Stuck With You - NC17 - Chloe/Dean - Part 2/5
Title: Stuck With You
Category: Smallville/Supernatural [Crossover]
Rating: NC17
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama
Pairing: Chloe/Dean
Summary: Love at first confinement.
Previous: Part I - First Meetings,
Stuck With You
2/5
II - We Meet Again
Dean's back collided sharply with the dilapidated wood, but before he could get his bearings, it cracked beneath him and the full weight of his body crashed through the wall and onto a dusty floor behind it. His eyes widened and he looked around the room, noticing the large hole in the floor behind him. He let out a faint chuckle, grinning slightly at his luck. Just another foot or so and he would've been down the rabbit hole to God knows where. His smirk faded at the first creak however and seconds later the floor too gave out, before he could even pull himself up. He fell through, debris and dust flying around him. He batted his arms out at it, coughing to get the tickle from his throat. The ground wasn't nearly as far as he thought it'd be. His arm hooked around a pipe sticking out of the side on impulse and he dangled above the cement floor, breathing harshly. It was about three feet beneath his heavy boots and after looking up to see there was no way he was getting out through the top, he let go and fell into a crouch on the floor.
He looked around carefully, body tensed with suspicion, eyes thinned. The pissed ghost-chick upstairs was probably battling it out with his brother now. He stood up slowly, examining his surroundings. It looked like a basement, all cement and old pipes. He pulled the flashlight from his pocket, shining it all over, looking for stairs or a way out. He nearly tripped on a shoe and his brow furrowed as he looked down to find a woman's high heeled boot. There was a pattern in the dust, footsteps, well at least one foot, the other looked like it'd been dragged beside it. He followed the trail, pulled his gun out slowly, head tipped to the side, brows furrowed, lips pursed. And then he heard it; a very tiny noise, muttering under their breath. He pulled the safety off his gun and turned light up until it found the very end of a foot. He drew it upward, over a small, curvy body to the top of her blonde head. She glared back at him.
"Blinded here," she reminded, annoyed.
He lowered the gun. He knew that voice. He let the flash fall lower so she was only highlighted by the beam, rather than taking it full force in the eyes. "Watchtower?" he said, surprised. "Uh... What are you doin' here?"
"Currently I'm nursing a sprained ankle on a basement floor," she snarked. "You?"
"Chasing a poltergeist," he replied with a shrug.
"So it's true then," she said, using her arms to lift her up a little, getting more comfortable leaning against the cement wall. She smiled slightly. "I heard from a few of the locals, thought I'd check it out."
He shook his head. "It's that thought process that has us coming from various states to stop murderous ghosts from killing off entire towns."
She snorted. "I'm not some half-drunk teenager coming here to get my rocks off, thanks. I was armed."
"Regular guns and daggers don't do much, sweetheart."
She glared at him witheringly. "Yeah, I was there for your little Hunting101 class, remember?" She lifted a brow, daring him to snark her back. "With a whole lot of research, I made sure I had what I'd need."
"If you had what you needed, what are you doin' down here?"
"Hey, I'm not the only one down here, buddy! And I just so happened to piss her off a little. I didn't see her, but I definitely felt the shove she gave me into Alice's tunnel to hell," she muttered bitterly.
"That how you messed up your ankle?" he asked, motioning down to it.
She winced, looking down at the bootless foot. "My landing wasn't quite as stealthy as I'd hoped."
He nodded, bending down beside her foot. "You seen any way out of here?" he wondered.
"You mean the bright red exit sign I ignored to happily sit on the floor? Yeah, of course!"
He rolled his eyes. "Are you always this mouthy to guys who haven't done anything to you?"
She sighed. "Sorry, I just... It hurts," she said, motioning down to her foot.
His brows furrowed. "What about that healing ability of yours?"
"I can't really use it on myself. I can heal others, but I can't seem to find the ‘heal self' button." She shrugged. "I've only ever really used it in high-risk situations where it was live or die."
He nodded. "That sucks," he said, lifting her foot and putting it carefully into the palm of his hand. It was tiny; slim and soft which was nothing like his feet. She painted her toenails too; pink. Feminine and pretty against her pale white skin. He shook his head; telling himself to stop thinking like a girl; he wasn't Sam for crapsakes! He felt around her ankle; he'd had enough sprains and broken bones to know which was which. "This hurt?" he asked, squeezing lightly.
