The Heart of Fate - NC17 - Chloe/Dean - Chapter Twenty-Eight
Title: The Heart of Fate
Category: Smallville/Supernatural
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama
Ship: Chloe/Dean
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: My Bloody Valentine, Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, Dark Side of the Moon, 99 Problems, Point of No Return, Hammer of the Gods, The Devil You Know (Season 5)
Word Count: 6,255
Summary: With a little help from Cupid, Dean gets exactly what he needs.
Previous: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Chapter Twenty-One, Chapter Twenty-Two, Chapter Twenty-Three, Chapter Twenty-Four, Chapter Twenty-Five, Chapter Twenty-Six, Chapter Twenty-Seven,
Made by the incredibly awesome: dhfreak
XXVIII.
Crowley's house was something right out of a horror movie. It was a dark, run-down house with a ramshackle appearance. The windows were broken or boarded over, the door hanging by its hinges, and the outside paint had long peeled away or been faded by the sun and time. She followed just behind Dean and in front of Sam, fairly sure that they thought she hadn't noticed how they sandwiched her, covering her back and front so she was less of a target.
"Here we are," Crowley said, looking around at his dreary surroundings. "My life on the lam... How the mighty have fallen." He pursed his lips. "Single-pane glass, used contraception in the fireplace…" Waving a hand, he lit a roaring fire.
Dean eyed the flames in slight surprise before reaching back to check on Chloe. Catching his hand, she held on, squeezing reassuringly.
"The water damage alone…" Crowley turned to face him.
"My heart's bleedin' for you," Dean muttered sarcastically. "Now how d'you know about the rings?"
"Well now…" He smirked, eyes falling. "I've been keeping a close eye on you lot."
"We got hex bags; we're hidden from demons," Sam argued.
"All but one." Crowley held up a finger for emphasis and then turned it back to himself. "That night you broke into my house, our first date, my valet hid a tracking device in your car. A magical coin that easily trumps your little bags of bones. It allows me to hear things too." His brows lifted. "And my, the things I've heard." He grinned. "Still haven't sealed the deal with your little lady, eh Deany?"
"What?" Sam asked, surprised.
Dean took a warning step toward Crowley, who held a hand up as if to ward him off.
Chloe tugged him back and lifted a brow at the demon as if to say, 'Get on with it already.'
"How do you stop yourself, Scrumptious?" he asked Chloe, eyeing Dean up.
"For someone who wants to play nice, you're not doing a great job," she told him, glaring.
He sighed, clasping his hands in front of him and cocking his head to the side. "So, you wanna cram the devil back in the box?" He smacked his lips. "Cunning scheme…" Face falling serious, he told them, "I want in."
Dean lifted his chin, staring thoughtfully. "You said you could get us Pestilence."
Eye falling, he inhaled sharply. "Well now…" Turning away, he admitted, "I don't know where Pestilence… is, per se." He motioned a finger around in the air before him. "But I do know the demon who does." Tucking his hands in his pockets, he turned back toward them. "He's what you might call the Horsemen's… stable boy." He shrugged. "He handles their itineraries, their… personal needs. He's who you want, believe me." His lips curled in a smile. "He'll tell us where Sneezy's at."
"Well, how do we get him to spill?" Dean asked, brows lifting. "Rip out his toenails?"
"No… Nuts at his pay-grade don't crack. You bring 'im here an' I sell 'im."
"Sell him?" Sam said, unconvinced.
"Please…" he scoffed arrogantly. "I've sold sin to saints for centuries. Think I can't close one little demon?"
He scowled back, jaw ticking.
"All right, so where's this demon of yours?" Dean asked.
…
Hours away, at Niveus Pharmaceuticals, a tall, handsome, and very angry Vice President of Distribution stood before a boardroom full of his teamsters.
"I don't wanna hear weeks, I wanna hear days!" he exclaimed.
Sitting forward, one man argued, "But the lab isn't finished testing yet."
He stared darkly at him. "You let me worry about the lab."
Startled, he said, "Sir, you're asking for distribution on an unprecedented scale."
Shoulders lifted, he argued, "Well, we have an unprecedented outbreak! The nation…" He picked up a newspaper for emphasis, "is terrified of Swine Flu!" Looking around at his workers, he said, "They want our vaccine, they need our vaccine! It's called demand, people, not supply!"
