This idea has been brewing for months and I'm excited to finally be sharing it with you. Hopefully you enjoy it as much as I do. Thank you to anyone who reads any of my stories, you give me life. As always, your opinions are very welcome and I would love to hear from you.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly. I just enjoy Dean as much as the rest of you.

"Welcome to Kansas". I scoff as I pass the sign, at this point, I'll take anything that isn't Florida. I make the decision to head west across the state and into Colorado, then north when I reach Denver. The goal is far north Montana, so I can make a run for Canada if it becomes necessary. I drive straight through Kansas City, not wanting to risk the big city - too many eyes. But I'm running out of money, so when I see a sign that reads Bonner Springs I figure it's as good a place as any. I don't stray into town. I'll see if I can get some work at the building just off the highway, a diner with a big sign that says McCoy's, for a few days. This old school quad cab Chevy actually has a pretty comfortable back seat.

In the parking lot I take a look in the rearview mirror, don't want to look too horrid when I ask for a temp job. The bags under my eyes are darker than usual, the stress of the last few days weighing on me heavily. I quickly swipe some concealer under my eyes and throw my long blonde hair into a loose French braid. Before I can over think what I'm about to do, I open the door and hop out of the truck, a cloud of dust puffing up around my worn out burgundy Converse.

The crowd of rough and tumble looking guys sitting at the tables on the patio gives me pause. They look like the kind that hang around habitually and I'm gonna get one thing straight right now: I am not prey. With that in mind I turn and pull my Smith & Wesson out from under the driver's seat, undoing my belt and slipping the holster in place on my right hip before I cinch the belt again. I shrug on my fitted flannel over my tank top, happy to wear it freely again, no longer needing to hear about how un-classy it is. They didn't approve of these jeans either. Apparently skin tight Levi's make me look like 'a cheap redneck whore'. Whatever, those people and their high society demands are behind me now and I'm never looking back. Closing and locking the door, I take a calming breath and let my face fall into a solid 'don't fuck with me' expression and roll my shoulders back, making my 5'5" frame as big as possible. With a quick turn on my heel, I'm striding toward the entrance, my eyes trained forward and my head held high. I feel their eyes follow me the whole way inside and it makes my skin crawl but I refuse to hesitate.

All the cars outside should have been a sign. When I walk through the doors to this little truck stop lounge I'm immediately hit with chatter and the sound of utensils scraping on plates. There's two women rushing around the floor, bustling to keep up with the orders going in and out of the kitchen. The older of the two, a woman who looks to be in her early fifties, stops in front of me, her breathing slightly labored. "Just you today, sweetheart?"

I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. "Actually, I was hoping you could use a spare set of hands for a few days. I'm just about out of travel money."

Her face visibly sags with relief, "I sure could, my only other waitress called out last minute with the flu so I had to drag my tired old bones back out here. I'm supposed to be sitting at that comfy little chair behind the register." I look over to see a pretty floral stool behind the register. "I'm Annette McCoy. Can you start now?"

I give her a big smile. "Absolutely, thank you so much." I hold out a hand to shake, "I'm Jane."

She gestures for me to follow her and leads me to a little room just off to the side of the kitchen. "You got a last name Jane?"

My expression must show my hesitation because her eyebrows raise drastically. "Doe?"

At that she purses her lips and gives me a once over, taking in the lack of purse or any excess frills. Lastly, her eyes settle on my right hip and the revolver resting there. "You can't wear that on the floor, I'll keep it safe for you with me while you work your shift." I hand it over with slight trepidation. She smiles reassuringly and hands me the apron that was previously tied around her waist. "You might wanna think of a better name in the next town doll." Her face softens with sympathy, "he won't get to you here, not if I have a say in it."

My racing heart begins to settle with her understanding. "Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me."

Something in her eyes tells me maybe she does understand. "Let's get you started angel."

It's been awhile since I've waitressed. I wasn't allowed to, what with it being a blue collar, 'lesser persons' job, but I fall easily back into the rhythm of it. This is a restaurant where hard-working, good-hearted people come to eat and they're patient with me while I learn the ropes. By the time the night shift rolls around I'm comfortable with the way the place runs and with the people working here. I was right about the group out front; a few more people come and go, but the bulk of them never leave. Annette comes up to me at the end of the lunch rush and tells me to take a break in that side room and I get a meal on the house, just like all the actual employees. She sits with me while I eat, scarfing down the cheeseburger and fries she plated up for me. "How long do you plan on stayin' in town darlin'?"

I wash the food down with some water before I answer. "Two, maybe three days, tops. I need to keep moving, don't want to stop until I get where I'm going."

She nods in understanding. "You ok if I put you behind the bar tonight? You'll make better tips there."

My head is nodding before I'm even thinking about it. "That would be amazing, thank you so much." I can feel myself tearing up. She pats my hand in the comforting way only a mother figure could.

"You're gonna be just fine sweetheart, I know it."

The bar between the patrons and me provides a sense of comfort, especially when I notice the group from outside has made their way inside. It seems every seedy person that comes in makes a stop by the group that has gathered in the back corner of the bar area, where the pool tables are. But Annette was right, I am making good tips. I definitely won't need to stay three days at this rate. A few of the bolder patrons try to pick me up, but most of them heed the glare I send when they stray from friendly banter to trying to proposition me.

