self_inflictedexhile | rachel's diner } { I'm bankin' on the fables of the far, far better things we do

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rachel's diner } { I'm bankin' on the fables of the far, far better things we do

Cordelia Chase was nothing if not adaptable. Even if she tended to complain while doing it.

When the Powers said she had another path to take, she didn’t think it was a literal other path. After leaving Angel in his office at Wolfram and Hart, Cordelia assumed that she was heading off to that other plane of existence, destined to be bored for the rest of her afterlife, but she was stunned to find that there were other plans in mind for her. They didn’t feel like sharing that plan either, which was even more annoying. She figured that after everything she sacrificed and lost for the ‘Grand Plan’ that she would be let in on the plan a bit, but she knew that it was there way of protecting free will. If she wanted to know what was happening, she needed to figure it out on her own and choose to be a part of it. Or, she could consider this a vacation from her life of fighting evil and just be a normal girl.

Being normal had never really been something that worked for her.

She was dumped at a roadside diner somewhere off I70, with a whole lot of confusion, and nothing but the clothes on her back and all of five cents to her name. She was lucky in the fact that the diner owner was sympathetic to her unfortunate plight and was willing to offer her a job and board until she got on her feet. Five years later, Cordelia was still at that same diner, working for a reason she couldn’t really explain. She knew that the Powers had dumped her there for a reason. Even though she wasn’t really sure of the hows and whys, she was pretty sure that it would come to her eventually. She just needed to figure out when. So she donned her apron and went to work every day. And for the most part, it was almost … nice.

It had been so long since she had a real job with steady income, that she had almost forgotten how nice it was to actually be normal. She was sure that parts of it were still overrated, but she had a real life again. She had passed the visions to Angel when she kissed him, so there were no more loud, painful signals from the Powers that Be. No more demons, no more vampires—Cordelia was just a regular girl, with a regular job, in a small little town off a normal highway. Sure there was the occasional nightmare, and the odd case of déjà vu, but for the most part, she had left her old life behind. The life she was building now may have been less exciting, but it was a life.

Still. There was that déjà vu. And when the déjà vu was connected to that customer sitting at her back corner booth, she didn’t have it in her to just leave it alone. She picked up her strongest pot of coffee, before making her way to the back to start to try and figure him out. He had already ordered his food, and since they had a slow period, now was the chance for a little small talk. She swayed her way over, and held up the pot to try and get his attention.

“Can I top you off?”

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Looking up from the newspaper he'd picked up outside and on a whim, Dean stared at her for a moment blankly before the fact that she'd said something to him actually settled in.

"Huh?" It took another second and a glance at the coffee pot in her hand to realize what she'd said, and he tried for a sheepish smile, though he was fairly certain it was as thin as paper. He slid his cup over to the edge of the table and gave up on it, half hoping to distract from the fact that he'd bothered to try at all. "Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks."

She gave him a sympathetic smile and went to fill up the coffee cup, before glancing over to the newspaper. She's trying to look for all the clues as to where she might have seen him before, but so far she's coming up empty. She's at least ninety percent certain that they've never met.

Maybe seventy-five percent.

"Must be an interesting article. Something big happen?"

He glanced down at the paper as if he'd never seen it before, then looked back up at her. "Not really. I'm just tryin' to keep up on current events. You know -- be worldly or whatever."

In all honesty, he'd picked up the paper as a means of distracting himself. He didn't want to think about Sam or about what had happened, and he'd figured giving himself something to focus on would help, no matter how little he cared about the rising gas prices or whoever some schmuck in Washington had been caught in bed with this week. It hadn't helped -- he'd spent most of breakfast alternating between staring at the same headline, trying to force the words on the page to make sense, and pushing his steak and eggs around on his plate aimlessly -- but it had been a nice thought. Hell, it'd been the only real thought he'd had all morning.

"From what I hear, the news isn't all that happy these days," she said as she placed the coffee pot to the side and went to wipe down the table across from him. "You'd probably have been better off grabbing a magazine."

"Not happy doesn't even begin to cover it," he muttered, setting down the paper so he could set about fixing his coffee. His breakfast, he hadn't touched; caffeine he'd been mainlining like it was going out of style. He took a swig of it, wincing at the heat of it as it slid down his throat, and then louder, "But hey. You know where I can get a magazine that isn't, like, Better Homes and Gardens or friggen Newsweek and I'll give it a shot."

Maybe he'd have better luck with a magazine. Probably not, but you couldn't blame a guy for hoping, however fleeting that hope was.

She smirked a bit. He had a point. There were some magazines that just weren't appealing to everyone, and she didn't blame him for passing there. But still -- even if the magazine was boring as dirt, it was better than the depressing news of the day.

