Angel, Chapter 3

Chloe/Dean, Sam
Smallville, season 8 (AU), Supernatural, season 4
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to us.

Sam Winchester hadn't been designed for the back seat of cars.

Chloe stole a glance at the big guy crammed into the back of the Impala. With his high cheekbones, strong nose, and unruly mop of dark brown hair, Dean's younger brother reminded her quite a bit of her best friend, Clark Kent. But while Clark was built wide and massive, Sam was long and lanky and lean.

She wasn't exactly clear on what Sam had been doing while Dean stopped by the grocery. But when they'd picked Sam up at a gas station on the outskirts of town, she thought she'd seen a glimpse of a dark-haired girl, who'd almost instantly disappeared behind the old cinderblock building. Dean had seen her too, and had disapproved, judging from the hard set of his jaw.

But he hadn't said anything about the girl, as if she were a taboo subject between the brothers. Instead he'd just leaned his head out the window and spoken curtly.

"Get in, Sammy. We got us a job."

Sam was looking at her now, his dark eyes alive with curiosity. There was an alert intelligence in his gaze, and more than a hint of suspicion. "So, Chloe," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the AC/DC that blasted from the speakers. "You get a lot of ghosts in this area?"

"Not that I've ever heard of," she admitted. "Most of the weird stuff that happens around here is due to the green rocks."

Dean fired off a curious look in her direction. "The green rocks?"

"The meteorites," she clarified. "Maybe you saw the sign?"

"Smallville, Meteor Capital of the World," Dean quoted, rolling his eyes. She thought with amusement of how much his eyes would have rolled at Smallville's previous town slogan: Creamed Corn Capital of the World.

"Right," she agreed. "See, Smallville's been hit by two meteor showers--"

"Which in and of itself is pretty damn strange," Sam broke in.

Chloe ignored the comment. It was strange, but she happened to know the reason, and didn't intend to disclose it to the Winchesters. It wasn't her secret to give away. "True. Anyway, the meteorites are scattered all over the place, and they cause people to... change."

Dean squinted suspiciously. His eyes were on the flat, straight road as they barreled toward Metropolis, but she could tell his attention was focused almost entirely on her words. "Change how?"

"It causes mutations," she clarified. "Of all sorts. I've come across shapeshifters, people who can become invisible, people who can create fire with a thought, healers..."

Dean glanced away from the road and frowned at her. "So what happens when these people change, exactly?"

She looked away from him. As it happened, she was one of "these people." But she was one of the lucky ones, thankfully.

"About seventy-five percent of them turn psychotic," she said softly. "And begin killing people."

Dean gave a long, low whistle. "Holy crap. Sounds like you have your hands full around here, even without ghosts and demons."

"Yeah," she agreed. "And plenty of them make their way to Metropolis, believe me. They keep me busy investigating and writing stories, and I moonlight on the side, helping some friends catch the worst ones. But now it looks like we've got ghosts to deal with, too."

She'd been looking for an excuse to hire the Winchester brothers for six months now, ever since she'd become aware of their existence. They obviously worked hard at not leaving a paper trail, but in her endless researches, she'd noticed some strange things going on in various small towns, and she'd begun following up on anything peculiar that she spotted on the internet.

She'd read about two guys, a tall, dark-haired one and a shorter, light-haired one, who turned up repeatedly in these small towns, claiming to be FBI agents or insurance adjusters or whatever. And slowly, very slowly, she'd been able to put the pieces together, and figure out exactly who they were, and what they were doing.

At first she'd thought they were con artists of some sort-- a conclusion supported by the fact that they were wanted in several jurisdictions, and by the fact that they seemed to survive by credit card fraud-- but after months of reading about them, she'd finally figured out that wasn't the case.

Sam and Dean Winchester were the good guys.

One of the lessons she'd learned as a reporter was that researching via the internet could only take you so far. At some point, you needed to step away from the computer and do hands-on research.

She'd decided she needed to get her hands on the Winchester brothers. So to speak.

It had taken a while, but finally something had arisen locally that she could justify calling on them for help. Not just locally, but in her own workplace.

It had taken a complex and subtle set of maneuvers on her part to ensure that they "happened" to drive through Smallville this week. But here they were. And she intended to make good use of them. Both to solve the Daily Planet problem, and to satisfy her own curiosity.

She glanced at Dean's rough-hewn profile, and smiled a little.

She had a feeling this was going to be a very interesting experience.

More to come...