"We're doing our best," said the same argumentative young man.
Sharp eyes cut toward him as the man at the front said, "Oh, you're doing your best… you're doing your best… Well, then do the best of somebody better!" he snarled before slapping the newspaper against a man's chest before he walked out of the boardroom and returned to his office.
Not fifteen minutes later, the young man who'd spoken out was called into the boss's office to find him behind his laptop. He knocked awkwardly at the door. "You wanted to see me?"
Looking up from the screen, he said, "Mitchell, yes, come on in."
Hurrying in, Mitchell lifted a hand and immediately said, "Look, Mr. Brady," He smiled, "I know how important this is." He pressed a hand to his chest. "A-And I'm sorry if I s-s-"
Brady waved a hand. "No apologies." He shook his head. "Mitch… I need people like you."
He drew his head back in surprise, brows lifting. "Really?"
"Really!" He turned his chair to stand. "In fact, there is a position in communications that I think you," He pointed at him, "would be perfect for."
Mitch half-smiled. "Sounds great."
He came to a stop just to his left. "Is great." He reached for an antique looking silver bowl with faces, mid-scream, embellished all over it. "So what do you say, you ready to enter the cut-throat world of upper-management?"
Mitch nodded. "Awesome!"
Brady lifted a shaving knife just behind Mitch's far shoulder and grinned. "Awesome," he agreed before slicing Mitch's throat open and filling his chalice with the man's warm crimson blood.
As Mitch's limp, dead body hit the floor, he muttered, "Watch the shoes please."
When a guard came in to clean up, dragging Mitch's body away and leaving a bloody trail along the floor, Brady retook his seat and told him, "Get the rest later, thanks."
Looking up, the guard's eyes a demon black, he simply nodded and continued pulling Mitch away by his feet.
As the door closed, Brady leaned forward, face hovering just above the bowl of fresh blood and took a deep breath before chanting in Latin, the lights flashing around him. He watched keenly as a bubble formed in the center and from it burst a fly. Eyes black with demonic satisfaction, he greeted, "Sir… great news on the vaccine trials, the result have been… really quite grotesque. I think you'll be pleased." A second fly bubbled out. "How soon? Distribution of this scale, I mean, we do need some humans, we can't possess them all." He grinned, sitting back in his chair. "And don't even get me started on the teamsters." He laughed but stopped short as the buzzing of the flies around him increased. Swallowing tightly, he nodded. "I know. I'm doing my best." His chin fell as he listened. "Yes sir… The best of someone better." The blood bubbled once more and he licked his lips. "I will, of course." The buzzing stopped suddenly, the lights falling dim and Brady's eyes returned to his vessels' original blue. Staring darkly out into the office, he frowned.
There was no time to think of how he'd disappointed Pestilence, he had work to do.
…
Chloe sat at the table, helping the boys fill their guns and ready to pick up the demon Crowley said held the answer they were looking for. She could tell Sam was agitated; he didn't trust Crowley at all and he couldn't understand why Dean was. She knew what happened; Dean had told her at length about Jo and Ellen and their loss when they'd been trapped in a town empty of humans but full of demons and hellhounds. Though she didn't know either women, she wasn't about to put her trust in Crowley. From what she'd learned, demons would say or do anything as long as it got them what they wanted.
"Why are we even listening to him, Dean?" Sam frowned. "This is totally insane."
"I don't disagree."
"They why are we going along?" Chloe wondered.
"Because we're low on leads and if this gets us what we need, we'll just have to play ball."
"And if it gets us killed?" Sam asked, brows lifted.
He shrugged. "We'll probably be sent right back."
"Yeah, two out of three, at best," he sighed.
Dean glanced at Chloe and frowned. "Look, nobody's gettin' killed, all right?" He lifted a brow and then rectified, "Well, maybe a demon or dozen, but none of us." He looked between them. "Okay?"
Sam and Chloe exchanged a look, not quite convinced.
Crowley clapped his hands behind them, drawing their attention. "One big happy family are we then? Fantastic."
Dean pursed his lips, lifting his brows. "You ready to go?"
"Yes, yes, I am…" He stepped into the room. "Sam, keep the home fire burning."