My hyper vigilance of my surroundings means I notice when the whole group leaves. I also notice that they leave out the back, not the front. When I ask Annette about it she pales noticeably but tells me not to worry about it. Needless to say, I'm worried about it.

When the night starts to wind down Annette comes up front to let me know I can head out for the night, she asks that I come back in the morning for the breakfast rush. With my revolver strapped back to my hip and a take out box of a burger and fries in hand, I make my way out to the mostly empty parking lot. Faint cheering from behind the building draws my attention. I know I should leave it alone but I've always been too curious for my own good. There's a barn out in the back and that seems to be where the noise is coming from. Next to the barn is a row of chain link cages that gives me a bad feeling. I walk slowly and carefully to the closed side door and peek through the cracks in the wood siding. What I see inside horrifies me.

The men from out front are inside and they're clearly the ones in charge here. Here, at what appears to be a dog fighting ring. My heart pounds with anger and swells with sadness at the sight. The rottweiler currently in the pit has obviously been here a long time, judging by his demeanor and the scars littering his body. He's snarling and foaming at the mouth, a few marks look fresh, like he's already been fighting tonight. The pitbull they drop in there with him is what truly breaks my heart. At first I'm convinced that this is another veteran of the ring. There is a long scar running down the right side of his face, his ear is split in two and his eye is missing, an indent and scar tissue all that's left. His attitude fixes that thought process immediately. The poor baby cowers down as soon as he's in, loud whimpers falling from him. The other dog gets louder in his growling but doesn't attack, not yet at least. When he does finally attack the other one does nothing but swipe weakly and cry louder, trying to convince the rottweiler to back off and leave him alone. Judging by the crowd response, this has happened before. There's an uproar of booing and a few 'not again's. When one of the men from the original group starts to kick the pitbull in attempt to spur him into action I have to stumble away and vomit in the grass, my stomach rolling uncontrollably. The sounds coming from inside bring tears to my eyes and I throw up twice more before I manage to stumble back to my truck.

Three hours later and I still can't get to sleep, so I climb back out of my truck and creep over to the barn. It's cold here at night, but the cages outside are full of dogs exposed to the elements, food and water bowls in with each of them. They're all in various stages of injury and immediately tears spring to my eyes; people that treat animals this way are monsters. The pitbull from earlier is the only one awake, the only one not in a cage, and the only one without sustenance. He's lying outside the barn with maybe two feet of chain to move around with and a pinch collar that he won't stop pulling against. The desperation seems to be overriding his instinct not to do the thing that hurts. When he notices my approach his ears lie flat and his belly hits the ground, tail tucked underneath his body. I drop to the ground three feet away and begin to try and soothe him. "You're okay honey. I'm here to help. I'm gonna get you out of here. Come here baby." I hold my hand out for him to sniff and shuffle a little closer on my knees. He doesn't growl and I take that as a sign that he's not going to attack so I move the last bit forward so I'm within his reach. It's maybe twenty minutes of me sitting there talking to him before he sticks out his nose to sniff my offered hand. As he does so I keep up the encouragement. "Good boy. Such a good dog, aren't you? What have those mean ole men done to you?" I look around at the other dogs, I want to take them all with me, but this is the only one I know for sure isn't violent. I can't risk the injury they could cause so I'll have to settle for calling the police when I'm many many miles from here. "We're bustin' you outta this joint. Hope you like road trips." I give his nose a little scratch, the only contact he'll allow, and make my way back to my truck to grab the burger that was supposed to be my dinner. It's cold by now, but I doubt the dog will mind.

When I get back to him he's still pulling at his restraints, but less aggressively this time. He stops again as I come into view but doesn't cower. I break off pieces of burger to feed to him and while he eats those I unhook the collar from around his neck. Just as I'm about to stand up and guide the dog away I realize that what I've just done makes it glaringly obvious that someone took him. Thankfully the monsters that did this seemed to think the dog would be too weak to put up much of a struggle because all they've attached the chain to is a straight stake and the dirt around it is disturbed so it looks like he's already been pulling at it pretty hard. After a cursory glance to make sure there's nobody around I wrap my hands in the chain and yank, the ground around the stake gives way with the third pull and it looks enough like the dog managed to pull himself free. Hopefully it will give them enough pause that they won't come after me right away, or at all.

I'm mildly surprised to see that he didn't run off when I turned my back. Although when he eyeballs the rest of the burger sitting in the box at my feet I'm pretty sure I know why. I feed him more pieces as I walk back to the truck to get him to follow me, the chain slung over my shoulder. When I open the back door he looks at me like I'm crazy but as soon as I say "load up" he's in the cab and looking at me expectantly, waiting for the last piece of burger. I give him the rest and shut the door, tossing the chain in the bed and climbing in myself. A glance in the rear view mirror shows that he's sitting in the middle with his head tilted, staring at me. I fire up the truck, wincing a little at the rumble it makes in the quiet night, but thanking my lucky stars all the same that it only took one try. As I reach to shift into first, a dog face appears in my periphery. I watch in stunned silence as he climbs over the seats and curls up in the middle with his head snuggled into my lap. I shake off my surprise and continue to shift so we can head out, making my way towards the I-70 west. "Alrighty dog, let's blow this popsicle stand."

If you got this far thank you so much for finishing the first chapter of my first Supernatural fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed and you continue to join me on this journey. Dean is coming, I promise. I know that's who you all really want. He should be here in the next chapter in all his grumoy glory. Drop a review, or even just a favorite or a follow. Much love xx