Belated fic!

[teand]

A while ago 
musesfoolhad a birthday!  And she's just that amazing that we're still celebrating!  Yay!

Last year for her birthday, I wrote her Dean Winchester meeting Cordelia Chase while she was on her way to LA.  Well, a couple of years have  passed and Dean's hunting a big rubbery monster in the sewers of Los Angeles so...

Thanks to 
destinafor commas, syntax detangling, and geographical versimilitude!  All remaining errors are my own.   Title from the Doors L.A. Woman.

Happy belated birthday,
musesfool!

SPN/Angelverse
Dean/Cordelia
NC-17
4,121 words

Just Another Lost Angel

-- Los Angeles, California -- July 2002 --

Dean hates Los Angeles.

It's nothing but a nasty fucking tangle of freeways with traffic so jammed up he's managed better speeds on unpaved back roads. Not to mention that in every single damned bar he ever steps into, some asshole offers him a job in the porn industry. And then there's always the fun fact that the crazy people out number the sane people about three to one and if he's noticing that, that's serious crazy.

And it's in California.

He's not feeling at all charitable toward California right now. The whole damned state could sink in the ocean and he wouldn't miss it.

"School's out for the summer, Sammy…"

"Sam."

"What?"

"My name is Sam, not Sammy."

"I've called you Sammy your whole damned life!"

"And I want you to stop." Sam folded his arms into a position Dean recognized as 'not going to move me, don't even try.' If Sammy had to grow out of something he could fucking grow out of that.

"Fine. Whatever. Sam. It's just a quick trip down to LA, help me take out the tentacled thing that's been dragging people down into the sewers, and I'll have you back in a couple of days. Come on, admit it…" He punched Sam in the arm not quite hard enough to bruise. "…you're just itching for a chance to get back in the saddle."

"No, I'm not. And what's more I couldn't take that kind of time off work even if I was. Which I'm not."

"Work? I thought you got a full ride, genius boy?"

"Yeah, well, still have to eat in the summer, don't I?"

"Yeah, well, most kids head back to their families in the summer."

"Dad said if I go, not to come back."

"Dad's not here. I am. And I never said that."

"No, you didn't say much, did you?"

What was he supposed to have said? Sammy don't go? Dad don't be an ass? Like either of them would have listened to him.

He doesn't need Sam, not for a big rubbery monster. Christ, it's point and shoot and let the corpse sink into the sewage -- who needs back-up for that? He just thought maybe Sam might like to come along. Take a break from chinos and cappuccinos and white fucking wine spritzers and see some action. Spend some time with his brother.

Fine.

He's had it with Sam's attitude anyway. He's got places to go. Things to kill.

Last person went missing at the corner of North Vermont Avenue and Clinton Street.

Dean leaves the Impala at the Los Angeles City College lot and walks the two blocks south to the intersection. He hates having to pay for parking but he hates the thought of anyone messing with his baby more.

It says something about LA that a guy who's clearly not a city worker can pry open a manhole cover at one twenty in the morning and not attract attention from anyone driving by. Hell, it says something about LA that there are people driving by at one twenty in the morning. Fucking traffic.

It hasn't rained for a while so the sewer's not as bad as it could be. He pulls the sawed-off out from under his jacket, pops in a couple of shells filled with a mix of salt and silver, and heads more or less west, toward the ocean. The minimal amount of info he could find suggested these things come out of the water to spawn. First, it snacks on stray Angelino's and then, once it's doubled its size, it makes little rubbery monsters.

"Yeah, like the world needs more of those," he mutters, really hoping that the lump he just squished under his boot isn't what he thinks it is.

After a while, he ends up in what's obviously a storm drain. It's a lot cleaner, it smells better -- although less better than it did after he washes off his boots in the center channel -- and there's lights every thirty feet or so. Not exactly bright lights, but after the pitch black in the actual sewer, it's like noon. On a cloudy day. In sunglasses. Point is, he can see.

Which of course raises the question: who the hell hangs lights in a storm drain? It's like every time he turns around, LA hits a new level of weird.

