you on the spirit walk. I think - I might be able to use them to push my abilities, and help us reach Dean.”
“Push your abilities? Like what Isaac was doing?”
“No,” Sam shook his head. “Isaac was boosting my abilities. This would be more like - overusing a muscle. I’m going to feel it in the morning, but right now, it would let us reach Dean.”
“You sure that’s a good idea, Sam?”
“No,” Sam shook his head. But I can’t think of a better one.” He pinned her with a serious look. “Chloe. It’s Dean.”
“I know,” she nodded. “Okay, assuming this works, and we are able to connect with Dean? Then what?”
Sam turned his attention back to the book in his hands. “Well, according to this, we’re going to be in a dream state. So we’ll be vulnerable to the Powaqa’s attack.”
“How is that going to help Dean?” Chloe asked.
“Because it’s his dream,” Sam said. “The Powaqa is only as powerful as Dean lets him be. And with three of us, it’s going to have to split its concentration while it tries to attack us all. So if we can reach Dean, and make him realize what’s happening, he can put the damn thing down himself.”
“What if we can’t convince him that we’re real?” Chloe tilted her head.
“Then we’re in really big trouble.”
Chloe shut her eyes. “Okay,” She nodded. Then she opened her eyes and looked at Sam. “Seeing as I don’t have a better plan, let’s do this.”
Fic: Headtrip (4/7)
Series: Special Projects
Summary: On their way to Metropolis for Christmas, Dean, Sam and Chloe take a detour though Colorado Springs to investigate a series of mysterious deaths, but Dean is still broken, Chloe looks ready to run and Sam is just worried about holding things togeather.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg-13.
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #40 Sight. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Dean figured he was dreaming. On some level, he was aware of the clean vanilla scent of Chloe’s shampoo and soap, and he figured that she was close enough to touch. But she seemed so very far away when compared with his surroundings.
He was sitting on a park bench watching a couple of kids play. Out of the periphery of his vision, a stranger walked up and sat next to him.
“You’re pretty remarkable, you know that?”
Dean turned, and raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t really surprised that he couldn’t make out any distinguishing features about the other person. They were all there, but when he tried to focus on them, or mark them for later memory, they seemed to slip away like water. But this was a dream, right?
“That’s what the ladies tell me.” He smirked to hide his own unease.
“You know, I like your style. Always a snappy comeback to hide that pain. Your outlook on life is very similar to the Norsemen.”
Dean shrugged. “Sorry, but I’m not very well read. I heard the 3-D Beowulf had Angelina Jolie naked in it. But I couldn’t get Sam to go with me.”
The stranger shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “The Norse were very practical folks, even if they did believe that hell was cold,” he said. “They lived life with one thing in mind: we all die.”
“Well, that’s pleasant.”
“We all die,” the stranger continued as if he hadn’t heard Dean. “What matters is how we die. On your feet or on your knees. You are a man who believes in living well, and dying well, for that matter.”
Dean looked uneasily at the stranger. As far as dreams went, it was strange even by his standards.
“I look for people in pain, Dean. I use that. Most folks, they can’t take the pain. They’re weak. Not you.”
Dean’s gut twisted a little. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”
“In a way it is. But you’re not going to be playing strip poker with the Del Sol Girl in this one, sorry to say.”
Dean frowned at the stranger. “You’re the guy with the pink hair.”
“Out there I am. In here, I’m whatever I want to be. You see, this is as much my dream as it is yours.
“So are you some kind of life force parasite, like . . .” Dean broke off before he could say too much.
“Like Chloe thinks?” The stranger smiled at him.
Dean blinked at him in consternation.
“She’s a clever girl. But I prefer to think of myself as a type of psychic vampire,” the stranger turned to stare off into the distance. “You know, with most of the others, I had to push them to bring them down to the point that I could feed. But you and your family? You guys have issues.”
“You grabbed the wrong guy,” Dean said. “Chloe and Sam apart have three times the brains I do. Together? They’re going to figure out everything about you.”
“Nice try,” he grinned at Dean. “You really don’t know how important you are to them, do you? They’re going to be so wrapped up in the fact that you’re stuck in a coma, that they’re not even going to be looking for me.”
