...Mightier Than the Sword
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Just how did she get herself into these sorts of situations?

Wriggling her already sore wrists, she frowned. Nope. The cords hadn’t miraculously gotten loose while she was waiting for Clark to get his super ass over here to rescue her.

Where was he?

And why couldn’t her ‘superpower’ have been something handy like the ability to create fire, or cut through rope? Considering the amount of times she’d been kidnapped and restrained it would have been a practical gift.

But no…she’d had to have the freak-tears…though…the rejuvenation part wasn’t so bad...and while the waking up in the morgue every other Tuesday was disconcerting, at least it happened more in Metropolis and in different cities--so no one could really recognize her.

It’d gotten to the point where she began to wonder if she could remain dead…

…not that she wanted to test out that theory.


Not at all.

And definitely not in this situation!

The red eyed man--was he truly a man?--looked at her with a leer. The first couple of hours of her confinement, Chloe had feared that this creep(whom she was beginning to suspect wasn’t a meteor freak) would rape her from the suggestive comments and looks, but he hadn’t.



Her face and body was bruised and in pain from the injuries he’d inflicted on her with his icy cold hands. It was as if every place he’d touched had frozen with frostbite. He trailed his fingers down her cheek, laughing at her screams as her skin began to turn a dark black from the horrible cold.

Similar marks marred her body, shown through her torn clothes.

Where was Clark?

Why wasn’t he here to save her?

The pain continued as more and more of her body was consumed by the cold blackness, the cold so cold it was burning. Her screams seemed to be getting him off, and while she tried to keep silent just to piss him off the pain was just too great.

It was only when she was about to surrender to unconsciousness when the door flew open. Everything around her was hazy, and she couldn’t get a good look at whoever was in the doorway, but she knew it wasn’t Clark.

No, the man was too short, too nicely dressed and too blonde to be her everyday hero.

And the man was…

…dear God, she had died!

“Jason Teague?” She whispered, fear and pain in her voice as she fought to remain awake. “You’re dead. I’m dead.” She tried to move, and winced. “Fuck. It would only be my luck that I’d still be in pain when dead.”

She didn’t notice the taller, brunette that’d arrived behind Jason, or the curious frowns they were sending her. It was just as well, because she succumbed to unconsciousness.


Whimpering, Chloe opened her heavy eye-lids and began to cry when her favorite farm boy was the first thing she’d seen. She would have flung her arms around him and hold him tight but her body was still in agony. At least it looked better and less black than the last time she’d seen herself.

Hmmm. Definitely love the rejuvenation.

Clark held her close to him, his heartbeat racing a hundred miles per minute. “What happened to you? I couldn’t find you for the longest time and then--!”

“I don’t know.” Chloe whispered. “Somehow this man—thing—creature got me and took me to this cabin and started torturing me for no reason. I--.” She paused. “I’m not dead. Jason--.”

Clark frowned and picked her up silently.

In his arms Chloe noticed the disaster that was the inside of the cabin. She gasped when she saw the two men lying lifelessly on the floor.

“What happened to them?”

“I don’t know.” Clark whispered, holding her tightly to him. “When I found you they were already like that.”

“A-Are they--?”

“The dark haired one is.” He frowned. “Jason—Jason’s almost as well.”

She hardly realized that the black frostbite marks were now an ugly yellow, her skin healing quicker than usual. “They must have killed that thing.” The blonde winced. “But Jason—how is he alive?”

Clark was silent before turning with her towards the door. “Come, the police will be here any minute.”

“Clark!” She fought him. “Don’t you dare! We’ve got to help them!”

Her farm boy looked down at her. “Chloe, you’re too weak! You could die!”

She fixed him with an ugly glare. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve died and you know it. Just--just make sure I don’t wake up in a morgue this time. I’ve definitely developed a phobia of that place.”

He looked pained. “Chloe…I don’t want to risk the chance that this time you--that you don’t come back to me.”

Her glare softened. “Silly farm boy.” She whispered tenderly, raising a hand to cup his smooth cheek. “Like you could get rid of me so easily.” Leaning forwards she blushed when she planted an innocent kiss on said cheek, looking away immediately, never noticing the blush on her friend’s face, or the dazed expression and dreamy smile that graced his features.

Her mossy green eyes were on Jason, and his dead friend. She frowned, looking at Jason and his clothes, and then at the brunette sprawled brokenly on the ground. They looked similar. They looked--if she hadn’t known that Jason was an only child she would’ve thought that this dark haired young man was his brother.

“Put me down next to Jason.” She ordered softly, wondering what seemed so changed about the once coach of her high school. “It’ll take more out of me if I have to bring them both back from the dead.”

Clark was still. “Why do you want to bring them back?” There was something harsh in his voice that she’d never heard before, and it surprised her, yet for some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off of the…the two men. “You know what Jason tried to do to Lana and--.”

Her eyes darkened at the name of the reason why Clark would never return the feelings she’d once had for her. While she didn’t love Clark anymore like that, it still stung to remember why she’d never had a Popsicle’s chance in hell. “They killed that thing—that wasn’t a meteor freak. I don’t know what it was—but they did, and they knew how to get rid of it!”