And speaking of weird, standing at the point where three new tunnels join the one he's in, he hears a woman say, "Please, like you ever know where you're going. It's this way."

Okay then.

Trouble is, he can't tell which way this way is. Or even where the woman's voice is coming from. Or why it sounds sort of familiar.

He's past the point where he's questioning why a woman is in a storm drain under Los Angeles in the middle of the fucking night.

In the end, he takes the tunnel on the left. No reason, except Sammy found this article once that said seventy-two percent of the time, right handed people turn right and he's been trying to skew the data ever since. And he's not thinking about Sammy right now.

Then he's really not thinking about Sammy because up ahead he hears the distinctive sound of a fight. Bit of bellowing, some tentacles slapping against concrete, the distinctive twang of a crossbow firing…

If there's another hunter on the job, there's no reason for him to be there, but he also hears distinctly girly scream of rage and picks up his pace. Maybe she needs backup. Maybe she's had her clothes ripped half off her body in the fight and needs him to…

He actually loses track of the thought when he charges around a nearly ninety degree bend in the tunnel and has to slam to his knees to avoid being decapitated by a writhing appendage lined with what looks like fucking shark teeth. Both barrels into the body of the thing don't seem to do much so he rolls and reloads.

"You have to hit the blue!" snaps an imperious voice as a crossbow bolt flies just a little too damned close past his nose and thuds into the edge of a blue patch about six inches around. "The rest of it just regenerates!"

So he hits the blue with both barrels, ducks another shark tooth lined tentacle, and scrambles clear as the thing goes into its death throes.

Point and shoot. Wasn't that what he'd been saying all along?

Eyes locked on the body -- wouldn't be the first time something supposed to be dead rose up and bit him on the ass -- he backed slowly away.

"What did you hit it with?"

"Rock salt and silver," he says turning. "Sixty for…"

She's thinner, not as tanned, her hair's shorter, and, biggest change, she's standing in the sewer holding a loaded crossbow like she knows how to use it, but Dean recognizes her immediately.

"Cordelia Chase."

It's still a great rack.

She frowns. "Do I know you?"

Ow. Burn. "We met back a couple years ago at a gas station off the highway." Still nothing. No spark of oh yeah, you were the totally hot guy who got my crap car back on the road. "Your car stalled out? The alternator was over-heating? I suggested you stay out of the sewers." When she shakes her head, he sighs. It's been that kind of a day. "Never mind." He kicks a tentacle toward the water. "I suppose I should dump this thing."

"No need. The scavengers will show up as soon as we leave and it'll be gone by morning."

There's about two hundred, maybe three hundred pounds of big rubbery monster to clear away.

"You're not talking rats are you?" He really hates LA. "Well, if we're done here…" He flashes her his best smile. The one he guarantees she won't forget. "…maybe we could go somewhere where I could jog your memory."

"Why not," she mutters, swiping at something viscous dribbling down the front of a pair of jeans that hug her thighs like a second skin. "I could buy you that Coke I owe you."

"Yeah, you cou… What?"

To his surprise, she looks up and smiles, big and white, dimples flashing in both cheeks. "I remember you. I just didn't want you to think I'd been thinking about you or anything. Because I haven't been. Thinking about you." She waves her weapon. "I've been busy."

"I can see that." He carefully moves to the right, out of the line of fire.

"I know who you are, Dean Winchester." As portentous announcements go, he thinks it'd be more effective without the accompanying, and really very cute, nose wrinkle. "Although, I suppose it would be more accurate to say, I know what you are."

"I'm just a guy with a shotgun in a sewer."

"Oh sure, right now." Her tone and the eye roll that goes with it suggests running into a guy with a shotgun in a sewer happens to her fairly frequently. "But you got mentioned in the Ablatrok Codex. You and your brother. I've got to tell you, little weird seeing your name there."

"I'll bet. What the hell is the Ablatrok Codex."

"Just some ancient prophetic scroll." She waves it off like there's a million of them lying around. "There's a million of them lying around."

Okay then.

"Wesley can explain it," she adds. "He handles the dead languages, moldy books…"

They turn together toward the sound of something heading toward them down the side tunnel.

