You're part of my entity, here for Infinity
When the war has took its part
When the world has dealt its cards
If the hand is hard, together we'll mend your heart
Sometimes love wasn't enough.
Had love comforted her on those cold, lonely nights as she tried to sleep alone in that king-sized bed in her apartment?
Had love granted her one moment's respite from meeting his side of the bed – empty – when she reached for him unconsciously?
Had love listened to her silent pleas, her fervent prayers? All the "what if" scenarios that ran amuck through her mind in the dark?
What was it about the dark that she found so appealing? Since he'd left, it was always about the dark. Chloe longed for it as much as she loathed its approach. Darkness equaled solitude and all the painful, horrifying memories that had come with it. So why look forward to it? What was its sway over her?
Reporting for The Daily Planet, Scoobying with Clark and the JLA was her daytime life. The gotittogether façade she kept firmly in place. It consumed her, kept her busy when the sun shone brightly in the sky. Kept her from thinking about him even as the wall around her heart kept the rest of the world out. Chloe refused to let the crack in her soul see the light of day, much less her super-powered friends and family. They wouldn't understand what she'd lost. Not even Lois, who went through her own personal hell when Clark donned the blue and red and Speedy Gonzalesed for Whoknowswheresville.
How would Clark and Oliver and Lois and the others know what it was like, killing the man you loved?
Chloe lay on her back, her head pressed into her pillow, and gazed unseeingly at the ceiling. She sighed heavily and let the semi-darkness consume her. Thin ribbons of moonlight streamed into the window, a reminder of the light she still belonged to, though she wanted nothing to do with it. She shut her eyes, trying to block it out, even as the traumatic images barraged her. She couldn't blot them out, not when the tears soaked her closed lashes and streamed down her face. She realized she couldn't fight it anymore, couldn't continue doing this to anymore to herself. Not to anyone, though really, who was left to tell the tale?
Dean and Sam Winchester were both gone.
Images flashed like lightening across her mind: the phone call, Sam's cry for help. Dean and the Deal. Not much time left. Running out of options. Research. Hunt. Argue. Make up.
Love.
Beg. Plead. Contemplate making her own deal. For him. Because she loved him. Worth it. Dean could argue all he wanted: Chloe was going to help him, come hell, high water, or death.
A sad, wry smile touched her lips and she brushed the tears away with one hand. How ironic that death had won out in the end, that instead of outright taking Dean's life, the crossroads demon went after Chloe Sullivan, Dean's "walking, snarking, live-action heart"? Wasn't that the phrase he'd used as he lay dying in her arms?
Have to protect my heart, Dean had said. Couldn't let you die.
"I can't go on like this," Chloe whispered out loud, repeating the same thing she'd spoken to him in that large, empty field outside Smallville.
They had been alone: Sam had gone to get the Impala on shaky, unsteady feet, having sustained a nasty side wound just before he'd killed the demon for good – though not before it got what it'd come for. She feared for Sam's safety and wished for him to hurry: time was shorter than they'd anticipated, and she knew the youngest Winchester would never forgive himself if he couldn't say good-bye to his brother. That was assuming Sam's blood loss wasn't too much. Frankly, she feared for them both.
Chloe sucked in a troubled breath as Dean's words throbbed through her mind like a freight train. You have to be strong for me, he had whispered to her brokenly, with a heavy breath. Got to live.
"I don't want to, without you," she said, a little surprised at her clear voice reverberating against the walls of the empty bedroom. She opened her eyes regretfully, droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes, and slowly sat up in bed. Do you know how I miss you? How I long to see you again, just so we can argue over whether or not I get to drive the Impala? She looked at the lightly curtained window, at the pale light framing it, and wondered again if she could find another crossroads demon and make the deal she'd wanted to so many months ago.
Chloe saw the curtains flutter suddenly and shot out of bed quickly. The window wasn't open and no vents rested against the outer wall. Something was in her room – their room when Dean and Sam had come to Metropolis – and the extra shotgun filled with rocksalt seemed a familiar and necessary instrument. She found it under the bed, where she usually kept it, and aimed it into the darkness.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence crept around her like a comforting blanket, and the gun wavered in her hands. "I'm seeing things," she whispered out loud, though she somehow knew someone – or something – was in the room with her. Maybe she was losing her mind, slowing turning into her catatonic mother with her ability to fade in and out of reality to her own version of it, where Dean was still alive and Sam was still on speaking terms with her.