Dean looked up, surprised. "What're you talkin' about?"
"Sam's not coming," Crowley said simply.
"And why the hell not?" Sam demanded.
"Because I don't like you…" He stepped toward him, waving a hand in the air. "I don't trust you and… Oh yes, you keep trying to kill me."
"Not without reason," Chloe muttered.
"There's no damn way. This isn't gonna happen!" Sam snarled.
"I'm not asking you, am I? 'Cause you're not invited." He turned a smirk on Dean, pointing at him. "I'm asking you. What's it gonna be?"
Sam stared at him and then turned back to Dean, who looked at him and then thinned his eyes determinedly.
Crowley scoffed. "Enjoy your last few sunsets." He turned to walk away.
"Wait," Chloe intervened. "I'll stay here with Sam…"
"What? No," Dean told her, jaw ticking.
"Hey, you're the one who's always saying I should stay behind." She shrugged. "So this time I will."
Circling the table, he took her arm and dragged her away a few feet. "Chloe…"
"Do you believe him?" she asked, staring at him searchingly.
He glanced from her to Sam, who was frowning and then to bored-looking Crowley waiting.
He frowned. "Yeah… I do." He shook his head. "Not that he's given me any good reason."
"Then go," she said, half-smiling. Taking his face in her hands, she stared into his eyes reassuringly. "Sam and I will be here when you get back."
Lips pursed as if he wanted to argue, he told her sternly, "If there's a problem…"
She grinned. "We've got it."
Jaw ticking, he licked the inside of his lip and shook his head. Finally, he bent down and kissed her quick but thoroughly before he cleared his throat and walked back to the table. Grabbing up his bag, full of guns and ammo, Dean shucked it over his shoulder and walked toward Crowley.
"Dean?" Sam argued.
"This is important…" he sighed. "Take care of her."
He frowned, but nodded. "Yeah."
They watched as Dean followed Crowley out the door.
Arms crossed over his chest, Sam glared after them. "He'll be out there alone now, you know?"
"He can handle himself," she assured, tucking her hands in her pockets.
"Yeah?" He scoffed. "And what makes you so sure?"
Turning, she stared up at him. "What makes you so unsure?"
As the tires of the Impala squealed away from the house, Sam walked over and took a seat in front of the fire, dragging out a bottle of whiskey and sitting to brood by himself.
Rolling her eyes, Chloe left him to it, instead walking over to check the leftover guns, making sure they were all locked and loaded for when Crowley's demon came by for his interrogation.
…
Sam knocked back the bottle, glaring down at the floor. "And then…" He sighed. "Dean just walks… Right out the door, with Crowley."
On the other line of the phone, Bobby took a drag of his own drink. "And Chloe?"
"She's here, with me… Like my babysitter."
He rolled his eyes before sighing, "Well, look Sam… I got no love for demons and yeah, this whole thing is crazy but… I dunno. Maybe after a year of chasin' up zilch maybe it's time to go crazy."
He snorted. "Yeah, maybe…" Dragging in a long breath, he turned his eyes upward thoughtfully. "Hey, Bobby…"
"Yeah?"
"Remember that time you were possessed?"
"Yeah… Rings a bell," he muttered sarcastically.
"When Meg told you to kill Dean, you didn't. You took your body back." His eyes moved searchingly.
"Just long enough to shank myself, yeah."
"Well…" He shifted out of his seat to stand. "How'd you do it? I mean how'd you take back the wheel?"
Bobby's eyes narrowed. Leaning forward, he rested his elbow on the desk in front of him. "Why're you askin', Sam?"
Taking a long drag, he smacked his lips. "Say… we can open the cage, great. But then what? W-We just lead the devil to the edge and get him to jump in?"
Chloe looked up from her seat at the table, eyes narrowed as she stared up at the half-drunk Sam in front of her.
He stared down at her, coming to a halt.
"You got me," Bobby replied.
"What if you guys lead the devil to the edge and I jump in," he suggested, speaking as much to Bobby as he was Chloe.
Her eyes widened in knowing.
"Sam," Bobby and she said simultaneously, with her standing from her chair in argument, hand gripping the edge of the table.
"It'll be just like when you turned the knife around on yourself," he said. "One action. Just one leap!"