"That'll be him now," she says, eyes rolling again. "They were positive we weren't far enough west but they were wrong and I was right."

"They?" It's hard to tell for sure because of the slight echo in the tunnels but it definitely sounds like more than one guy.

"Wesley and Gunn."

"He has a gun?" Dean loads up a couple more shells, just in case.

"No, Gunn works for the agency."

"What?"

She's handing him a card when the second big rubbery monster charges around the corner moving really fucking fast considering it doesn't have anything Dean would call legs. He pulls the trigger without aiming -- fuck hitting the blue spot right now, he just wants to slow it down -- grabs Cordelia's arm and shoves her through some kind of maintenance hatch, diving in after her, blocking a flailing tentacle with his boot.

"Keep moving!" He's clutching her hoodie and trying to push her further back into the smaller tunnel. "It's too big to get in here!"

"Problem with your plan!" She's staring past him; her eyes are enormous. "It doesn't have to get in here! It just has to drag us back out!"

And something wraps around his ankle.

Dean twists, fires, feels a crossbow bolt zing by a little too fucking close to his ear, and is flung suddenly forward as the floor of the tunnel bucks up. He slams into Cordelia, she slams into the tunnel wall, the tunnel wall buckles. As her hands clutch at his jacket, he realizes what's happening.

"Earthquake!" Right this moment, there are no words for how much he hates LA. "We need to stand in a doorway!"

"Do you see a doorway?!" Cordelia snaps. "And this isn't an earthquake! It's an angry Nervith Demon trying to get to us!"

"Big and rubbery's doing this?" Chunks of concrete are falling all around them. "It's stronger than it looks!"

"Well, duh!"

She's plastered tight against him but he has no time to really appreciate it because the piece of floor they're standing on shifts hard to the right and they're falling.

Sliding down a crumbling pile of debris. Fighting to keep his footing. One arm up to protect his head, the other wrapped around Cordelia.

He rolls, letting his back take the brunt of the impact. It hurts but then impact always does. Same old, same old. When the shaking stops, he's lying in complete darkness, sandwiched between a rock and a soft place. It doesn't feel like anything's broken and the body draped over him is unmoving but not limp so he'd say odds are good she's conscious. There's a final skittering of small stones falling off to the left and then silence. First things first. He loosens his hold, leaves his hand resting just above the small of her back, and, as she shifts her weight just enough to allow her to raise her head, he asks, "You all right?"

"All right? Am I all right? I just got dumped into an underground cavern when the sewer I was in collapsed. In what universe does that equal all right?" She wriggles, one rounded thigh dropping between his legs and Dean bites his lip. "I could have been killed! Dead and buried and no one would ever know, no one would ever find me! And I dropped my favorite crossbow," she adds almost as an afterthought.

She's trembling, and that's really not helping. He gets that she's terrified and yeah, maybe he's a bit of a horndog, but usually he's got better control of his reactions except hey, almost killed just now and all that adrenaline has to go somewhere.

"I meant, are you hurt?" And maybe he sounds a bit brusque but Jesus fucking Christ, she's lying inside his open jacket and her breasts are two soft, warm pressure points against his chest.

"No. I mean, I have bruises…"

He chuffs out a laugh. There's a rock under his ass the size of Sammy's fist. "Join the club." One knee bent outside of hers, he lifts himself up just enough to move it.

She slides sideways. Starts to move back. Stops.

And he's pretty sure he knows why.

It's still dark, but Dean closes his eyes and fights to control his breathing. He's not completely hard but he could be given very little encouragement. It's like he's got those two guys on his shoulders and one of them's saying "Go for it!" and the other one's saying, "Dude, not the right time!" and he's actually thinking the second one might be right when Cordelia's fingertips pat across his face to his lips and then her mouth follows.

Maybe it's the whole just about killed by  a big rubbery monster and a cave-in thing but fuck can she kiss. It's more than enthusiasm, it's no holds barred, knows what she wants and is going for it full out damn the consequences. He likes that in a woman.