But when the room turned cold suddenly, and she shivered, Chloe raised the gun again. It wasn't just something; it was a spirit. She didn't know who it was or why it was here, but she knew it could've been anyone. She had made several enemies along the way to her Daily Planet column. Any manner of angry spirit could be haunting her for any reason; maybe it wished her dead. Which was fine by her.
Chloe, you have to live, Dean's voice chimed in her mind. She winced and frowned, despite her heart racing at the achingly familiar sound.
"God, now my thoughts sound like you?" she called out loud and gripped the shotgun firmly in her hands. She took a couple steps away from the bed into the middle of the room, goosebumps raised on her skin as she felt the temperature in the room drop abruptly.
So when the temperature changed, when she immediately found herself immersed in a tender warmth, Chloe choked back a sob and let the gun clatter to the floor. She closed her eyes and stood there as the spike in heat surged around her, into her, through her. A riotous swirl of emotion flared inside her soul: all the grief and love and lost she'd felt since Dean's death, since Sam had taken off for parts unknown because he blamed her as much as himself for his brother's death. For the first time in a long time, Chloe Sullivan allowed herself to feel. She crumpled onto the floor and rested against the side of the bed, feeling boneless and hopeless.
"Dean, I miss you," she repeated softly and reached her arms out for the unknown spirit giving her a much-needed relief from her torment. She felt phantom hands grasp her arms and gasped as they attempted to pull her towards the center of the room. She moved herself towards the darkness and enveloped herself within arms that felt strangely familiar. Arms that no longer existed in this world.
What part of 'you have to live' don't you understand, dammit? The irritated growl rang in her ears and made her release her tears of relief and despair. Invisible hands gripped her arms tightly.
The spirit had to be Dean Winchester. Only someone like him would be stubborn enough to claw his way back from the dead to smack some life into her, she thought as tears streaked down her cheeks, dropping like rain onto the carpeted floor. "The part where I have to live without you," she whispered tearfully and wished she could lean against his muscled chest one more time. Look at what you've done to me, Dean. I'm a walking mess because you made me love you and then died on me.
You have to go on, Chloe. Find Sam. He's in pain, too.
Chloe felt the warmth slowly break down the wall she'd built around her heart. To keep Dean's memory in and the rest of the world out. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She had to go on. She couldn't hide from her family and friends forever. She didn't know the last time she and Lois had spent quality time together, or the last time Watchtower had been around to save Impulse's sorry butt when he thought running through Lex's 33.1 facilities for fun was better than being bored. She felt the pain slowly drip out of her wounded heart and wiped the tears from her eyes.
She had to pull herself together and find Sam Winchester. For all she knew, he could be dead. Or trying to make his own deal, similar to the one she'd considered before Dean has brutally and verbally beaten down. Her eyes flew open wide and she shuddered. "Dean, Sam won't… he blames me… Oh God," she stuttered breathlessly. A newfound strength imbued her limbs and gave her a sense of purpose. Dean's phantom warmth and love had pushed the pain back. She wasn't quite sure what was left, but she knew finding Sam would be the answer.
That's my girl, Dean's voice echoed in her head. She stood and felt the temperature in the room cool a fraction. Go find my brother. He needs you now. He's too emo for his own good right now.
"No! Wait!" she cried at the sudden chill in the air. She reached out for arms and a face she'd never see again in this lifetime. "Stay with me, Dean. Help me find him. I don't know where to look, or what to tell him." Her voice warbled with the helplessness she felt over the youngest Winchester. Besides, she didn't want to say goodbye to Dean again.
I'll always be with you, Chloe, he whispered, and she felt him fade away, as evidenced by the now temperate air around her. I love you, my heart.
"I love you, too," she whispered and felt a final chuckle in her mind before his presence disappeared from the room. Chloe wanted to weep again, but she didn't. She had heard him: she was his heart. She looked around the dimly lit room, crouched down to her shotgun, and replaced it in its hiding place. She didn't need to cry now: she was going to keep it together.
As she rose and looked at what was Dean's side of her bed, Chloe understood finally: as long as she was living, Dean would always be with her. Living inside her heart, guiding and protecting. Two things he had been good at. And maybe, if she listened to her heart, she could find Sam Winchester and teach him to forgive himself for Dean's death, just as she was finally learning herself. Sam might still blame her, but Chloe hoped, as she changed into a pair of jeans and t-shirt, he would let her back into his confidence again.
She reached for her laptop and opened it. Dean's smiling, happy face looked at her from the screen, and she smiled back. He was watching over them both. And Chloe would find Sam and together, they'd put their lives back on track.