"Are you idjits tryin' to kill me?" Bobby yelled back through grit teeth.
"Bobby…" He turned his head away.
"We just got done talkin' your brother off the ledge and you're linin' up to say yes?"
"It's not like that." He turned back toward her, eyes searching hers. "I'm not gonna do it. Not unless we all agree. But I think we gotta look at our options."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "This isn't an option, Sam."
"Why not?" he argued, lifting a brow.
"You can't do it! What I did was… a million to one! And that was some piss-ant demon I was brain-wrestlin'. You're talkin' about takin' back control from Satan himself!"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am," he said, unenthused.
Sighing, Bobby shook his head. "Kid… It's called possession for a reason. You of all people oughtta know."
His expression firmed, though not even he looked sure. "I'm strong enough."
"You ain't." His brows fell heavy over his eyes. "He's gonna find every chink in your armor, Sam, and use it against ya. Your fear, your grief, your anger and let's face it, you're not exactly Mr. Anger Management. How are you gonna control the devil when you can't control yourself?"
Sam's eyes fell as he sighed.
"I just want you to think about this…"
"I know… And I am."
"I mean really think, Sam. This ain't somethin' you can just walk away from later on."
"I know, Bobby." He closed his eyes, rubbing his brows.
"Okay."
Looking away, they muttered strained goodbyes and hung up.
"Suppose you want to bite my head off now, too," he said with a forced chuckle, looking at Chloe.
Staring up at him, she bit her lip. "Sam… There is nothing I can say that will make any more sense than what Bobby just said."
His brows furrowed with surprise.
Standing, she walked toward him. "So all I'm going to say is this…" She swallowed tightly. "If you do this and it backfires somehow… I'll keep my promise."
His expression softened. "Thank you."
"And if it doesn't backfire…" She grinned slowly. "I get the front seat for a month straight."
He scoffed. "I might stop the apocalypse and you would put me through that discomfort?"
"Hey, you're planning on ditching me in favor of playing Lucifer's much better looking meatsuit."
He rolled his eyes. "You'll have Dean."
"I'll have a distraught, worried, overwhelmed Dean Winchester on my hands…" She cocked a brow. "Now who's suffering?"
He shook his head, sighing under his breath. "Thanks."
"Hey, this doesn't mean I agree with you… Part of me really wants to talk you out of this." She stared up at him seriously. "It just means that I… support you… in whatever you decide to do."
Staring at her a long moment, he finally reached out and dragged her toward him, hugging her tight.
"Oh," she said, surprised, before wrapping her arms around him in a tentative hug.
He didn't smell quite like Dean, and he didn't feel like him either. He rather reminded her of Clark, the big bear hugs of a best friend. He was so tall and wide and muscular that she felt incredibly petite swamped by his frame. But there was something comforting, soothing even, from a Sam Winchester hug. And there was acceptance there, for the first time since the very beginning. And this wasn't just him accepting that she and Dean were pretty much in it for the long haul, but something else, something deeper. As if he was accepting her into his life and not just as an extension of his brother.
"Y'know, married to my brother or not…" he told he quietly. "You're already family."
Eyes warm with appreciative tears, she hugged him tighter. And that, right there, solidified his place in her life just as much as it did her in his. Sniffling, she said, "I've never had a brother."
"You do now," he said with a slight chuckle.
It was worth it then. His disapproval and suspicion in the beginning and his lack of trust. Everything they all went through up until that moment was worth all the pain and sadness just to know that she now had them both. Dean wouldn't turn his back on her and neither would Sam. She closed her eyes tight and did her best not to cry. Because as strong as she'd been, up until that moment, she'd still been met with some suspicion and second-guessing.
And really, she only had one question, "I don't have to join in on the prank wars, do I?"
Laughing, he drew back. "Only if you want to."
She narrowed her eyes, smiling. "Trust me, I am not someone you want to prank or be pranked by."
He grinned. "We'll see."
Stepping back, she motioned to the guns. "You too drunk to help me get these ready?"
"I'm not drunk, I'm buzzed." Swaying slightly he cleared his throat. "Really, really buzzed."
Snorting, she moved all of the sensitive artillery out of his reach.
He grabbed up a .45 and checked the chamber. "I got this."