“Sam knows how to prioritize. He knows that the job is more important than I am.”
“He knows that his brother is in danger. If your positions were reversed, would you leave your brother in a coma to go chase some monster?”
Dean turned to look out into the distance.
“Funny thing, Dean. I never needed to pull someone into the dream state to feed. I just need to push them into fear, doubt and worry. I’ve got you here for the fear. Chloe and Sam out there are worrying. And the longer they can’t wake you up, the more they’re going to doubt. They won’t even know that I’m feeding on them as well. At least until it’s too late.”
Dean got up, and started to walk away. He’d heard enough.
“I’m wherever you are, Dean. You can’t run away from yourself.”
***
“Chloe! Wake up.”
Chloe opened one eye, to see Sam kneeling on the floor next to her bed. “Whazzait?”
“Something’s wrong.” Sam’s lips compressed in a thin line and he cast worried eyes at Dean.
She sat up, and looked at Sam speculatively. “What?”
“I’ve just got this funny feeling that there’s something wrong.” He looked at her with worried eyes, and then looked pointedly at his brother.
Chloe turned and nudged Dean’s shoulder. When there was no response, she nudged harder.
“Dean,” she leaned down to whisper.
Sam crossed to the other side of the bed. Between the two of them, they shook him thoroughly.
“He’s not waking,” Sam said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she snarked as lines of deep concern etched into her face. “How did you know?”
Sam shrugged. “I just. . . had a feeling.” Off her inquisitive stare, he shrugged. “I’ve been a little more in tune with the paranormal since Isaac ramped up my meta abilities. They’ve regressed, but I know what feels differently now.”
“How much more in tune?”
“Nothing really big,” Sam said. “It’s just like the telekinesis: kind of like a muscle. You have to work at it and build it up.”
“Okay,” Chloe said. “Getting back on topic . . . what do we do about Dean?” Chloe asked.
Sam turned his head to stare at his laptop. “I think . . .” he said slowly, “that we had better track down the dude with the pink hair and find out what he did to my brother.”
“Then let’s go.” Chloe sprang from the bed and reached for her bag full of clean clothes.
***
The bouncer at Club Nocturne recognized Sam and Chloe as they walked up to the entrance.
“Oh no,” he shook his head. “It’ll be my job if I let you two in again.”
Sam ignored his protests, and flashed his falsified FBI badge at the bouncer.
“FBI?” The bouncer looked from Sam to Chloe incredulously. Is this about all those suicides?”
“That’s classified,” Sam said shortly. The bouncer didn’t argue. They were near the Air Force academy, and Cheyenne Mountain, so the thought of questioning a government official didn’t even cross his mind. Sam then presented the man with an image that he’d pulled off the security feed of the pink-haired guy.
“You know him?”
“Yeah,” the bouncer nodded as he took the photo fro a closer study. “Little creepy dude. I think he goes by the name of Lookstwice. Native. Off the res, you know?” He handed the picture back to Sam.
“Thanks,” Sam said as he took the photo back.
“No problem.” The bouncer glanced at the pocket where Sam had placed the photo, and shuddered involuntarily. “I hope you find something on the creepy little dude. Guys like him don’t need to be out on the streets.”
As they walked away, Sam looked over at Chloe with a grim smile. “I bet there aren’t too many guys named Lookstwice in the telephone book.”
“You might be right,” Chloe said. “Even if there are, there can’t be too many with a pink Mohawk.”
***
A quick search with Chloe’s laptop pointed to a loft in the industrial section of town that was leased to a Michael Lookstwice. Chloe and Sam drove to the warehouse, and then climbed up the fire escape to the loft. Within a few moments, Sam picked the lock at the window, and they slipped in.
The loft was an open floor plan, much like Chloe’s own apartment. But where hers had always been filled - first with unpacked boxes and now, thanks to Dean, with those little touches that implied that someone lived there --, this space was empty, except for a mattress and rumpled blanket in one corner of the room and a stack of dirty dishes in the sink.
“Looks like we missed him,” Chloe observed.
“Looks like,” Sam walked over to a recessed closet, pushed aside the cargo pants and punk band t-shirts and looked inside. Then he pulled out his knife, and knelt on the floor.