“Is obviously a good guy now Clark!” Chloe hissed, turning to look at her friend with another glare. “Now put me down next to him before I—I—I try see if I have some other dormant power and use it on you!”

Clark narrowed his eyes at her yet he did as told, gently laying her on the floor next to a bleeding, broken Jason Teague.

Chloe sat next to the man who might have gone to Lana on a mission from his mother--but had ended up loving her and being spurned for Clark--and Chloe could understand the pain and ache of unrequited love. She felt a bond with him from just that, and smiled slightly when she thought that they should start ULA--Unrequited Lovers Anonymous.

His breath hitched…and he surprised her by opening his eyes.

She smiled down at him, blushing slightly at his intense green gaze fully on her. He’d never done that before. “Hey Jason.”

Those green orbs were filled with confusion, and he opened his mouth to say something but all that came out were harsh sounds of pain.

“Hey, don’t speak, you’re dying and you’ll do so quicker if you try to force your body to do things it clearly isn’t able to do at the moment.” She whispered, leaning over him, eyes roaming over his handsome face.

Why was there something different about how he looked?

Or was it that he was looking at her like he’d never done before?

And that she liked it?

She blushed.

“I know this is awkward, I mean, you were my P.E. instructor for crying out loud, and in love with my best friend--whom your mother tried to kill…” She paused, frowning, before shaking her head and looking down at the young, handsome young man who was looking up at her in pained, yet utterly fascinated silence. “I, I just want to thank you. I—I never expected my rescuer to be Jason Teague.”

“Sam?” He’d finally found his voice, but it was weak, hoarse, and it obviously hurt him to use it.

She looked back at the other man before turning to Jason. “He’s dead. But he won’t be for long.”

Jason looked up at her in horror.

She realized that he must be really confused, so she just shook her head. “Think of everything as a ‘thank you’.” Her blush returned with fervor as she closed her eyes and leaned down, pressing her lips to his.

Vaguely she heard Clark utter a horrified sound, but she blocked him out completely, concentrating on the lips beneath hers, and feeling the healing powers in her being transported to him. Jason wasn’t trembling anymore, and if it wasn’t for the fact that those lips were moving amazingly wonderfully beneath hers she’d have worried that he was dead.

She’d discovered this little ability when Bart had once stolen a kiss from her when he’d been injured and once she’d pulled away they’d both discovered he was fully healed.

Jason pulled away and looked up into her eyes with awe, whispering one word “Angel…” before falling asleep. That was to be expected. Forcing healing did make one sleepy.

What wasn’t expected was the feeling in her stomach, the butterflies that flew when he called her that.

He was tired…he didn’t know what he was saying.

Chloe felt tired as well, but she turned to her other side and while she waited for her body to regain some energy to do what had to be done, the blonde took a good look of the brown haired man she was sure was named “Sam”. He had to be family to Jason, they were more similar than she’d first noticed--and obviously sinfully good looks ran in the family.

Maybe they were cousins?

Unconsciously threading her fingers through his silky locks, she pushed them away from his face with such familiarity she would have blushed if she realized what she was doing.

“Chloe…” Clark’s voice sounded odd again, with some unnamable emotion thickening his tone.

She raised a hand to stop whatever he was going to say. “I’m going to do this Clark, just, just make sure I wake up in bed and not during the middle of an autopsy.” She chuckled, always finding the humor in even the darkest of situations. “It was hard enough to explain things away to the mortician the first time.”

Her friend and companion was silent, but Chloe spoke Clarkinese, and knew that he would do as she’d asked and wouldn’t try to interfere.

Closing her eyes and cupping ‘Sam’s’ cold cheek, Chloe pressed her lips against his, forcing even more power through his mouth, so that when he returned his body could be healed as well. Tears welled up in her closed eyes and skidded down her rapidly paling cheeks before landing onto Sam’s eyelids.

Like the time with Lois, there was a flash of white, but Chloe wasn’t thrown back and into blissful, even if not-permanent death.

Her eyes flew open and she looked down into warm brown eyes looking up into her face in surprise as their mouths continued to move desperately over each other’s, as if of their own command.

The white light surrounding them should blind a normal human being, but it didn’t both either participants in the searing kiss that seemed to burn their bodies. Images of a baby boy in a cradle, a beautiful dark haired woman, and a evil looking man with glowing yellow eyes ran through her mind, as well as images of a young brunette boy and his brother being taught military tactics by their father, of the boy leaving his brother and father to go to college--and of finding the one he loved killed by the hand of yet another yellow eyed person—creature—thing.

Images of her own childhood rushed through her eyes, images she’d somehow kept hidden from herself, images of her mother and her when the meteor show hit and changed their lives forever. She saw her mother walking out on her father and herself, saw her life in Smallville, of Clark, of the many times she’d nearly died because of her investigation and of how she’d saved Lois leading up to this night.

Finally the darkness overtook Chloe as they were flung away from each other.


Dean Winchester looked down at his brother, who was cursing at the computer. He knew what Sam was looking for and the reason why he was so frustrated. Dean could understand because he too hadn’t been able to get the blonde, green-eyed girl from his thoughts or dreams, even though it’d been some months since their encounter.

