A/N: Alright folks, I know I only made it to one new episode, but I've gotta put myself on a writing hiatus. I'll still be watching SPN and plotting, but the writing takes up too much of my precious, precious homework(and sleep) time. I'm very sorry to have to do this so soon. I can't tell you when I'll be done with this hiatus, but, until then, I've got some webisodes I never posted.

Hope that can tide you over until I return. I'll post these about once a week, like regular episodes.

Again, sorry! See you when I'm sane and homework free. :D


Summary: It was just a matter of time timing. Five times Chloe could have met the Winchesters (and Crossing Kansas wouldn't have happened). Chapter 1/5


-2003-

Her column was called Sullivan's Travels, but at sixteen, she wasn't allowed a wide range of travel. In fact, if she could keep it inside the metro area, her editor was happier, and she wanted to keep her editor happy. Honest. Even if she had Lionel Luthor backing up her column, she didn't want to earn a bad name at the Planet.

After fighting with Clark, though, she decided she needed a break. She needed to get away before she let slip the secret of Clark's whereabouts. If she told anyone where he was hiding in Metropolis, he'd run. She couldn't be the reason he ran further from his loved ones. She wouldn't take on that responsibility.

So, she needed to get away. It was time Sullivan did a little more traveling. There had to be something strange and unexplained outside the state. Anything to distract her from Clark and his stupid game of hide-and-don't-find-me.

When she heard of a mysterious murder in Nebraska, she decided it was her break. No one on staff cared enough about the story to investigate. They all deemed it a suicide, but Chloe wasn't so sure. Something was off.

She wasn't the maintainer of the Wall of Weird for nothing.

::

Dean chanced a glance at his dad across the booth. He was frowning, which wasn't all that surprising, but it was the way he was frowning that unsettled him. "Something up with the case?" he asked around a bite of hamburger.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth," John said, instead of answering.

Dean nodded, swallowed and tried again. He knew this mood his dad was in. He also knew it had nothing to do with the case. It was a ghost hunt. There wasn't much that could upset his dad about a ghost hunt. But he asked anyway, because he knew better than to ask what was really wrong (Sammy, betrayal, family loyalty, "Don't you dare come back!").

"Dad?" he pressed, dropping his burger back onto his plate.

"We should go. It's getting late and the sooner we get done the sooner we can leave." John pushed his plate away, looked from Dean's half-empty plate to his face and quirked an eyebrow. "You done?"

"Yes sir."

::

"Is this the first time a death has occurred in Mr. Nelson's house?"

Chloe hesitated outside the sheriff's office, listening to the conversation going on inside. It sounded like a journalist, and he was asking about her story. She frowned as she waited for a response. She thought every other reporter had written the story off as a suicide. Why were there reporters asking about it three days later?

"Do you mean: did Mr. Nelson ever murder anyone beside himself?" the sheriff asked, sounding torn between amusement and annoyance.

"Yes, but also before Mr. Nelson. Is there any history of death in that house?" the reporter corrected.

"No. No deaths. The house is relatively new and the last owners were all young and all still alive as far as I know."

"Good to hear," the journalist answered. A chair was pushed back and Chloe stepped away from the door, sensing the end of the conversation. Without waiting for the journalist to say his goodbyes, she turned and walked out of the police station, deciding she'd try an interview later. She knew from experience that police didn't enjoy talking about a case to multiple journalists. She'd give the sheriff a day to rest from the media then catch him the next day.

And in the mean time, she could investigate the house. She smiled at the idea of digging around the late Mr. Nelson's home. It wasn't so much that she enjoyed breaking and entering. It was simply that she enjoyed the thrill of investigating restricted areas.

As she wandered down the street towards her car, she noticed a large, black car parked next to her small Bug. A man was leaning against the hood, scowling slightly at the police station.

He was young, about Lex Luthor's age, she'd guess. The frown on his face aged him, though. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what could age a young man like him. Probably more tragedy than even she'd seen in her life.

She avoided his gaze as she passed, hoping he wouldn't say anything to her. Growing up in Metropolis (and freak-zone Smallville) had taught her how to behave around strangers, but there was something about the man that unsettled her.

As she slid into her car, she realized he was watching her. Before she could look away, he smiled nice and easy, and she felt herself relax. With a small smile in return, she started her car and drove away, putting him in her rearview mirror.