“Did you find something?” Chloe asked as she crossed the floor to stand next to him.
“Yeah, maybe.” Sam answered as he began prying up floorboards. “When I was twelve, we lived in this beach shack in Tampa. Dad was trying to locate the remains of some Spanish explorers who got lost while looking for the fountain of youth and died of malaria. It took a while, so I got to spend the school year in one place. The cockroaches were the size of rats and the rats were the size of Chihuahuas.”
“Charming,” Chloe said. “Any particular reason for this trip down memory lane?”
“The floor boards under Dean’s bed were loose,” Sam said as he pried one of the boards back. “So we used the space to stash anything we didn’t want Dad to find. Mostly Dean’s playboys.”
“Again we’re being overly with the sharing,” Chloe grinned.
“We were boys, Chloe. All boys have at least one playboy sometime in their teen years.” Sam shrugged.
“And you were twelve.”
“And my brother was Dean.”
“Point taken.”
Sam grinned at her and put out his hand. “Hand me your flashlight.”
Chloe reached into her pocket, and retrieved her LED. Sam then laid his head next to the opening in the boards, and reached into the hole in the floor. He felt around a little, and then pulled out a shoebox. He looked at Chloe and raised his eyebrows. Chloe shrugged in response, so Sam opened the box.
Inside was a collection of newspaper clippings. Chloe took the box into the loft, and spread the clippings across the floor in chronological order. Once she’d arranged them, Sam could see that the oldest were obituaries dealing with the earliest suicides. Later, as the number of suicides increased and drew media attention, the articles included news stories from an ever-increasing number of sources.
“Looks like we found our guy,” Sam said.
“Yeah, but we still don’t know who or what he is.” Chloe frowned. “Or how he’s pushing these folks into suicide.”
“Wait,” Sam looked up and blinked. “I think I remember . . .” He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go to the library. I need to look something up.”
***
Two hours later, Sam sat an old book of Hopi folklore on the desk in front of Chloe.
“You were close when you guessed that we might be dealing with an energy parasite. I think we might have a Powaqa on our hands.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow at that. “I’m not familiar with the term.”
“It’s a Hopi word. It means sorcerer: Someone who uses magic for selfish gain. Sort of the opposite of a shaman. According to these legends, the Powaqa gains the victim’s confidence by pretending to be helpful, then feeds off of the victim’s life force.”
“So then he’s getting into their heads, and using them up. When there’s nothing left, he disposes of them.”
“In a way that makes it look self-inflicted.” Sam set his jaw in a hard line. “And right now, he’s got Dean.”
“And Dean’s already close to the breaking point,” Chloe blanched. “How do we stop this Powaqa?”
Sam pulled out his dad’s journal. “Dad has a couple of old Anasazi shamanistic rituals in here. They’re designed to help you on the spirit walk. I think - I might be able to use them to push my abilities, and help us reach Dean.”
“Push your abilities? Like what Isaac was doing?”
“No,” Sam shook his head. “Isaac was boosting my abilities. This would be more like - overusing a muscle. I’m going to feel it in the morning, but right now, it would let us reach Dean.”
“You sure that’s a good idea, Sam?”
“No,” Sam shook his head. But I can’t think of a better one.” He pinned her with a serious look. “Chloe. It’s Dean.”
“I know,” she nodded. “Okay, assuming this works, and we are able to connect with Dean? Then what?”
Sam turned his attention back to the book in his hands. “Well, according to this, we’re going to be in a dream state. So we’ll be vulnerable to the Powaqa’s attack.”
“How is that going to help Dean?” Chloe asked.
“Because it’s his dream,” Sam said. “The Powaqa is only as powerful as Dean lets him be. And with three of us, it’s going to have to split its concentration while it tries to attack us all. So if we can reach Dean, and make him realize what’s happening, he can put the damn thing down himself.”
“What if we can’t convince him that we’re real?” Chloe tilted her head.
“Then we’re in really big trouble.”
Chloe shut her eyes. “Okay,” She nodded. Then she opened her eyes and looked at Sam. “Seeing as I don’t have a better plan, let’s do this.”