"I think I have a Cosmo in my bag in the back, but I don't really think that's your style, either."

He offered her another one of those brittle smiles, and took another sip of his coffee to cover it. He didn't want to have to answer any uncomfortable questions about what his damage was. "Yeah, no, sorry, I think I'm gonna have to pass, but hey -- thanks for playin'."

"Do I get a consolation prize, or is it just one of those -- too bad, so sad kind of situations?"

She still wasn't getting anything. There wasn't anything about the conversation that was jogging her memory, it was just him. And that was probably the most frustrating part of it all. So she would just continue the conversation until he left, or got tired of talking to her, and until then ...

... Well, he'd just have to put up with it.

"I think I'm gonna have to go with door number two, since we're doin' game show metaphors and all." Shrugging, he picked up his fork again and went back to poking at his breakfast. He wasn't necessarily trying to dismiss her by pretending to eat, but he wasn't entirely not, either.

She nodded, going back to paying attention to the table for a moment. Sometimes a beat of silence is needed, and this is a natural place to do it. Plus it gave her a chance to just observe him a little more, and try to figure out who he was.

She wasn't getting very far.

Once she was done wiping down the table, she straightened up a bit. "Are you just passing through?"

"Something like that, yeah." He fidgeted with his breakfast for a moment more, then abandoned trying to stomach it entirely, setting down the fork and pushing his plate away. "I've got friends in Cicero that I haven't seen in a couple of months, and I'm on break from work for a little while, so ... I figured I'd stop in and see how they were doin'."

For the most part, that was the truth, save a few nasty details he didn't feel inclined to share with a total stranger, and he figured it'd be just enough information to keep her from prying deeper. Most people backed off if you threw them a bone now and then, regardless of how small said tidbit was.

"Cicero. I've never heard of it."

It was keeping Cordelia at the surface for now, but she wasn't going anywhere. It'd been a while since she had a long conversation like this, and to be honest? She was a little starved for human contact. If it involved her inflicting it on this poor sap, so be it.

"It's, like, mid-state Indiana," Dean answered, shrugging. "It's ... a nice town. Quiet."

Or so he imagined, when it wasn't being overrun with the friggen Children of the Corn. Not that he was sure that quiet was a good thing -- it'd give him too much time to think -- but he'd made a promise to Sam, and as reluctant as he was, he planned on making good on it.

She nodded a bit. "You don't really seem like the quiet town type."

He really didn't. Leather jacket, rough hands -- he just seemed like the kind of guy who spent most of his time running into danger instead of doing barbecues and family get-togethers.

"Not exactly, but like I said -- break from work, friends in town, that sort of thing. " He shrugged again and drained the last of his coffee, suddenly more than ready to pay his check and leave. "Which, uh, I should probably get back on the road, so ... you mind if I get a check?"

"Right. Of course."

She reached into her apron, pulling out pad she had taken his order on and looking it over. After doing some quick math, she circled the total and placed it on the table next to him.

"Have a safe drive to Cicero."

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking the check from her. He looked it over for a moment, frowning thoughtfully, and then shifted in his seat, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open, biting back a wince at how little money he had left -- he wondered if running a few games of pool constituted going back on his word to Sam -- and fished out the total and a tip, dropping on top of the check.

He glanced back at her after a moment, uncertainly. "One more thing, real quick ... do I give this to you, or take it up front, or what?"

"You can take it up front," she said with a nod. She was reaching over to grab the bin near by and start picking up his dishes. "They'll ring you up and give you your change."

"Cool, thanks."

Getting to his feet, he leaned over the table to separate the tip from the total, tucking the former under his empty coffee cup, and moved up to the front counter, his newspaper forgotten on the table. He hadn't meant to leave it behind, and by the time it occurred to him that he had, he was half-way to the door, his check paid, and he didn't quite have the motivation to go after it. Let the waitress chick keep it or trash it. Let the next schmuck who sat down for breakfast take it home with him. Whatever. It wasn't as though he'd actually been interested in it in the first place, and that in mind, he didn't cast so much as a backwards glance at it as he moved outside.

Cordelia watched him go through the window, and she couldn't help but sigh. There was something about this guy that she still hadn't managed to figure out. It wasn't until he came to a stop in front of the shiny black mastodon of a car that it all clicked into place.

"Oh, shit."

Precognitive dreams? So not better than visions. As non-painful as they were. She dropped the plastic bin on the table with a clatter, before bolting for the other door. She poked her head out and shouted after him.

"Cleveland!"

Dean froze, halfway in the Impala and half out of it, and stared at her for a moment before climbing back out. Relatively normal but kind of chatty waitress girl had apparently invested her tip in shares in Batshit Insane LLC. Awesome. As much as part of him didn't want to try and live a normal life, another part sure as hell didn't want to deal with this, either.