He cups the back of her head with one hand, her hair sliding through his fingers like silk, and nudges the other up under hoodie and t-shirt to rest on the satin smooth bare skin of her lower back. Safe enough place if she suddenly calls a halt, a good starting point if she doesn't.

She doesn't. She's whimpering a little as she bites along his jaw, her hands almost frantically pushing at this clothes.

Okay. He recognizes this: prove to me I'm still alive.

Been there. Done tha…

Long nails scrape over his left nipple as she shoves his t-shirt up under his armpits and he gasps. They snag on the rough scar running diagonally along his ribs and when she ducks her head to lick along it, he has a little trouble catching his breath. Then his jeans are undone, her hand is in his boxers and he has a whole lot of trouble catching his breath.

"Do you have…?"

"Wallet." He pushes himself up into a sitting position. Her forehead bangs into his chin as she reaches under him. There's a tangle of arms and legs and heat and tongues and desperate wriggling and a moment later Dean's back is braced against a rock wall, rock warming under his bare ass, as Cordelia Chase strokes a condom down over his erection.

He has no idea when she got out of her own jeans but thinks it might have been between the time he pushed her bra up off her breasts and she started tongue fucking his ear. Which felt more amazing than it had any right to.

She's already straddling his thighs and as she begins moving forward, he drops his hands to the curve of her hips, fingers kneading into that magnificent ass, thumbs caressing the sweet lines where belly gives way to groin.

One hand wrapped around the base, the other guides the head and as she lowers herself he feels her fingertips ghost past and then the soft outer folds and then she slides down until he's encased in silken heat. She shifts her hips forward, adjusting her position then braces herself on his shoulders and rises up.

Plunges down.

Dean rises to meet her and buries the noises he needs to make against her breasts. Pulls one nipple and then the other into his mouth, sucking them hard, laving them with his tongue. Feels her whimpering, her breath gusting hot against his hair.

He wishes he could see her -- see the heat in her eyes, the flush on her checks, the pale swell of her breasts. Wishes he could see himself disappearing into her body. But doesn't wish too hard, because he's pretty damned certain that if it wasn't for the darkness, this wouldn't be happening.

Her breathing speeds up and the whimpering is almost constant when he strokes a hand down heated skin, slipping two fingers through the damp patch of curls. He doesn't mind being used by a beautiful woman but a man has his pride and when she thinks of this he wants her to think oh my god that was amazing not oh my god what did I do.

Not that he thinks Cordelia Chase is likely to be big with the self doubt; it's the principle of the thing.

She's slick and throbbing and he charts her reactions, adjusting his touch until she's writhing on his cock and keening as he slams up into her.

She sounds almost startled when she comes and with her clenching around him it only takes a few thrusts more before he joins her.

They haven't moved; he's still inside, her head resting on his shoulder, their breathing slowly beginning to even out when the sound of a small rock bouncing across the floor of the tunnel is followed by a distant shout.

"Cordy! Can you hear me?!"

She raises her head. "Wesley?"

"Oh thank God you're all right. It'll take us about twenty minutes to get through to you! Are you hurt?"

She's going to hurt something, Dean thinks as she all but throws herself off him. And Wesley sounds like an upper class twit. Still, Wesley, figures.

"We're fine!"

"We?"

And he squeaks when he's surprised.

"I'm with Dean Winchester." Who gets a butt cheek in the face as she scrambles for her clothes. Not that he's complaining. It's a great ass. "He showed up in the sewer. Killed the first Nervith Demon."

"The Dean Winchester?"

He likes the sound of that.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

But not the sound of that.

"I'm fine!"

She was better than fine until Wesley showed up. He removes the condom, ties it off, sighs, wraps it in what he thinks is a French fry bag and shoves it into his jacket pocket. His jeans and boxers only made it down around his ankles so it doesn't take him long to dress. Cordelia spends at least ten minutes crawling around looking for her right shoe and when she finally finds it…

"Not that you were any help!"

…she settles beside him, as far from the sound of digging as they can get.

"So," she says after a minute. "Still driving that hot car?"

What just happened between us; that didn’t happen.

It's some of the loudest subtext he's ever heard. But hey, he's a Winchester. He rocks denial. "When did you see my car?"

