somewhere between perdition and salvation

Reccing Notes: I've always thought SPN and Smallville were sister fandoms, in a way, with their possible apocalypses and supernatural happenings lurking underneath the normal guise of the world. I was just waiting for a fic to prove it.
In this fic, xxlammxx beautifully ties the interconnected journeys of Chloe and Davis and Castiel and (Dean) the Winchester brothers together. Sam and Dean begin to track a very in love 'werewolf' and the woman protecting him. The rest is history.
As a tiny sidenote, there are some mentions of Dean/Castiel slash, if that's not your thing and you don't want to be converted. :p

by xxamlaxx at her livejournal
1663 words, pg-13, beast

Davis fills up her life, expands into it, until her each and every single thought revolves around him and even those that don’t somehow contort and curl and tangle themselves so tightly around Davis she is never sure if they were ever independent thoughts at all.

Chloe finds that the world is both strangely empty without Clark and amazingly preoccupied with Davis. Davis is warm, lean muscle beside her in bed, a soft considerate mien in the driver’s seat of the car, hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel, brown eyes locked on the vast expanse of highway ahead of them. Davis fills up her life, expands into it, until her each and every single thought revolves around him and even those that don’t somehow contort and curl and tangle themselves so tightly around Davis she is never sure if they were ever independent thoughts at all.

-

Fourteen hotels in two weeks and the days are beginning to blur together. Dirty motel floors and streaked bathroom mirrors are blended, one long, long swirl of hours and minutes and seconds. Hotel sheets smell like cheap detergent and fabric softener, floral and synthetic and scratchy, occasionally stained with coffee and food and semen. Late nights she lies awake in bed, Davis curled up against her side, one of his arms around her waist and she stares up at the ceiling, rests one of her hands over the back of his and watches the fan blades rotate above her in slow circles; the low hum of electricity in the darkness.

“Hmm, why are you awake?” Davis slurs, rests his cheek on her bare abdomen, his breath a heated tickle across her skin.

“You know, the occasional insomnia.” She runs her fingers through his hair, traces patterns across his scalp, soothes him back to sleep.

-

Two strange men check into the cheap motel on the outskirts of Idaho. One is tall, taller than Clark, lean with longer than normal brown hair and brown eyes. The other is shorter, handsome, a face and body of sex and sin, but his green eyes are haunted and broken, like he’s not completely whole and he can’t understand why. She watches them both and pushes Davis into their room and shuts the door, smiles at them when they pass her in the hallway. The tall guy is on his phone and doesn’t give her a second glance but the other gives her one quick once over, flashes a grin and a wink and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

-

She begins to think they’re being followed when they cross the border into California. The same two men from Idaho pull into the parking lot of a rundown hotel in Los Angeles. They’re in a black Chevy Impala, all perfectly waxed black metal, well maintained and so kickass. This time they deliberately avoid her, pretend that she isn’t there and Davis growls low in the back of his throat, it growls and she kisses his cheek and trails a hand down his side to calm him.

At three in the morning she can’t sleep and worry is consuming her brain. The air conditioner is loud and blaring, blows icy air throughout the room and she slips out the door, into the warm, stale night air of downtown Los Angeles, smells exhaust and oil on the pavement, can hear silence and engines and the screeching of tires far in the distance. She leans against the railing of the second story and stares down into the parking lot, the mostly deserted square of cracked gray concrete and fading paint. The shorter, better looking man is standing by his car, talking loudly and angrily, shouting at someone she can’t see.

She hears the name “Cas” once but when she scans the parking lot he is the only man there.

-

“Hello miss, could we have a minute of your time please?” The two men confront her in San Francisco, they’re both wearing suits now and they flash golden badges. She nods and moves over to make room for them at the table, carefully texts underneath the table top to Davis who is across the room, within eyesight, always in eyesight, and tells him to stay where he is.

“Of course, what can I do for you?” She smiles, is so good at smiling now, can look happy when inside she’s screaming and drowning and dying.

“We’re with the FBI, I’m agent Walker.” The man with the broken green eyes who talks to someone named Cas when he’s alone lets her examine his badge. Relief flashes quickly through her body, spikes her blood, because she was worrying about Oliver and Clark and hoards of Tess’ minions but instead it’s nothing more than the federal government. “We’re looking for Davis Bloome, he’s suspected in dozens of gruesome murders. There have been reported sightings of you two together.” She can see Davis just over Agent Walker’s shoulder, right in the corner of the room, beside a tall green plant and a cracked pinball machine.