He sighed. "Uh ... what?"

Cordelia knew that she sounded batshit insane. But that was the world they lived in. Sometimes, in order to get people where they needed to be in this business, you needed to get a little batshit.

"Say what you want for small Indiana towns, but ... I think you might find something a little more fulfilling in Cleveland."

"Yeah, unless it's the HUMP festival moved to Cleveland, I'm not really interested. Thanks for the offer, though." Not that he was sure what she was offering, exactly, but it didn't matter. He didn't want some ridiculous straight job, and there was no way she knew he'd been a hunter, no matter how creepy she was being. If she did, she would have jumped him or tried to get his attention back inside or whatever.

She shrugged. She didn't want to look completely psychotic, so she just let him go, and figured that if he really wanted to get there, he'd do it on his own.

"Suit yourself. But the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame usually makes it pretty worth it."

Cordelia was the only one in this conversation who knew that it had been raised to the ground, but ... details.

"Not that I'm completely disinterested -- " He was. If Sam wasn't dead, he probably wouldn't be, but not now. Still, he supposed he had an image to keep up. She didn't know him, of course, so she wouldn't know it was out of character for him to not be able to give a damn, but ... it was good practice to fake it, even around strangers, and God knew he'd need it. " -- but you felt the need to run out and tell me this like some kinda friggen lunatic because why?"

"It's complicated."

She knew that that was not what he wanted to hear that answer start with, because he's probably had enough of it. "Look, I know this life. I know it sucks way more than you probably care to admit. But I also know that you can't quit it. Not cold turkey."

Now when it was so ingrained in your bones that you don't know who you are without it. She knew that one from experience.

He scowled, but to his credit, he managed to stop himself from reaching for his gun. This parking lot was only big enough for one psycho, and it apparently it wasn't him. "Yeah, well, now you got my full attention, sweetheart, so you mind givin' it to me in a nutshell? Startin' with who the hell are you, and how do you know what my life is like?"

"My name's Cordelia Chase. Look me up. But if you want a nutshell, I grew up on a Hellmouth, I was friends with a Slayer, I did the whole psychic visions thing for a while, and I'm one of the few people that actually made it out of LA in one piece when Wolfram and Hart sunk it into Hell." And it wasn't by choice. Her tone indicated that much.

"I'm not saying you have to trust me. I'm not even saying you have to listen to me. But I don't believe in coincidences, either."

"So, what? You just hopped back on the nine-fifteen to Vision Ville long enough to get my life story?" He didn't buy that -- chances were she was a demon or an angel or any number of other things -- but he'd bite. To a certain extent, anyway. As soon as he got out of here, assuming he did make it out of this, he'd give Bobby a call and see if she checked out. If she did ... well, honestly, he didn't know what he'd do if she did. He'd made a promise to Sam, and whatever was going on in Cleveland clearly had something to do with a job and breaking said promise, so ...

"And, uh, maybe you missed the memo, but I made a promise that I wouldn't go back to that crap, so whatever you saw or think you saw or whatever? I'm done." He could quit cold turkey just fine, thank you very much. "So find some other schmuck to send off to whatever big bad's waitin' in Cleveland."

She wanted to tell him that it wasn't that simple. That nothing in this world ever is. That you can't just run away and forget where you came from, no matter how hard you want to try, but she also knew when someone wasn't receptive and she was just spinning her wheels.

So she just took a breath and held up her hands. "It's your choice. I was just making a suggestion."

Besides, there was already someone taking a piece of the big bads in Cleveland. But no one was saying she couldn't use a little help.

"Thanks but no thanks, sweetheart." Flashing her a smile that bordered on cold, he pulled open the door of the Impala and climbed in, jamming the keys in the ignition the second the door closed behind him. He'd call Bobby from the road; right now, he just wanted out of there. "See you around."

God, he hoped not, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than anything else he could come up with off the top of his head, regardless of how sarcastic he'd sounded. Not that he waited to see how she took it, however -- or if she bothered with any cryptic bullshit about how he probably would. Instead, he just put the car in reverse, swung out of his parking spot, and peeled out of the lot, checking over his shoulder every so often to make sure she wasn't following him until he'd made it back to highway proper.

Cordelia sighed as she watched him drive away from her like a bat out of hell, and just let herself stand in the silence for a moment. Not the greatest way of introducing herself ever, but that wasn't what she was worried about right now.

"You know, I used to beat guys like that off with a stick," she muttered to herself as she turned to walk back around and head back into the diner. "Now they can't get away fast enough."

Some days? She really hated her life.

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