It sounds like she's playing with the zipper on her hoodie. "That day at the gas station."

"I didn't think you noticed her."

"Please, how could I not. That kind of car is totally overcompensating for something. Although," she adds before he can protest, "not the obvious something in your case. Angel's got one sort of like it. Big and black and old. His is a convertible though."

"Who's Angel?"

"My boss. Our boss. He's not around right now. He's off doing some spiritual… stuff."

Shifting air currents suggest hand waving. "And what's he overcompensating for?"

"Oh, we so don't have time for me to answer that."

The digging is definitely louder. He can hear voices. Wesley and the Gunn she mentioned. "So what happened to becoming a star?"

"Postponed until after I save the world. I could have been huge, everyone wanted me, but…"

"But the world needed you."

"Yeah."

And suddenly, there was a spill of rock that bumped up against his boots and just enough pale, grey light for him to see her face. Her hair is mussed, her lips are slightly swollen, and there's a bit of stubble burn marking the perfect line of her jaw. "On behalf of the world," he says softly, "thanks."

He thinks she squeezes his hand as she surges forward to meet her friends but she might have just been pushing off on it. Hard to tell; he's a little distracted by his knuckles grinding together.

Wesley is indeed an upper class twit. Sammy might have been into the whole research thing but he could still kick ass. This guy… Well, it's possible looks can be deceiving but Dean doubts it. He doesn't seem that impressed about meeting the Dean Winchester but he's a bit distracted, fussing around Cordelia like a demented mother hen until she smacks his shoulder and tells him to back off.

Gunn's got some moves though. Dean recognizes another hunter when he sees one. They acknowledge each other cautiously and keep a respectful distance as the four them make their way to the surface. He's pretty sure Gunn knows what happened down in that collapsed tunnel but he's taking his cues from Cordelia so Dean might get out of LA without a fight. He totally gets protective posturing.

Turns out the second big rubbery monster, the one that dumped them in that hole, took off for the ocean.

"We'll get it later," Gunn growls and Dean believes him.

There's no evidence of the tunnel collapse up on the surface. Not so much as a dimple in the asphalt.

"You'll be going then?" Wesley says, almost before the manhole cover has stopped ringing. He steps in front of Cordelia who rolls her eyes and shoves him aside.

Dean thinks he's trying to sound threatening. He exchanges a raised brow with Gunn who grins. "Don't let him scare you off. Actually, why don't you stick around for a while, man. I bet you got some kick-ass stories to tell."

"Not yet," Wesley mutters sulkily.

Dean and Gunn ignore him. Cordelia gives a long suffering sigh.

"I'd like to stay," Dean lies because hanging out and shooting the shit with two over protective guys and the woman they're protective of while he's got a condom in his pocket full of spunk and slicked with her juice is pretty much his definition of awkward. One of. "But I need to be at Harper's Spring before sunset." Not a lie.

"Harper's Spring? The ghost town?" For the first time, Wesley's looking at him with something other than suspicion.

"No, Harper's Spring the holiday spa." Dean smirks as Wesley sputters. "So, if you guys could point me at my car…"

Turns out he can see the building he parked in; they're that close.

Gunn shakes his hand, doesn't turn it into a pissing match. Wesley shakes his hand, does.

"If you break him you buy him," Cordelia points out.

"I was going easy on him," Wesley mutters to Gunn as he turns away.

"Sure you were." Gunn's tone is patronizing but fond and Dean suddenly misses Sammy so much it physically hurts.

Cordelia hugs him like they didn't just survive two big rubbery monsters, a sewer collapse, and then celebrate that survival with some fairly amazing sex. He's impressed with her ability to compartmentalize.

Been there. Done that. Time to move on. It's his life in a fucking nutshell.

His car is fine. Good thing; he didn't want to have to shoot the parking lot attendant.

He's almost into Nevada when he remembers he forgot to ask about that Abalone Codex thing and just what the hell he and Sammy were doing in it. He thinks about turning around but he has the highway to himself, Dad's waiting for him about 250 miles down the road and, when it comes right down to it, he still really hates LA.