She cocked a brow. "Just aim away."
He rolled his eyes, but listened.
…
Sitting in the Impala, just outside Nevius Pharmaceutical Company, Dean stared into the front office on the first floor through binoculars. "Demons," he decided, watching the people move about.
"Nah, human-shields. The demons are up top. Twelfth floor," Crowley told him.
He looked back, eyed the building and sighed, "All right then. We'll have to find a way in through the back." He frowned, putting his binoculars away.
"You Winchesters have to make everything so complicated," he muttered.
He screwed up his face, glanced away and when he turned back Crowley was gone. "Ah crap." Turning his attention back to the building, he lifted his binoculars quickly, only to see Crowley inside, standing behind an unknowing guard, and waving at him, a knife in hand. Watching as he sliced open the guard's throat, he said, "Oh crap!" Tossing his binoculars away, he struggled to get the door open. "Oh crap! Oh crap!" Racing to the front door, he slammed his hand against it to get Crowley's attention.
"Door's open," the demon called back.
Hurrying inside, he slowed when he saw the now dead bodies of the two guards; one sprawled in a chair while the other lay across the floor. He lifted his arms out from his sides questioningly, staring at Crowley with wide eyes.
Wiping his blade off, he asked, "What?"
Looking down at the guy on the floor, he shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly as if hoping what he was seeing would change somehow. "You killed them?"
Frowning, Crowley rolled his eyes, tucked his blade away and walked toward him. Stepping over a body, looking irritated it was in his way, he told Dean, "We're on a tight schedule." Dragging him away, he added, "Come on."
Dean looked back, mouth ajar.
"Now you're squeamish? Please…" the demon mocked.
Leading Dean to the elevator, he reached in and pushed the number 12 before standing back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and telling him, "Got get 'em, Tiger."
"Wh-" Reaching out, Dean stopped the elevator door from closing and stared at Crowley questioningly. "You're not coming?"
"No." He shook his head. "It's not safe up there. There's demons."
"Yeah." His brows rose for sarcastic emphasis. "I get that."
"Look, just do what I told you…"
Dean stared back at him like he was a moron, his brows pinched.
"And try to be convincing," Crowley encouraged, waving a hand. "It'll work like a charm." He shoved Dean back into the elevator. "Trust me."
Grinning at him smugly through the elevator window, he wiggled his hand in goodbye and Dean looked up and then shook his head. Taking out the demon-killing knife, he looked it over and sighed. Hell, he knew this wasn't going to turn out well for him.
…
Sam may have been buzzed before, but now she was fairly sure he was somewhere past three sheets to the wind. There wasn't much to do while they waited and apparently he thought drinking would help make the time pass. She disagreed and stayed firmly away from all liquids. This was her first demon interrogation and she didn't want to do anything wrong. Any excitement over the fact had dulled with the hours that passed, however.
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Seriously? Something brown? All this house is is dilapidated wood and dusty, broken windows."
"Which makes this all the more challenging," Sam replied, leaning back in his chair. "So… I spy something that is brown. Go."
Sighing dramatically, she sat back. "The wall."
"Which one?"
"That one," she said, pointing to her left.
"Nope."
"Okay…" She sighed. "The one on my other side."
"Nope."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is it any wall?"
He grinned. "Nope."
"Sam!"
Chuckling, he lifted his shoulders. "Try again."
"The floor?"
Still a little tipsy but in a much better mood, Sam shook his head. "Mmm, no."
"Okay…" Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her coat, she looked around. "Is it… the rug?"
"Which rug?"
She pursed her lips. "Is the like the, 'Which walls?' thing?"
He only smiled back.
She rolled her eyes. "Do you even remember what you spied?"
He blinked, head turned to one side.
"Note to self… Sam gets forgetful when drunk."
"Buzzed," he corrected, frowning.
"Fine, buzzed…" Although she didn't agree in the least. "And act's like a six year old."
"I'll have you know…" He lifted a finger to make a point but his brows furrowed. "Never mind."
"You forgot, didn't you?" she asked, smiling knowingly.
He glared back at her. "Sisters suck."
She snorted. "Insightful."
"Bite me."
Shaking her head, she looked around. "Point goes to me since you can't remember what you spied. My turn… I spy with my little eye…" She stared at him thoughtfully. "Something that is… drunk."