"Slightly," she said, her face scrunched up in anticipation of pain.
He licked his lips, looking back down. His thumb stroked her ankle; there wasn't too much swelling and with some ice and a couple days of rest, she'd be fine. He didn't let go right away though. His mind wandered on him, eyes still set on the small foot in his hand, on the light bruising of her flesh. It hadn't been so long ago that they'd both been locked away in a room, stuck together for hours. And he'd thought about her more than once since then; in between killing demons and arguing with Sam over which fast food joint they should go to or which crappy motel was less, well, crappy. She'd been intriguing, in a world where very little surprised him. He'd enjoyed bantering with her; having her volley sarcastic remarks back at him just as quick, giving as good as she got. And he had looked around for her, but then "Watchtower" wasn't exactly the type of name Google brought up with definitive answers.
He looked into her League though; they were a little easier to find out about. She kept to the background, he found out. She wasn't the most well known in her circle and he understood why given she used to be an investigative reporter and likely made sure that whatever happened, she was always overlooked. But then... she said she was getting out of the superhero business and yet here she was. Sadly, without the black leather.
"So you here alone or did you bring back up this time?" he asked her. When he took his coat off and set it on the floor to cradle her foot, he told himself it was just logical, just a natural reaction from someone who was used to taking care of others, used to saving people.
"No backup," she murmured, hands running up and down her thigh, staring at her ankle as if she wished she could just pop it back in place, shake it off and get back to work. He knew that feeling all too well.
"So you just..." He shook his head slowly, "Thought you'd check out some random haunted place?" He lifted a brow. "Lemme guess, you were in the neighborhood."
She snorted, looking up at him with an amused grin. "I've been traveling," she admitted with a shrug. "My old instincts kicked in when I heard about a bunch of local kids disappearing after a visit to the local haunt." She licked her lips, eyes falling. "Can I help it if the itch of curiosity isn't easily scratched?"
He sighed, moving to sit next to her. His eyes scanned around the room; there were no exits. No windows, no stairs, no doors. As far as he could tell, the basement had been entirely cut off from the regular house. If they wanted out, they'd need Sam. And given that his brother was currently battling it out with Casper the Psycho Bitch, they were going to have to wait. He wasn't about to distract him with nobody there to watch his back. His brother was capable and they already had the plan figured out; it wasn't so hard to get rid of this one. She just so happened to get the drop on him before he could do his part. But Sam would figure it out; he was boy college after all.
"Traveling, huh? So you really gave up the leather?" He lifted a brow at her.
She snorted. "I kept the suit, I just gave up what it represented... sort of." She sighed, lifting her hands to tuck her hair behind her ears.
"Sort of...?" He asked.
"Well, I still believe in what they're doing. And... If they ever needed me, I'd be there for them, but..." She licked her lips, brows furrowing as she stared out into the dark basement. "You ever just feel like... you're there but not. Like..." She smiled slightly, embarrassed. "I don't know what I'm talking about," she admitted with a slight chuckle. "I was just lost working with them. I believed and I helped but I didn't feel like I was meant to be there. So now I've left and I'm... wandering aimlessly. Not really much of a change." She shook her head, lips quirked at the corners.
"My life was decided for me when I was..." He shook his head. "Four."
She looked over at him, face slightly lit up by his flashlight.
He swallowed tightly. "My mom..." He cleared his throat as it tightened. "She was killed by a, uh, demon." He nodded. "Whole house lit up on fire, dad gave me my little brother, told me to get out, to save him and myself." He licked his dry lips. "My dad, he... He became a little obsessed, I guess. Had to find what killed her, get rid of it. But, uh, it was never really that easy." He glanced at her and then looked away. "Along the way, he became a hunter of anything and everything evil." He lifted a shoulder, trying to look indifferent. "And we were along for the ride, you know? He taught us how to hunt; made sure we know that all those nightmares were real... And by the time I was old enough to shoot straight, I was going along with him."
"Did you want to?" she wondered.