And Sam was having visions of her.

And not just visions of her being in trouble.

He’d had a vision of her laughing as she chased another girl around a dock before both tumbled into the lake and were joined by a couple of guys that ‘looked like male models’ Sam had announced with an agitated, disgusted sound in his voice—before remarking how good she’d looked in a bikini.

Dean couldn’t help but feel resentful.

Why did Sammy get to see her in a bikini?

And apparently, the last vision of Sam’s had left him angry, distracted, and--hell--he hadn’t been angry, he’d been furious!

Apparently, from the other visions Sam had been having of their mysterious “Angel”, as Dean had dubbed her, both brothers guessed that she was a “Chosen One” like Sam, and was a Hunter (like them!) and that the large mountain of a man Dean vaguely remembered with her was her hunting partner.

They got into as much trouble as Sam and him!


Dean looked up from where he’d been cleaning their weapons. “Got something?” He shot up and headed towards the other bed, where Sam was blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.” His brother made space for him, eyes on the screen. “I looked up that name you said she called you, and after a lot of searching I discovered that she knew one of your Dopplegangers. And I pulled up this.”

Dean blinked.

There was a high school newspaper with a younger version of their mysterious Angel and Dean…in a fuck-ugly football jersey.

He made a face. “Obviously, he got my good looks and not my taste in clothes.”

Sam rolled his eyes before pulling up the article to the picture, written by Chloe Sullivan. So that was the name of their elusive blonde? “And that’s not all, dude. She’s been fighting against these Meteor Freaks since high school.”

“Like Buffy?” Dean smirked, remembering the only television series he could watch more than one episode of.

“Stop thinking with your downstairs brain, Dean.” Sam grounded out through clenched teeth. “Chloe doesn’t wear skimpy clothes and she wouldn’t give you the time of day. She’s too smart to do that.”

“Don’t be such a whiny bitch, Samantha.” Dean rolled his eyes at his brother and his uncharacteristic possessiveness of the girl who’d saved their lives with a kiss from her luscious lips. Lips he’d loved to…

Okay then, maybe I SHOULD stop thinking with ‘downstairs’ Dean…at least until we can find her again.

“Jerk.” Sam spat out before taking in a calming breath and pulling up another web page. One called…

“The Wall of Weird?” Dean asked, looking at the title.

“She wrote down everything that happened while she was in high school.”

Both brothers were uncharacteristically silent as they sat next to each other on Sam’s bed and read tale after tale of their Angel’s adventures. She was an amazing writer. Dean hated reading, yet here he was, hours later, reading of yet another near-death experience.

Now this was a woman he could easily settle down with.

He smirked at that thought. “So, found out anything useful about our little blonde Angel?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, pulling up yet another webpage. “She’s interning at the Kansas division of the Daily Planet and lives in an apartment above a café called The Talon in Smallville.” Sam smirked--which was an unusual thing for him to do. “She’s from Kansas, just like us.”

“While that was interesting to know,” Dean raised an eyebrow. “I was asking more like, if she likes guys and if she’s seeing anyone.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother before spitting out: “Jimmy Olsen, also an intern at the Daily Planet.”

“One of the ‘models’ you saw?” Dean asked, frowning at the revelation that their Angel had ties to someone else.

Sam clicked a few buttons and a picture appeared. Chloe smiled beautifully into the camera, dressed to kill and with digital voice recorder in hand, obviously only having attended the fancy event to secure an interview. Slightly behind her with a camera in his hands was a geeky guy with a crooked bow tie.

Dean turned to his brother in horror. “Tell me that isn’t him! His looking, kissing, touching her is—is—is sacrilege!”

Sam was in just as foul a mood as Dean as he glared at the incompetent looking Jimmy Olsen.

Dean frowned and looked up at the ceiling. Great. Now he was going to have dreams of his Angel with that dude. “Um, Sam…” He begun in an innocent sounding voice—which was suspicious in itself. “I was thinking…”


Dean frowned and turned to look at his brother. “I didn’t even finish! You don’t know what I was going to--.”

“You want to go look her up when we finish with this ghost.”

Dean blinked. “Okay. So maybe you did know what I was saying.” He then smirked. “Definitely, huh?”

Sam blushed, eyes suddenly on the screen of his laptop once more. “Well, we, uh, have to thank her for saving us and taking us and the Impala away from the crime scene before the police got there, right?”

Dean’s grin was large. “Would be bad manners if we didn’t.”

“Right.” Sam nodded, giving the picture of Jimmy Olsen a glare before closing the lid of his laptop.

Dean nodded and went to his own bed. They were silent as the lights went out and they lay under their sheets, unable to sleep.

“Uh, Sam?”


“Could you, I don’t know, get rid of the dork from the picture and just leave Angel in it or something?”

There was a moment’s silence. “Was already planning on doing that.”

Dean smirked into the darkness. Moments like these assured him that Sam was indeed his little brother.

Closing his eyes, confident smile in place, Dean dreamt of their Angel once more.

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