“Look, we understand if you two are involved, and you’re protecting him because you love him, but he’s dangerous.” The taller of the two speaks, sounds distracted, continues to glance down at his cell phone, as though he’s waiting for it to ring.

“I’m not with him voluntarily. He’s stalking me; I’m trying to escape him. If I see him, you’ll be the first I call.” She lies, mendacities flowing from her lungs like air as she accepts the stiff rectangular piece of paper with their numbers.

They leave and she and Davis are on the road again before Agent Walker can order a cup of coffee.

-

“You’re not really from the FBI.” She announces, tries to be glib as she and Davis back into a corner. The two men are holding large silver knives and loading silver bullets into guns. She doesn’t quite know what they think Davis is but she does know that they are very, very wrong and if they don’t leave soon their blood will be a red splatter on the walls, their bones embedded deep in concrete. “And I’m assuming you didn’t tell me your real names.”

“You’re a smart one sweetheart. My name’s Dean, step away from the werewolf before he hurts you.” Dean, the one with the haunted green eyes and imaginary friend extends his hand to her, a gentle, soft expression on his face.

“Werewolf, you think I’m a werewolf?” Davis laughs, laughs and laughs and laughs and she’s laughing too, laughing until her sides ache because Davis is far worse than an oversized canine from horror stories and cheesy Hollywood movies. Davis is Doomsday, Davis can kill and destroy like no other creature on Earth, he can bring about the apocalypse with one transformation and Dean and the tall man have no idea what they’re up against. “I’m not a werewolf, I’m something worse. Please leave, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry buddy, you won’t be hurting us.” The taller man plunges a long, silver stake into Davis’ shoulder. Davis winces and roars and blood rushes red down his shirt, soaks into the cotton of his t-shirt, pools on the floor and then he reaches up and pulls it out and the hole heals itself up immediately.

“I told you. I’m so sorry.” Davis’ eyes flash red and there’s nothing she can do. She can’t stop it now. She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, wants it to be over, but suddenly there is a bright, bright flash of white and she has to open them, looks up to see a man with dark hair and a tan trench coat standing in front of Dean who sits bleeding on the floor, the taller man, whose name she thinks is Sam, crouched beside him, a hand over the deep gash in Dean’s chest, trying to hold the blood in. The light hurts her eyes, makes them sting and water, and Doomsday begins to melt away and soon enough Davis is standing barefoot and naked in the deserted, boarded up building. In the blinding light she makes out the faint outline of wings, beautiful, shimmering white feathers and then Davis is on his knees. “Oh Angel of the Lord, forgive me for my sins…” Davis prays, rubs the sign of the cross into his forehead over and over and over again.

“God does not blame you Davis. He has decided to answer your prayers.”

The angel touches Davis’ forehead with two fingers and the world is enveloped in that holy white light.

-

“I’m not the beast any longer?” Davis stares at his hands, his feet, runs his hands over his chest, every inch of his skin, like he can’t quite believe that he is completely free.

“No. God has freed you from your darker half and banished it to hell.” The angel, Castiel is solemn, lays a hand on Davis’ shoulder. “Go and live your life.” Outside the sun has set and the moon hangs low and silver in the pitch black sky. “You have never lost faith in God.”

Davis sleeps like the dead that night, sprawled out on his stomach, on the opposite side of the bed for the first time. Now Davis doesn’t need to touch her, can be away from her. Davis showers alone in the bathroom, doesn’t need her on the other side of the curtain or beneath the hot water with him. She slips out of bed and kisses his naked shoulder blade, retreats outside into the frosty night air, staring out at the Ocean, smelling salt and sand and seaweed.

“It’s pretty damn cool that you can exercise friggin’ aliens Cas.” Dean and Castiel are sitting side by side on the hood of the Impala, illuminated by the glow from the moon. She hides in a sliver of darkness and watches, motionless and breathing shallow.

“The Lord can do anything Dean. If one only has faith.”

“You keep telling me that Cas, but I still don’t believe you.”

“God has great plans for you Dean Winchester. When will you accept your destiny?”

“I don’t want to talk about God Cas.” Dean sighs, leans against the back window of the Impala.

“I know.”

Castiel kisses Dean, slow and sweet, and she returns to the comfort of her room and Davis, presses herself up against his chest, tucks her head into the notch between his neck and shoulder.