"Hell, I didn't know anything different," he admitted with a hollow laugh. "I liked knowing that what I was hunting and killing, it was all another step closer to getting whatever killed my mom." He shrugged. "Felt like I was doing something. Like I was making her proud, I guess."
"And now?"
He didn't reply right away. What did he feel about the job now? "I could use a vacation," he said with a small chuckle. He sighed, shaking his head. "Seems like no matter how many of ‘em I kill, there's always another, waiting in the wings. And... It just never gets easier or better or..." He sighed, glaring out at nothing. "The demon that killed my mom is dead... I made sure of that. But... my fight isn't over. It never is." He frowned, running a hand over his face. "It's not like I'm not accomplishing something. All those people... They're alive and they'll stay that way for awhile. But some days... I just wish I could open up my own mechanic shop and just... become oblivious. Forget everything I know, everything I learned and just... Fuck ‘em. You know? Fuck all of it."
She nodded. "So why don't you?"
He looked at her; and he could see in her eyes she already knew the answer. Just like he did. "Because I can't turn my back on all those people... They're innocent. They didn't do anything wrong. They're just... in the crosshairs." He shrugged, clearing his throat.
"You're a good man," she murmured.
He didn't look at her, instead staring at the ground. "Yeah..." he grunted. "I have my days."
He felt her fingers lightly graze his temple, her touch oddly comforting. She stroked back and forth, her touch feathering over his hair in a light caress, barely there but the focal point of his entire attention.
"I've known a lot of heroes," she said softly. "And trust me when I tell you that they've all had their days... Moments where they want to give up. Put away the leather outfit or the geeky glasses disguise and just become a normal person. But... They never do. Or if they've tried, it doesn't work out." She shrugged. "You are what you are and it's not going to change."
"Why?" he asked, turning his eyes toward her. He hadn't realized he sounded like he was pleading with her; like he was asking her to give him a way out, a way to go back and change history. "Why can't I just... walk away?"
She stared at him, her green eyes soft. She licked her lips, her fingers trailing lower, down his cheek and along his jaw. "Because you're a hero, Dean." She shook her head. "And as much as you want to drown out people's cries of help, you can't." She smiled slightly, soothingly. "You're always going to hear them; you're always going to help. Because it's who you are... Who you were meant to be." She ran the back of her knuckles over his cheek, skimming just beneath his eye. "Deep down you know that. It's why you haven't walked away yet. Because you know you'll just come back."
He sighed, jaw clenching, and nodded. "Yeah... Plus, you know, I wouldn't meet hot leather-totin' heroes if I was Joe Average."
She grinned, lifting a shoulder. "Probably not."
"Hey... Didn't you say something about telling me how you got that outfit off the next time we were stuck like this?" he asked, brows furrowing as he turned toward her.
She sighed, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling. "What did I ever do to you?" she asked. He assumed she was talking to the ‘big guy' upstairs... and he didn't mean his brother. She looked back at him. "You know most guys offer up dinner and a movie, but you go straight for the bedroom, huh?"
"What can I say?" He smirked. "I'm unique."
She shook her head. "Yeah well, as unique as you are, you're still leaving her with only your brother to fill your motel room."
He scowled. "You've got a dirty mind, Watchtower..." He lifted a brow. "Am I gonna get a real name this time?"
She smiled. "Chloe," she said.
He repeated it silently. Chloe. He liked it.
"One syllable less, that should make it easier," she teased.
"Oh, straight to the heart," he replied, half-grinning.
She opened her mouth to say something and then paused. She tipped her head to the side and then suddenly she was lifting up to stand on her one good foot. He followed, taking her elbow in his hand to steady her. "Do you see what I see?" she asked, nodding her head out into the dark corner.
"How in the hell did we miss that?" he muttered, shaking his head.
She snorted. "You were the one with the flashlight."
"Thought you said you were completely equipped for this?"
She glared at him. "Dropped it upstairs when she shoved me."
"That's why you take a back up."
"Thanks Captain Obvious," she snarked. "Now you wanna get out of here or are we going to hang around and argue some more?" She started hopping toward their newfound exit and he rolled his eyes. He walked over to her, grabbing up the forgotten boot from the floor and stepped in front of her. "Get on," he said, motioning to his back.