"Har, har," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Nope. Try again."
He chuckled under his breath. "So is this what you and Dean have been doing all those times I thought you were…" He made a weird motion with his hands, trying and failing to imitate sex.
She cocked a brow. "And I thought that would be the one subject you'd avoid like the plague."
His brows rose high for emphasis. "I'm chasing the plague, remember?"
Turning her eyes up in thought, Pestilence came to mind and she had to shrug agreeably. "Right… Still, it's not like you to bring up my and Dean's sex life-"
"You mean lack of," he interrupted.
She pursed her lips. "You really want to get into this?"
He blinked, paused a long moment to think it over and then decided, "Mmm… No."
"Good. Back to safer subjects… I spy with my little eye something that is… flickering."
"Fire!" he exclaimed excitably, pointing at it.
"And the six-year-old gets it."
Sticking his tongue out at her, he grabbed up his bottle of liquor, only to find it empty.
"I'm gonna call Dean," she decided. "And tell him to bring a whole lot of coffee back with him."
…
After taking out the demons guarding who he was looking for, Dean looked up to see a pair of double doors open, an unenthused blond man sitting behind a table, staring back at him. "Dean Winchester…" He looked down at the demon dead at his feet. "What? No appointment?" he sneered.
Knife in hand, he stepped over the body and walked into the office, eyes darting suspiciously. "Kinda an eleventh hour thing, y'know…"
"Well then, you're just on time," he said.
Dean turned quickly, startled when the doors behind him closed. He was really starting to hate the powers these assholes had.
"Have a seat," the man told him, waving a finger and turning the chair in his direction. "How's your brother?" he wondered, his eyes set on the laptop in front of him, seeming completely at ease.
Dean tucked his knife away in his shirt and crossed to take a seat.
Looking up the demon in question stared at Dean's serious expression. "Well, down to business then." With a snide smile, he closed the laptop. Clasping his hands on the desk, he leaned forward and asked, "What can I do for you?"
"Actually it's about what I can do for you," Dean replied.
Still mocking, he asked, "Really?"
"Me and Sam dropped two of your jockeys, I think you know that." He smirked.
"Yes! I got the memo."
"Well, we kept their, uh, secret power rings… Which is why I'm here. I heard some folks sayin' that you wanted them back. And you were willing to pay?" He screwed his brows up questioningly.
"Hmm." He sat back, lifting a hand to his mouth. "Where are they?"
"Not here. But you want 'em, you come with me, nice and civil. Get outta your little batcave here. Discuss a transaction."
Looking away, he lifted a shoulder and then asked, "Who says I want them?"
Dean stared. "What?"
Shit. The only thing to go through his mind then was that Crowley had fucked him over and somewhere Sam was waiting to say 'I told you so!'
"Who. Says. I want them?"
Swallowing tightly, he stumbled, "Y'know…" He shook his head. "Folks."
Smirking, his head cocked, he stared at him darkly.
Dean smiled awkwardly.
"See…" He cleared his throat, readjusting his coat as he sat forward once more. "War and Famine…" He rose from his seat, walking slowly around his table. "Even if I could cram the rings back on their bony fingers, I doubt it would do much good." He sat down at the edge of his desk in front of Dean. "They're withered husks right now, fetal position on the floor. All thanks to you…" He grinned, staring down at him. "So I don't want the rings… What I want is retribution. And I'm gonna rip it right out of your ass!" He grinned at him sadistically and Dean could only stare up, eyes slightly wide with understanding.
Seconds later, he was thrown through the same doors he entered through, lying on the ground in a pained heap.
"This is… so good…" the bastard said behind him.
Managing to get up onto his hands and knees, he struggled to stand, only to have the bastard demon kick him in the stomach.
"Therapeutic for sure. Y'know, Dean… I really owe ya one buddy, 'cause I feel so," He kicked him hard in the gut again, "loose," and again and again until he was laid out on his back, cringing. Letting out an appreciative sigh, the demon ran a hand through his hair.
Groaning, Dean rolled onto his side and blinked, trying to get his senses back.
For once, he wished he hadn't been right about how this was going to end up.