She didn't have time for his smiles. She had a story to investigate.

::

The EMF meter was quiet as he and Dad wandered through the house. If there was a spirit, it wasn't showing up. His dad stopped suddenly, shooting him a silencing look. Dean nodded and listened. Someone was moving around in the next room.

He brought up his shotgun, knowing Dad was doing the same. On a silent count of three, Dad threw open the door and they charged in, guns aimed.

The small blonde inside jumped, throwing her hands in the air. "Don't shoot," she pleaded, looking between the two of them. Her gaze lingered on Dean's face and she frowned as her hands lowered.

Dean lowered his gun a little and studied her face in return. It took a second to recognize her, but he knew she was the girl he'd seen leave the police station earlier that day. He'd sensed trouble the moment he'd spotted her, but he never would have guessed she'd mess with their hunt.

John stepped forward, his gun still raised. "This is a crime scene." He swept the area with his weapon. "You shouldn't be here."

"I'm a reporter," she argued, holding up her press badge. "I'm working on a story."

"In the middle of the night?" Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "Less chance of getting caught." She opened her mouth to continue, but hesitated when she saw her breath float in front of her.

"It's here," Dean said unnecessarily, his EMF meter finally going off. He made a mental note to examine the piece of equipment later.

"Get out," John ordered, gesturing for the girl to move to the door.

Before she could, it slammed shut, and Dean didn't have to check to know it wasn't going to budge. He moved to her side, putting himself between her and the rest of the room. "What are you…" she trailed off as the spirit flickered to life in front of them.

Together, he and John shot, dissipating it with rocksalt. The girl squeaked at the gunfire and moved back against the wall behind her. "Did you kill it?" she asked, looking between them with wide eyes.

"No," John answered simply.

She blinked, but nodded. "Oh."

The spirit showed again and this time, John shot it while yelling for Dean to get the girl to safety. She didn't protest as he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room then out of the house. In fact, by the time they reached the front lawn she just looked curious.

Dean mentally cursed, knowing that look almost as well as he knew his dad's irritated look. It was reporter's curiosity. Curiosity about the supernatural.

That never ended well.

"No comment," he grumbled.

She just cocked an eyebrow.

::

"So, what else is real?" Chloe asked as John dropped the match and the corpse went up in flames. She screwed up her nose at the smell, but stayed put. If the two men could handle the smell she wasn't going to back away. Besides, she had the—as Dean had deemed it—important task of holding the flashlight.

"A lot," Dean answered. "Except unicorns."

"Hilarious." She frowned and ignored the amused look in his eyes. "And you two hunt this stuff."

"What does it look like?" he asked, gesturing to the burning corpse.

"It looks like grave desecration," she said, enjoying the way the amusement left his face. She could play the wit card too.

John looked up at her words, fixing her with a hard glare. "I think this interview is over."

Hint taken. She nodded and handed Dean back his flashlight before grabbing her bag. "So how do I get a hold of you?"

"You don't," John answered.

"And if I've got a ghost problem?" she pressed.

Dean exchanged a loaded look with his dad and shrugged. "Bobby Singer. South Dakota. Look him up."

She nodded, but remained where she stood. "Are you sure I can't get a last name?"

Dean smirked, physically pointing her in the direction of her car. "Try me once you've graduated high school, Sweetheart."

Chloe rolled her eyes as she walked away. "Not likely," she mumbled, marching off into the darkness of the graveyard. When she neared her car, she turned and waved at the two men. "Thanks for saving my life, by the way."

"Stay out of haunted houses," John called back.

Yes sir.

::

Two years later, John will disappear, leaving his son to seek out the only family he has left. Together, they will cross the country, fighting evil, saving people, and pulling pranks. The usual.

In Smallville, a young reporter will continue her research into the weird and unexplained, adding supernatural to the list. She'll meet new hunters, ask questions, and find herself deeper in the hunting world. Eventually she'll lose her column because of its "fictional" content, and no amount of Luthor influence will save it.

Being fired (and a little help from Lex) will save her from her deal with Lionel. She will quietly find her way out of Lionel's interest and continue her research into the supernatural.

She won't testify against him, he won't have her blown up, Lois Lane won't come to town, etc. etc.

::

Dean will forget about her months after their encounter.

Chloe will always remember him and his father.

They won't meet again.

::

Also, unicorns will never be real.