"You can't be serious," she said.
"We have like twenty dilapidated stairs to get up, we don't know where it leads and I don't know what's out there," he reminded, his eyes widening for emphasis. "I can't be wondering if you're hopping is going to take out the stairs and you're pretty much useless once we get out into the house."
"Unless it leads outside."
"We don't know how far ghost-chick can go, so just get on and stop complaining."
She sighed and he looked back at her impatiently.
Muttering under her breath, she hopped forward and then jumped up, letting out a tiny shriek as if she expected to land back on her feet, without him grabbing onto her. His hands hooked around her thighs, hiked them up on his sides and he felt her arms loosen around his neck, holding on comfortably. The warmth of her body against his back seeped through his jacket but he shook it off and focused on the situation at hand. It looked like a cellar door and he hoped it was unlocked, because there was nothing in the basement that could help them out.
Each step creaked dangerously and he let out a whoosh of breath between clenched teeth, waiting for it to finally give and for them to fall through. Half way up, he asked if she could reach the doors yet. Her arms parted from around his neck and her body arched up and she reached above them. "Little more," she said.
He took another step, wincing at the loud groan the old wood gave. "Now?"
Her knees squeezed his sides as she stretched up once more. "One more step."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. She wasn't heavy, but she'd be like a pile of bricks if they fell through the fifteen or so stairs he'd already climbed. Carefully, he put one heavy boot on the next step and lifted up. He bit down on his lip, scrunching up his face in anticipation. When it didn't immediately fall through, he slowly let his face loosen up.
"I can... just... a little... and..." He felt her knees digging into his sides once more and then suddenly moonlight was filtering inside and slightly blinding him from the sudden brightness. She pushed up and heaved the doors to the side, flinching as they crashed on either side.
"Crawl up and out," he told her. "It'll be easier for me to get out without your added weight."
She purposely squeezed his waist with her legs and then grabbed one side of the open door and started pulling herself out. His arms lifted, hands falling to her waist and pushing her up higher so all of her weight wasn't forced onto her arms. The higher she lifted, the lower his hands fell, cupping her butt for a moment and pushing her up.
"This your plan the whole time?" she called back, laughter in her voice.
He smirked to himself, hands falling to her thighs, squeezing them lightly in response. She gave a small shriek and he tipped his head. Ticklish? His brows rose. She was nearly entirely out and he could hear the stairs whining against the pressure. He hurriedly ran up a couple stairs and jumped across the last few and out of the cellar just before the stairs finally collapsed behind him. He laid on the slightly damp grass a moment, staring up at the sky and taking a deep breath of fresh air.
He heard rustling and turned his head to see Chloe standing up from the ground, using the house to keep herself steady. Sitting up abruptly, he climbed to his feet, brushing off his back from the grass and dirt. "Uh, I should probably..." He motioned toward the house where he could now hear crashing coming from.
"Yeah, sure, uh..." She glanced away, across the street to her grey Yaris. "I should go too... Back to my lonesome find-myself-road trip." She smiled.
He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Try to avoid haunted houses," he told her.
She saluted him, winking. "No guarantee, of course."
He chuckled lightly. "Of course." He glanced down at her bad foot and lifted a brow. "You sure you're good to drive?"
"I've had worse," she assured.
He nodded, clearing his throat and glancing back at the house. "Guess I'll... see you when I see you."
"Given the circumstances that usually bring us together, I'm sort of hoping that doesn't happen again."
He grinned. "Why? You don't think you'll be able to control yourself a third time?"
She laughed, shaking her head. She hopped toward him, somehow looking unusually graceful. Her hand lifted, cupped his cheek, stroking his face gently. "They say third time's a charm... But then... I'm not your average girl."
He nodded. "I noticed."
Her hand fell, thumb running over his lips. "You know I always had a thing for heroes."
His brows lifted. "Guess it's good I stayed in the business."
She smiled. "Until next time, Dean," she murmured, hand falling before she made her way toward the car.
Until next time, Chloe.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, smirked to himself as she looked back at him before climbing into her car.
Yeah, he thought. She wants me.
With a chuckle, he took off back into the house. It was back to being a hero and kicking some bitchy poltergeist ass.