…
"You're officially cut off," Chloe told him, taking the bottle he'd recently found from his reaching hand.
"Hey," Sam whined. "Just one more?"
She rolled her eyes. "No. And for the record, you're depressed enough without adding alcohol to the mix."
"Well you would be too if you were thinking of being Lucifer's personal meatsuit!"
Sighing, she sat down across from him. "There is nothing that says you have to do this. If you're having second thoughts, if you'd rather just put the idea on the backburner for as long as possible, fine. Do that! But beating yourself up and being a miserable drunk is not helping the situation."
"Can't I have just one night of melancholy?" he sighed.
Reaching out, she took his hand and squeezed. "Sam… I'm not even sure we have one hour to sacrifice right now. So, look…" She frowned apologetically. "I can't write all these demon symbols on my lonesome and I'd rather you keep an eye on me to make sure I don't screw up something vital and let the guy get free because of my newbie status…" She lifted a brow. "Think you can supervise me, Big Guy?"
He sighed, shoulders slouching, but then nodded. Standing, he swayed a bit. "Hey Chloe?"
"Yeah?"
"I lied."
Her brows furrowed. "About what?"
"I'm not buzzed…" He shook his head swiftly. "I'm really, really drunk."
She snorted. "I know."
"Hey Chloe?" he repeated.
She smiled. "Yes?"
"I spy something really…" He burped, his face screwing up.
"You're gonna puke, aren't you?"
He nodded. "Just a lot…" Running past her, he hurried toward the bathroom.
Sighing, Chloe rolled her eyes. And the night just got interesting… in a really unfortunate way.
…
Managing to get to the elevator, Dean jammed his hand against the button to get it to open.
"Dean…!" the demon exclaimed. "Dean, come on now… Where ya goin'?"
Bleeding from his head and mouth, he hit the button to get back down to the first floor and leaned back against the wall, taking a long, deep breath. His ribs were aching and he winced as he crossed the elevator, reaching for the side-railing to help himself stand straight. As the bell dinged and the door opened, he stepped out warily, eyes darting, suspicious of where the demon might be hiding. Stepping out a few feet, he looked side to side, unaware of the demon at his back. Slamming his fist into Dean's shoulder he set him flying.
Teeth clenched, Dean slid across the floor, rolling onto his side and struggling to get up.
"Good meeting, Dean, y'know? I'm excited!"
Dean looked up, eyes wide, and watched as a brown bag was thrown over the demon's head, a devil's trap painted on the face of it. Crowley slammed a crowbar hard against the demon's head and knocked him to his knees. "Evening Uncle," he said before drawing his arm up and bringing the crowbar down on the demon once, twice, seven times, until he was laid out on the ground, facedown, bleeding from his head.
Staring at him, Dean sat up.
Crowley grinned back at him.
Standing, he said, "What the hell was that?"
"That was perfect."
He glared back, brows furrowed. "Perfect?" His breath strained with anger. "He didn't want the rings, he wanted me!"
Crowley waved the crowbar knowingly. "Imagine the surprise on your face."
"What?" His brows screwed up.
"Your ignorance and misinformation; I mean it's completely authentic." He shrugged. "You can't fake that."
Dean's jaw clenched.
"What? It went like clockwork."
"Not for me, you sonuvabitch!"
His brows rose, uncaring. "That's what you get," he said, waving his crowbar at him, "workin' with a demon." He smiled in a what-can-you-do fashion and shrugged.
Dean thought he might just let his brother gank the ass when this was all over.
…
Chloe knocked on the bathroom door. "Sam…? How ya feeling?"
"Like crap…" he moaned, voice sounding hollow thanks to the room acting as an echo chamber. "Crap that's been run over…"
She frowned in sympathy. "I can ask Dean to bring some ginger ale." She muttered to herself, "If he ever picks up…" before saying louder, "It might settle your stomach."
He sighed. "I feel like a four year old, whining to mom."
Smiling to herself, she shook her head. "Is it so bad to let someone else take care of you?"
"No, but Dean might kill me." Groaning, he muttered, "Which I might appreciate right about now."
She rolled her eyes. "I didn't know you were such a light weight."
He scoffed. "I'm not… I drank too fast… and I haven't eaten in awhile… And leave me alone!"
She snorted. "Baby."