[ Next: Part III.]
Category: Smallville/Supernatural [Crossover]
Rating: NC17
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama
Pairing: Chloe/Dean
Summary: Love at first confinement.
Previous: Part I - First Meetings,
Stuck With You
2/5
II - We Meet Again
Dean's back collided sharply with the dilapidated wood, but before he could get his bearings, it cracked beneath him and the full weight of his body crashed through the wall and onto a dusty floor behind it. His eyes widened and he looked around the room, noticing the large hole in the floor behind him. He let out a faint chuckle, grinning slightly at his luck. Just another foot or so and he would've been down the rabbit hole to God knows where. His smirk faded at the first creak however and seconds later the floor too gave out, before he could even pull himself up. He fell through, debris and dust flying around him. He batted his arms out at it, coughing to get the tickle from his throat. The ground wasn't nearly as far as he thought it'd be. His arm hooked around a pipe sticking out of the side on impulse and he dangled above the cement floor, breathing harshly. It was about three feet beneath his heavy boots and after looking up to see there was no way he was getting out through the top, he let go and fell into a crouch on the floor.
He looked around carefully, body tensed with suspicion, eyes thinned. The pissed ghost-chick upstairs was probably battling it out with his brother now. He stood up slowly, examining his surroundings. It looked like a basement, all cement and old pipes. He pulled the flashlight from his pocket, shining it all over, looking for stairs or a way out. He nearly tripped on a shoe and his brow furrowed as he looked down to find a woman's high heeled boot. There was a pattern in the dust, footsteps, well at least one foot, the other looked like it'd been dragged beside it. He followed the trail, pulled his gun out slowly, head tipped to the side, brows furrowed, lips pursed. And then he heard it; a very tiny noise, muttering under their breath. He pulled the safety off his gun and turned light up until it found the very end of a foot. He drew it upward, over a small, curvy body to the top of her blonde head. She glared back at him.
"Blinded here," she reminded, annoyed.
He lowered the gun. He knew that voice. He let the flash fall lower so she was only highlighted by the beam, rather than taking it full force in the eyes. "Watchtower?" he said, surprised. "Uh... What are you doin' here?"
"Currently I'm nursing a sprained ankle on a basement floor," she snarked. "You?"
"Chasing a poltergeist," he replied with a shrug.
"So it's true then," she said, using her arms to lift her up a little, getting more comfortable leaning against the cement wall. She smiled slightly. "I heard from a few of the locals, thought I'd check it out."
He shook his head. "It's that thought process that has us coming from various states to stop murderous ghosts from killing off entire towns."
She snorted. "I'm not some half-drunk teenager coming here to get my rocks off, thanks. I was armed."
"Regular guns and daggers don't do much, sweetheart."
She glared at him witheringly. "Yeah, I was there for your little Hunting101 class, remember?" She lifted a brow, daring him to snark her back. "With a whole lot of research, I made sure I had what I'd need."
"If you had what you needed, what are you doin' down here?"
"Hey, I'm not the only one down here, buddy! And I just so happened to piss her off a little. I didn't see her, but I definitely felt the shove she gave me into Alice's tunnel to hell," she muttered bitterly.
"That how you messed up your ankle?" he asked, motioning down to it.
She winced, looking down at the bootless foot. "My landing wasn't quite as stealthy as I'd hoped."
He nodded, bending down beside her foot. "You seen any way out of here?" he wondered.
"You mean the bright red exit sign I ignored to happily sit on the floor? Yeah, of course!"
He rolled his eyes. "Are you always this mouthy to guys who haven't done anything to you?"
She sighed. "Sorry, I just... It hurts," she said, motioning down to her foot.
His brows furrowed. "What about that healing ability of yours?"
"I can't really use it on myself. I can heal others, but I can't seem to find the ‘heal self' button." She shrugged. "I've only ever really used it in high-risk situations where it was live or die."
He nodded. "That sucks," he said, lifting her foot and putting it carefully into the palm of his hand. It was tiny; slim and soft which was nothing like his feet. She painted her toenails too; pink. Feminine and pretty against her pale white skin. He shook his head; telling himself to stop thinking like a girl; he wasn't Sam for crapsakes! He felt around her ankle; he'd had enough sprains and broken bones to know which was which. "This hurt?" he asked, squeezing lightly.
"Slightly," she said, her face scrunched up in anticipation of pain.
He licked his lips, looking back down. His thumb stroked her ankle; there wasn't too much swelling and with some ice and a couple days of rest, she'd be fine. He didn't let go right away though. His mind wandered on him, eyes still set on the small foot in his hand, on the light bruising of her flesh. It hadn't been so long ago that they'd both been locked away in a room, stuck together for hours. And he'd thought about her more than once since then; in between killing demons and arguing with Sam over which fast food joint they should go to or which crappy motel was less, well, crappy. She'd been intriguing, in a world where very little surprised him. He'd enjoyed bantering with her; having her volley sarcastic remarks back at him just as quick, giving as good as she got. And he had looked around for her, but then "Watchtower" wasn't exactly the type of name Google brought up with definitive answers.
He looked into her League though; they were a little easier to find out about. She kept to the background, he found out. She wasn't the most well known in her circle and he understood why given she used to be an investigative reporter and likely made sure that whatever happened, she was always overlooked. But then... she said she was getting out of the superhero business and yet here she was. Sadly, without the black leather.
"So you here alone or did you bring back up this time?" he asked her. When he took his coat off and set it on the floor to cradle her foot, he told himself it was just logical, just a natural reaction from someone who was used to taking care of others, used to saving people.
"No backup," she murmured, hands running up and down her thigh, staring at her ankle as if she wished she could just pop it back in place, shake it off and get back to work. He knew that feeling all too well.
"So you just..." He shook his head slowly, "Thought you'd check out some random haunted place?" He lifted a brow. "Lemme guess, you were in the neighborhood."
She snorted, looking up at him with an amused grin. "I've been traveling," she admitted with a shrug. "My old instincts kicked in when I heard about a bunch of local kids disappearing after a visit to the local haunt." She licked her lips, eyes falling. "Can I help it if the itch of curiosity isn't easily scratched?"
He sighed, moving to sit next to her. His eyes scanned around the room; there were no exits. No windows, no stairs, no doors. As far as he could tell, the basement had been entirely cut off from the regular house. If they wanted out, they'd need Sam. And given that his brother was currently battling it out with Casper the Psycho Bitch, they were going to have to wait. He wasn't about to distract him with nobody there to watch his back. His brother was capable and they already had the plan figured out; it wasn't so hard to get rid of this one. She just so happened to get the drop on him before he could do his part. But Sam would figure it out; he was boy college after all.
"Traveling, huh? So you really gave up the leather?" He lifted a brow at her.
She snorted. "I kept the suit, I just gave up what it represented... sort of." She sighed, lifting her hands to tuck her hair behind her ears.
"Sort of...?" He asked.
"Well, I still believe in what they're doing. And... If they ever needed me, I'd be there for them, but..." She licked her lips, brows furrowing as she stared out into the dark basement. "You ever just feel like... you're there but not. Like..." She smiled slightly, embarrassed. "I don't know what I'm talking about," she admitted with a slight chuckle. "I was just lost working with them. I believed and I helped but I didn't feel like I was meant to be there. So now I've left and I'm... wandering aimlessly. Not really much of a change." She shook her head, lips quirked at the corners.
"My life was decided for me when I was..." He shook his head. "Four."
She looked over at him, face slightly lit up by his flashlight.
He swallowed tightly. "My mom..." He cleared his throat as it tightened. "She was killed by a, uh, demon." He nodded. "Whole house lit up on fire, dad gave me my little brother, told me to get out, to save him and myself." He licked his dry lips. "My dad, he... He became a little obsessed, I guess. Had to find what killed her, get rid of it. But, uh, it was never really that easy." He glanced at her and then looked away. "Along the way, he became a hunter of anything and everything evil." He lifted a shoulder, trying to look indifferent. "And we were along for the ride, you know? He taught us how to hunt; made sure we know that all those nightmares were real... And by the time I was old enough to shoot straight, I was going along with him."
"Did you want to?" she wondered.