"I heard that!"
"You were supposed to."
"I thought you were being nice to me…" he pouted.
"I was… 'Til you played the Dean-is-jealous card."
"He is!"
"Do you want a ginger-ale of not?" she sighed.
He mumbled something.
"Well?"
"Yes… And some crackers."
"You want chicken noodle soup, too, Little Man?" she teased.
"I'm never drinking again…" he groaned.
"Mmhmm."
Rolling her eyes, she stepped back from the door and dialed Dean's cell.
…
Wiping the blood from his face, Dean screwed up his face, eyes darting from the road to the rearview mirror where he watched as Crowley carved a sigil into the demon's chest.
"Hey, Hot Stuff, watch the upholstery," he told him, frowning.
"Up yours, mate," he replied simply. "This bear carving'll tie our friend here down. No zapping off, no smokin' out, locked in the meatsuit. An important piece of our bargaining strategy."
Dean stared back at him.
"Now, up here," He motioned to the highway ahead of them, "We don't want I-50. Take 93 North."
His brows cocked. "What're you talkin' about?"
"Look, we can't take this guy back to your brother."
He glanced back at him. "Why the hell not?"
Crowley refused to reply.
"Crowley!" Dean growled impatiently.
"They've got history." His brows rose. "All right?"
Pursing his lips, Dean hit the break and forced the Impala to a jarring stop. Arm tossed over the seat, he turned back. "You wanna go anywhere, you start talkin'."
He stared back at him.
"What history?" he demanded.
…
An hour later, Dean's cell rang. Noticing Chloe's number, his jaw ticked. Chest blooming with automatic worry, he flipped his phone open and asked, "You okay?"
"Fine," she replied, in a voice that said he worried too much. "Look, I don't know how close or far you are, but could you pick up a few things?"
His brows furrowed. "Like what?" He paused warily. "I don't have to make a tampon run, do I? 'Cause you should just get Sammy to do that."
She snorted. "No, Dean… There are no tampons involved. And Sam is… slightly incapacitated."
Immediately, the worst of scenarios started running through his mind. Whether it was a set-up and Crowley's place had been hit, his brother hurt and Chloe in trouble. "What?"
"He's not feeling well… As in, could you pick up ginger-ale for him, please?"
He rolled his eyes upward, almost laughing at how non-life-threatening the situation was. "You're serious?"
"And crackers!" Sam's voice called out in the background.
"Oh, yeah, and some crackers."
"Chloe…" he sighed.
"You do this and you don't have to buy me tampons for a year," she offered. "I won't even mention the word tampons."
He frowned, considering it. "Fine…"
"Thank you," she said brightly. "So? How close are you?"
"Close." He glanced back at Crowley sitting next to the still unconscious demon. "Listen, I want you to be prepared…"
"For what?" Her voice had thickened with seriousness.
"This demon that's coming with… He and Sam have history and… It could get hairy."
"What kind of history?"
Dragging a hand down his face, he sighed. "The real bad kind."
Somehow, he knew she was chewing her lip. Heat flooded down his back and spread like stroking fingers. Suddenly, he wanted to be there, to see her, to reach out and soothe his thumb across her mouth.
"Dean?"
"Huh?" He blinked rapidly. "Uh, what?"
She chuckled lightly. "Try to pay attention…"
He shifted in his seat. "'m all ears."
"You've got this demon under control, right?" she worried, lowering her voice. "He's not… He won't be able to hurt Sam, will he?"
"No, no…" He sighed thickly. "It's Sam killin' the demon I'm worried about."
She scoffed. "Right now, he couldn't wrestle a teddy bear."
"I heard that!" Sam whined in the background.
"Go lay back down!"
"Yes, mother…"
"He is so crabby when he's not feeling well," she muttered.
Dean found himself grinning. "All right, we should be there in a few hours, maybe more thanks to Sammy's stomach issues."
"'Kay. I'll see you then. Love you."
"Love you, too." Hanging up, he dropped his cell to the side and caught Crowley's amused expression. "What?" he growled, glaring.
"The missus send you out for some milk?" he mocked.
Rolling his eyes, he pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder.
The sooner this was over with, the sooner he could get away from Crowley's smug face.
[Next: Chapter XXIX.]