"Hell, I didn't know anything different," he admitted with a hollow laugh. "I liked knowing that what I was hunting and killing, it was all another step closer to getting whatever killed my mom." He shrugged. "Felt like I was doing something. Like I was making her proud, I guess."
"And now?"
He didn't reply right away. What did he feel about the job now? "I could use a vacation," he said with a small chuckle. He sighed, shaking his head. "Seems like no matter how many of ‘em I kill, there's always another, waiting in the wings. And... It just never gets easier or better or..." He sighed, glaring out at nothing. "The demon that killed my mom is dead... I made sure of that. But... my fight isn't over. It never is." He frowned, running a hand over his face. "It's not like I'm not accomplishing something. All those people... They're alive and they'll stay that way for awhile. But some days... I just wish I could open up my own mechanic shop and just... become oblivious. Forget everything I know, everything I learned and just... Fuck ‘em. You know? Fuck all of it."
She nodded. "So why don't you?"
He looked at her; and he could see in her eyes she already knew the answer. Just like he did. "Because I can't turn my back on all those people... They're innocent. They didn't do anything wrong. They're just... in the crosshairs." He shrugged, clearing his throat.
"You're a good man," she murmured.
He didn't look at her, instead staring at the ground. "Yeah..." he grunted. "I have my days."
He felt her fingers lightly graze his temple, her touch oddly comforting. She stroked back and forth, her touch feathering over his hair in a light caress, barely there but the focal point of his entire attention.
"I've known a lot of heroes," she said softly. "And trust me when I tell you that they've all had their days... Moments where they want to give up. Put away the leather outfit or the geeky glasses disguise and just become a normal person. But... They never do. Or if they've tried, it doesn't work out." She shrugged. "You are what you are and it's not going to change."
"Why?" he asked, turning his eyes toward her. He hadn't realized he sounded like he was pleading with her; like he was asking her to give him a way out, a way to go back and change history. "Why can't I just... walk away?"
She stared at him, her green eyes soft. She licked her lips, her fingers trailing lower, down his cheek and along his jaw. "Because you're a hero, Dean." She shook her head. "And as much as you want to drown out people's cries of help, you can't." She smiled slightly, soothingly. "You're always going to hear them; you're always going to help. Because it's who you are... Who you were meant to be." She ran the back of her knuckles over his cheek, skimming just beneath his eye. "Deep down you know that. It's why you haven't walked away yet. Because you know you'll just come back."
He sighed, jaw clenching, and nodded. "Yeah... Plus, you know, I wouldn't meet hot leather-totin' heroes if I was Joe Average."
She grinned, lifting a shoulder. "Probably not."
"Hey... Didn't you say something about telling me how you got that outfit off the next time we were stuck like this?" he asked, brows furrowing as he turned toward her.
She sighed, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling. "What did I ever do to you?" she asked. He assumed she was talking to the ‘big guy' upstairs... and he didn't mean his brother. She looked back at him. "You know most guys offer up dinner and a movie, but you go straight for the bedroom, huh?"
"What can I say?" He smirked. "I'm unique."
She shook her head. "Yeah well, as unique as you are, you're still leaving her with only your brother to fill your motel room."
He scowled. "You've got a dirty mind, Watchtower..." He lifted a brow. "Am I gonna get a real name this time?"
She smiled. "Chloe," she said.
He repeated it silently. Chloe. He liked it.
"One syllable less, that should make it easier," she teased.
"Oh, straight to the heart," he replied, half-grinning.
She opened her mouth to say something and then paused. She tipped her head to the side and then suddenly she was lifting up to stand on her one good foot. He followed, taking her elbow in his hand to steady her. "Do you see what I see?" she asked, nodding her head out into the dark corner.
"How in the hell did we miss that?" he muttered, shaking his head.
She snorted. "You were the one with the flashlight."
"Thought you said you were completely equipped for this?"
She glared at him. "Dropped it upstairs when she shoved me."
"That's why you take a back up."
"Thanks Captain Obvious," she snarked. "Now you wanna get out of here or are we going to hang around and argue some more?" She started hopping toward their newfound exit and he rolled his eyes. He walked over to her, grabbing up the forgotten boot from the floor and stepped in front of her. "Get on," he said, motioning to his back.
"You can't be serious," she said.
"We have like twenty dilapidated stairs to get up, we don't know where it leads and I don't know what's out there," he reminded, his eyes widening for emphasis. "I can't be wondering if you're hopping is going to take out the stairs and you're pretty much useless once we get out into the house."
"Unless it leads outside."
"We don't know how far ghost-chick can go, so just get on and stop complaining."
She sighed and he looked back at her impatiently.
Muttering under her breath, she hopped forward and then jumped up, letting out a tiny shriek as if she expected to land back on her feet, without him grabbing onto her. His hands hooked around her thighs, hiked them up on his sides and he felt her arms loosen around his neck, holding on comfortably. The warmth of her body against his back seeped through his jacket but he shook it off and focused on the situation at hand. It looked like a cellar door and he hoped it was unlocked, because there was nothing in the basement that could help them out.
Each step creaked dangerously and he let out a whoosh of breath between clenched teeth, waiting for it to finally give and for them to fall through. Half way up, he asked if she could reach the doors yet. Her arms parted from around his neck and her body arched up and she reached above them. "Little more," she said.
He took another step, wincing at the loud groan the old wood gave. "Now?"
Her knees squeezed his sides as she stretched up once more. "One more step."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. She wasn't heavy, but she'd be like a pile of bricks if they fell through the fifteen or so stairs he'd already climbed. Carefully, he put one heavy boot on the next step and lifted up. He bit down on his lip, scrunching up his face in anticipation. When it didn't immediately fall through, he slowly let his face loosen up.
"I can... just... a little... and..." He felt her knees digging into his sides once more and then suddenly moonlight was filtering inside and slightly blinding him from the sudden brightness. She pushed up and heaved the doors to the side, flinching as they crashed on either side.
"Crawl up and out," he told her. "It'll be easier for me to get out without your added weight."
She purposely squeezed his waist with her legs and then grabbed one side of the open door and started pulling herself out. His arms lifted, hands falling to her waist and pushing her up higher so all of her weight wasn't forced onto her arms. The higher she lifted, the lower his hands fell, cupping her butt for a moment and pushing her up.
"This your plan the whole time?" she called back, laughter in her voice.
He smirked to himself, hands falling to her thighs, squeezing them lightly in response. She gave a small shriek and he tipped his head. Ticklish? His brows rose. She was nearly entirely out and he could hear the stairs whining against the pressure. He hurriedly ran up a couple stairs and jumped across the last few and out of the cellar just before the stairs finally collapsed behind him. He laid on the slightly damp grass a moment, staring up at the sky and taking a deep breath of fresh air.
He heard rustling and turned his head to see Chloe standing up from the ground, using the house to keep herself steady. Sitting up abruptly, he climbed to his feet, brushing off his back from the grass and dirt. "Uh, I should probably..." He motioned toward the house where he could now hear crashing coming from.
"Yeah, sure, uh..." She glanced away, across the street to her grey Yaris. "I should go too... Back to my lonesome find-myself-road trip." She smiled.
He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Try to avoid haunted houses," he told her.
She saluted him, winking. "No guarantee, of course."
He chuckled lightly. "Of course." He glanced down at her bad foot and lifted a brow. "You sure you're good to drive?"
"I've had worse," she assured.
He nodded, clearing his throat and glancing back at the house. "Guess I'll... see you when I see you."
"Given the circumstances that usually bring us together, I'm sort of hoping that doesn't happen again."
He grinned. "Why? You don't think you'll be able to control yourself a third time?"
She laughed, shaking her head. She hopped toward him, somehow looking unusually graceful. Her hand lifted, cupped his cheek, stroking his face gently. "They say third time's a charm... But then... I'm not your average girl."
He nodded. "I noticed."
Her hand fell, thumb running over his lips. "You know I always had a thing for heroes."
His brows lifted. "Guess it's good I stayed in the business."
She smiled. "Until next time, Dean," she murmured, hand falling before she made her way toward the car.
Until next time, Chloe.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, smirked to himself as she looked back at him before climbing into her car.
Yeah, he thought. She wants me.
With a chuckle, he took off back into the house. It was back to being a hero and kicking some bitchy poltergeist ass.
[ Next: Part III.]